by Blake Pierce
Harmony shook her head, and began to move, walking slowly, escorted on either side, heading towards the nearest waterway, where a sleek, black speedboat was waiting with a masked driver and another passenger in a flowing gown.
For one moment, Adele felt a wild urge to reach out and stop Ms. Herrera. But what then? Leoni was right. Without a judge's order, she couldn't force a private enterprise to close down, especially not one with deep pockets and connections like Compagnia dei Cielo. On top of it, Ms. Herrera was possibly right... Canceling such a large event so close to its beginning might see drunken tourists and would-be guests rioting in the city...
She breathed softly, giving a small shake of her head as John glanced at her. The three of the agents stood outside the old, crummy building, watching its beautiful occupants reach the waiting boat. Adele heard the chug of an outboard motor, watched as Ms. Herrera folded her dress delicately beneath her, and settled in the cushioned portion of the vessel. Then, the sleek, black speedboat, with its five occupants, moved very slowly away from the dock, out to the main waterway.
Harmony didn't look back a single time.
“Someone's going to die at that party,” Adele murmured.
“She won't shut it down,” Leoni replied quietly. “And we won't have enough time to get an order.”
Adele nodded slowly, showing she'd heard. They couldn't shut down the masquerade ball... But the killer was still on the loose, still targeting someone. Which meant they still had a job to do.
But if they couldn't shut down the ball, it meant they only had one option left.
“What are you thinking?” Leoni asked, noting the look of resignation on Adele's face.
She sighed once, looking away from the water and glancing back in the direction they'd come. “I'm thinking,” she said softly. “If she refuses to shut it down... We're going to have to attend that ball ourselves.”
Leoni cleared his throat, then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a single slip of golden paper with silver writing across the top in Italian.
Adele turned, staring at the man. “What's this?”
Leoni extended the golden slip to her. “A ticket,” he said, softly, “to the masquerade ball.”
Adele reached up, her fingers grazing the delicate slip of paper—though it felt more like thinly pressed aluminum than anything else. Even the ticket, the way it flashed and shimmered as she turned it to try and make out the Italian words seemed an elegant thing.
“You bought a ticket?” she asked, softly.
“I...” he coughed delicately, “I, in fact, was planning on attending anyway. As it is, I only have the one.”
Adele blinked in surprise, looking back up at Leoni. “You're sure?”
He shrugged. “They might not shut down their party for the sake of a life, but I'm more than happy to forgo a night of revelry if it means we can catch this murderer. I'm sure. We both know you're better at this sort of thing. Computers, information, flying planes,” he smiled, “all me. Finding a needle in a haystack though...” He tipped his head towards her. “I'm happy to concede that role. But,” he held up a finger, “I only have the one ticket. Which means...” He glanced towards John, and shrugged apologetically, “You and I, big fellow, are going to have to run surveillance. Unless of course, you'd like to get all prettied up, John.”
Renee snorted. But then paused at these words, as if realizing something and glancing sharply at Adele.
She frowned. “Wait, hang on, prettied up?”
Leoni smiled now, mirroring Harmony's own sound. “You better believe they won't let you in looking like that, ticket or not. Haven't you been listening? This is the most exclusive ball in Venice. And that ticket only gets you so far. We don't have a warrant, and they'll have their own security, meaning we can't enter without a judge's order. Too late for one of those.” He smiled, patting her on the arm and turning to lead them away. “No, no,” he murmured, “you can't go in like that.”
“I don't have a dress,” Adele protested, feeling her stomach twist. “Or a mask,” she added. She frowned at Renee. “Stop grinning.”
“I'm not grinning,” he said while grinning.
She frowned even more now, crossing her arms. “I don't have anything fancy in my suitcase.”
“Well,” Leoni said, hands in his pockets now, eyes ahead as he continued to walk. “Good thing I know a guy on short notice.” He looked back, doing his best, it seemed, to suppress a grin of his own. “Are you coming, or what?”
