Masked

Chapter 4 HIM

"Come now. We're going to be late!" Genoveve calls from down the hallway, her voice echoing off the stones and making its way toward us. Addalynne doesn't waver from the worn pages of the book she's reading. She hasn't put her book down for what seems like hours, and from the intense look of concentration on her face, I'm not entirely sure she heard her mother. She's lost in her head, a place I'm learning she likes to go frequently. I don't know the girl well, but I know she spends most of her time looking for an escape. She wants a different life, and I only want to remember mine.

"Addalynne," I say her name quietly, hesitant of pulling her from her story.

"Hmmm."

"I think your mother is getting anxious."

"She's always anxious." Her eyes don't leave the page as she speaks, and with a flick of her finger she turns to the next one.

"What are you reading, anyway?"

She places the book on her lap and sets her amber eyes on me. "The Siren's Call. It's about mermaids."

"Mermaids. I've heard about mermaids before." But just like all the other times I try to access a memory, a door slams shut on me. I can picture the mermaids, I can remember details from stories told about them, but I don't know how I know them or why. Sometimes I hear a soft voice speaking to me, a voice from my past, but after a few seconds the voice becomes contorted and then dissolves into a vacant echo. It doesn't stop me from trying to remember, but it's like trying to scratch my way through metal.

"Do you think they're real?' Addalynne questions excitedly.

"Maybe," I reply with a shrug. "Do you want them to be?"

"Yes. I want all the stories to be real." Her eyes burn with her words and, though I don't want to turn away from her, the way she's looking at me makes me . . . nervous . . . shy? I'm not sure, but it's not a feeling I'm familiar with, and something tells me that even my past self, the one I have forgotten, would find it foreign.

"Addalynne!" Genoveve calls again. "We're leaving now, with or without you both!"

Addalynne gently nudges the book off her lap, letting it slide onto the bed. With a sigh, she stands and extends her hand to me. I unhesitatingly grasp hers with my own and feel instantly calmed. A mischievous smile tugs on her lips as she says, "We better go. If we're late, we'll miss Sir Alsius's warnings, or tales I should say, and believe me, you don't want to miss them."

The walk to the market is quiet, and I must admit, a little tense. Genoveve keeps turning back to look at Addalynne, her eyebrows tightened with what seems to be a mixture of irritation and anxiety. Addalynne either takes no notice or has perfected the art of avoidance.

We turn the corner and come down a row of small, wooden houses. People are stepping out of their doorways, their arms filled with food to bring to the feast.

"Relax now, Genoveve. I told you we wouldn't be late," Robert speaks quietly, his free hand rubbing soothing circles on Genoveve's back. My stomach twists. Do I have a mother and father somewhere? Is my mother worried about me? Is my father comforting her?

We step into the market square and my footsteps falter. I'm not sure what I expected, but it wasn't this.

Rows upon rows of wooden tables line half of the square. The tables are lit with candles and filled with an abundance of wine, bread, meat, fruit, and pots of stew. People are scattered about, some eating and drinking, others laughing and dancing. Children are running around, chasing each other through the maze of villagers, while their mothers shout at them to not get too close to the fire.