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Michaelangelo's Masks was practically empty as Adele stepped through the front door of the now familiar shop. She glanced around the cramped space, at the various pieces of art arranged on the walls. Again, she felt confronted by a leering crowd as the masks behind the glass counter stared down at her, eyeless faces fixated on her every movement.
She cleared her throat hesitantly, glancing around the small space. Behind her, through the closing door, caught by its spring, she could still hear the sound of the festival, increasing in volume. Evening had fallen now, the masquerade ball itself would start within the hour. They were running out of time before the killer would most likely make his move.
She winced at the thought, trying to consider what came next. The killer had left a trail of breadcrumbs in the form of bodies, leading them to the Compagnia dei Cielo's ball. But what was his plan? Who was he after now?
Adele shivered slowly, shaking her head and stepping further into the nearly empty store. The sounds of the festival goers behind her echoed with laughter and applause and music and voices. She could hear conversations—too loud—prompted, she guessed, by the early consumption of alcohol. Even from here, through the window facing the canal, she spotted the motion and movement of various boats with performers preparing for the final parade of the last night of the festival. Everyone had likely already bought their masks, hence the empty shop.
Not that Adele was complaining. She didn't need any spectators for what came next.
“Angelo?” she called into the shop and cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Angelo!”
She heard a clearing throat, and then a face popped up from behind the glass counter, eyes bleary and red, staring out at Adele over the translucent service. The well-fed shopkeeper's eyes widened in delight and he gave a little wave, which accompanied a small hiccup.
“Polizia!” he declared. “Mask?” he added as a quick afterthought.
Adele nodded once. “Mask, yes, actually. This time. And...” She swallowed, trailing off, “You don't happen to have a dress somewhere too, do you? Any old thing will do.”
Now, Angelo was paying full attention. The redness of his cheeks and nose seemed due to a bottle clutched in one hand. The full-length workdays were finally being rewarded, it seemed, in the tradition of the other festival goers outside the shop.
He waved his bottle around a bit, indicating a back room. “Dress? Mask?”
“Yes,” Adele said, nodding abruptly. “Sorry, but quickly, please. I have payment. Just give me that guy there,” she said, nodding to a pale mask at the bottom of the display. It was simple, unadorned, and unpainted.
But Angelo snorted shaking his head wildly. “This? No. No for you? No-no!” he wagged a finger beneath his reddish face. “I give you better.”
Adele gritted her teeth. “More expensive too, I'd guess?”
He laughed off the comment with a shrug and a snicker and then turned, reaching out for another mask. Adele saw it and she felt her shoulders slump. She sighed and said, “Angelo, really. I'm in a hurry. Just give me the plain one please.”
But the mask maker seemed adamant now, offended even. “You no like? You say ugly?” he asked, shaking his head at her. “Go! Go then. No mask. I artist!” He waved his bottled around like a cudgel. “Angelo masks! Art!” He declared with a bellow.
Adele sighed. She didn't have time for this. Already, the clock was ticking. “Fine,” she said, firmly. “Just get me a mask and a dress. Please h
urry.”
She could feel her own anxiety mounting, watching as Angelo, delicately removed the indicated face wear off the wall. She sighed in resignation, staring at the flamboyant thing, then watching as the mask maker hurried into a back room, declaring over his shoulder. “Dress! Match to dress! Mask, yes!”
The words made sense, but how he'd assembled them didn't. Still, she supposed she was at Angelo's mercy if she wanted to get into the ball. Leoni's ticket was now folded neatly in her wallet. She had the entrance slip, now she simply had to play the part.
It didn't suit her to pretend to be something she wasn't, but sometimes, it took a sheep in wolf's clothing to find a killer.
“Hurry up!” she called into the back room.
Angelo appeared almost on cue, as if he'd been waiting for the words as a sort of introduction. He held out a dress in front of his wide frame, his ample belly on either side of the cloth, jutting out like an eclipse. “Will fit,” Angelo declared. “Trust me. It fit.” He nodded, waving a hand towards Adele. “Come, come, try!” he said. He pointed towards a changing room at the back of the shop, behind a thin curtain.
Adele stared at the dress, then glanced at the mask. She sighed again. “Fine,” she muttered. “How much do I owe you?”
***
The Compagnia dei Cielo's ball would take place in the Plaza theater, in the heart of Venice. Already, outside, as she made her way carefully through the rows of onlookers, she spotted men and women dressed in all manner of beautiful ensembles, each and every one wearing some sort of mask. Two rows of guests moved slowly through the wide-open doors to the magnificent theater.
Now Adele understood the acting company's fascination with felines. The giant, marble lion on top of the theater, a statue overlooking the crowds illuminated with flood lights held the bearing of an onlooking guardian, surveying its subjects and protectorates beneath its marble claws.
The looping architectural design of the theater itself was patterned with etchings in marble and ivy, and more statuary and stained glass. A mural of multi-colored tiles spanned the entire length of three columns facing the Grand Canal and reflecting back the rising moon.
Even outside, the theater seemed otherworldly. Fluttering ribbons and silk, likely lifted by hidden fans, extended out from flagpoles, like vibrant, multi-hued beams of sunlight stretching to the sky. A fog machine, again unseen, had created wafting vapors, extending from behind the giant marble lion's mane. The tendrils of grey mist fell onto the crowd bellow, swishing overhead as if to further disguise the mask wearers.
This would only make their jobs harder, yet Adele couldn't help but take a moment to simply stare at the presentation. Entranced by the combination of the falling night sky, the fluttering ribbons and silk, the giant statue, the old theater, the crowds of beautiful humans in beautiful garb against a backdrop off a postcard of the Grand Canal. Along the water, the first flotillas of performers, illuminated by colorful spotlights, began to move. The cheers of the crowds further down the streets could already be heard on the air. Laughter and applause and singing also echoed across the mist from the hidden fog machines.
Adele blinked, trying to focus.
She moved quicker than the other guests trailing towards the queues outside the doors. One thing she'd refused: high heels. A woman had to put her foot down somewhere. And down or up, high heels would make it impossible to maneuver. Especially in this ridiculous get-up.
She sighed softly as she neared the entrance, placing the mask she'd been given over her face now, feeling her arms chill in the mist where the dress left them exposed. She wished she'd had a chance to tan a bit before.
Focus... She thought to herself.
She scanned the crowds outside the old theater, and then her eyes landed on Agent Renee and Leoni who were waiting for her by the water's edge. Both of them wore their normal clothing—a neat, tidy suit for Leoni, and a sweater and slacks—with a mustard stain—for John.
As she drew near, though, Leoni nudged Renee, pointing towards Adele.
John turned, frowned, but then his expression slipped as his eyes landed on her. His gaze did a quick once-over as if unable to resist the motion. He blinked and stared at her mask with the effort of a man attempting to avoid being caught glancing at anything else.
The dress was modest enough, but tighter than Adele might have liked. No room for the gun in her dress, so she'd been forced to stow her phone and firearm in the small, purple purse she'd been provided, now looped over one wrist.
John continued staring at her, slack-jawed as she neared.
“Agent Sharp,” Leoni said, still smiling in that lupine way of his. He nodded politely. “You look lovely,” he said.
John's mouth closed a second later, and he paused long enough before swallowing to maintain at least some dignity.
“I get it,” Adele snapped, “The mask is stupid. Let it go, we're here for a job.” Her face was already itching beneath the thing. She'd wanted the plain white face-wear, but now, she'd been cornered into wearing this thing. It wasn't exactly...ugly. In fact, Adele might have thought it beautiful on someone like Ms. Herrera, or even one of the victims. It just didn't suit her. It was too—artistic. The single peacock feather out of the top looped back down against a crystalline mesh over her cheeks. The white porcelain of the mask itself was streaked with ribbons of purple and blue and green to match the delicate feather. The dress, at least, was a simple blue affair—with, thank God—straps.
“It's not stupid,” John said, reflexively. “You look like an angel.” The moment he said it, he blinked, and glanced off, shaking his head. “I mean... you look okay.”
Leoni glanced between the two of them, still grinning, but then he nodded in the direction of the theater. “I think you'll fit right in,” he said, softly. “Agent Sharp—remember, we'll be out her keeping surveillance. Keep us apprised of anything. Are we clear?” He had a more serious look in his eyes now and John was frowning at the words, looking at Adele again with a note of concern in his gaze.
Adele waved a hand briefly. “Yes,” she said, simply. “I will. Keep an eye out here. If you see anything...”
“We'll call you,” Leoni said. “You do the same.” He flashed a thumbs up. “Good luck.”
The way John watched her left Adele unnerved briefly. For a moment, surrounded by all the beauty, the spectacle, talent from around the country, the music and sounds and statues—despite it all—it almost seemed as if Renee only had eyes for her in that moment.
What a peculiar thought.
Still, she shrugged off the emotion rising in her chest and moved in the direction of the theater's entrance. No time for romance now... They had a killer to catch.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Inside, the theater was even more stunning than outside. Again, a low fog hung over the room. The lights above came from chandeliers, but the crystal baubles glowed with multi-colors, casting reflective patterns across the theater like the glinting of diamonds and opals and sapphires.
Adele swallowed as she spotted a woman and man, both dressed in white outfits and white masks, floating along the ceiling, like angels. She couldn't spot the wires as the trapeze artists danced about, near the chandeliers, moving between the illuminative devices with practiced choreography.
More servers moved throughout the room below, dressed in the same pure white outfits and white masks. By the stage, a man in a black suit was crooning softly, his voice moving through the room like the mist.
Small little sparking lights, like glow-bugs also hovered across the mist. Adele frowned, uncertain if these were actual lightning bugs or some sort of technology using the mist as a reflective surface. She couldn't quite make it out as she moved between the other partygoers.
The floor itself had been cleared of any seating, and rather resembled a giant frozen lake. Some sort of gloss was spilled across the floor, giving the ground a watery, icy look. Giant lily pads—green carpets with a reflective sheen—patterned the ground,
leading towards rows of tables, a dance floor with pirouetting dancers, and a small circle enclosure with a lion-tamer and two bright-eyed, golden-maned lions.
Laughter filled the area. Hundreds of guests moved throughout the room, some watching the would-be angels floating on the ceiling, others reaching out to try and touch what seemed to be lightning bugs floating in the mist. Others only had eyes for the lions and still others were pointing towards a row of acrobats in the dark recesses of the stage, preparing, it seemed, to make their entrance.
Everyone wore masks, everyone wore dresses, suits, beautiful clothing. No one stood out in that everyone did.
How on earth could she find a killer in all of this?
For a moment, as Adele stepped off a lily pad carpet onto the glossy, water-like floor, she spotted trails of silver beneath the strange varnish, like streaks of moonlight or starlight against a tapestry of sky. One moment, the floor seemed an expansive frozen lake, the next like the night itself.
She shivered, again, the emotion prompted by nothing to do with the case.
For a moment, she felt herself drift as if transported into a fairy tale. Flowers, bright yellow, vibrant orange, green, pink, purple and crimson all lined the walls behind the tables. It all seemed so... strangely wonderful. She'd never seen its likeness before.
For a brief moment, Adele paused in the stream of guests, moving from the entrance through the room. Some immediately joined the dancers, swirling, spinning, dresses flowing, gloved hands pressed in interlocking fingers as the music thrummed around them.
For a brief moment, Adele felt her guard slip. She wanted to close her eyes, to drift away. Briefly, she wondered what it might be like to attend an event like this without the worry of catching a serial killer. To her own surprise, as she watched a tall man and a smaller woman dance across the floor, she thought of John.
Immediately, beneath her mask, she felt her cheeks heat up, and she swallowed. She thought back to that kiss in Leoni's apartment. Thought back to the look in his eyes, the warmth of his lips.
