Dark Masquerade

The night was unseasonably warm for February. Though Adrienne had not yet danced, her face behind the mask was finely misted with perspiration and beads of sweat were also running between her breasts. Eighteenth Century Attire, just as Angelique had specified in the invitation. Adrienne sighed, fanning herself with the intricate fan that had come with her rented costume. She dearly loved her eccentric friend, but for the love of God, could Angelique not have picked a cooler night for festivities requiring such heavy garments?

Hoping to catch a breeze off the Mississippi River, a glass of Merlot in hand, Adrienne made her way to the veranda, lit only by a few candles strategically placed along its length. Tonight was the last day of Mardi Gras or Fat Tuesday and in all honesty, Adrienne sought to escape both the heat and the drunken revelry inside the house. Fortunately, it appeared she had found temporary solitude, and she was thankful for a moment to catch her breath as well as to cool off in the evening's breeze.

Looking out on Laurel Street, Adrienne sipped her wine and wondered if Angelique’s close friend, Jean-Luc, would make an appearance this evening. Ever since she’d met the Frenchman and seen him about town, she’d found him mysterious and intriguing despite what little she knew of him. He was quiet and broodingly handsome, and Adrienne wasn’t usually attracted to his type. Still, there was something about him that drew her in. She smiled. Perhaps it was his eyes for they were the most intensely blue eyes she’d ever seen - frosty and ice like in their appearance.

Unexpectedly, the hairs on Adrienne’s neck rose, and she realized she was not alone. Turning, she glanced along the semi-darkened veranda, spying no one. Still, she was sure she was being watched. Suddenly, a lone, tall figure emerged from the shadows. Had the man been there all along?

“Excuse me, mademoiselle, I hope I didn't frighten you,” a thick, French accent drifted across the night air. Like her, the stranger wore a mask; nonetheless, Adrienne would have known his voice anywhere: Jean-Luc. As he approached, Adrienne watched the semblance of a smile form on his lips. What did he find he find so amusing?

Adrienne returned his smile. “Not at all, Jean-Luc, you just caught me off guard. I thought I was alone.” Why was she so nervous all of a sudden? She took a large sip of wine. “I was enjoying the breeze.” And also enjoying a break from the drunks inside, she mentally added.

Jean-Luc casually, methodically drew nearer, standing only a few steps away along the wrought iron fencing running the length of the veranda. “Me, as well,” he said. “But alas, I fear I also desired to escape so many unfortunate, drunken souls,” he gestured toward the crowded room.

Adrienne nodded her agreement while aware Jean-Luc’s presence seemed to encompass the entire space. Moreover, had the man just read her mind? That would be impossible though, right? A room of drunken souls was an easy observation to make on this night of celebratory endeavors, was it not?

Adrienne observed that Jean-Luc had also chosen to wear the requested eighteenth century attire, but his costume, by contrast, had surely cost a small fortune it was so splendid. Nervously, she tugged at the skirt of her own dress, self-conscious that what she wore was not nearly as authentic.

“You look divine, mon cher,” Jean-Luc commented, his voice hypnotically melodic. “It's as though you’ve stepped from the pages of a French novel.”

With his comment, she made a mental note that it was twice now he’d appeared to read her thoughts. This was crazy. Was the wine wreaking havoc with her abilities of perception?

Adrienne laughed. “You cannot be serious - at least not while you look as though you’ve just leapt from the pages of an Anne Rice novel!” She gave him the once over before continuing. “Monsieur Lestat, I presume? You are every inch the French nobleman in that costume, Jean-Luc.”

A glimmer of surprise and then amusement flickered in the blue eyes. His brow lifted. “I assure you I do not jest. You are charmingly French, mademoiselle. As for me, I am merely wearing a piece of dusty fabric I pulled from my attic.” The wine was helping immensely to ease Adrienne’s tension, but still, a blush crept across her cheeks at Jean-Luc’s words.

A loud group dressed as witches, their costumes and masks wickedly elaborate, crossed the street in front of the veranda, momentarily distracting the pair. Adrienne watched as the group looked toward the veranda, whispering amongst themselves and pointing at Jean-Luc before quickly running away to disappear in the shadows. Adrienne was completely confused. Why did they run away? There was nothing unusual about Jean-Luc's appearance this evening. Perplexed, she turned to him. Jean-Luc simply shrugged and smiled. She saw that, though minimal, he had drawn even closer. He held a glass of what looked to be Merlot, and so close, it was easy to see the drink briefly stained his lips as he drank of it.

Adrienne fanned her face. Still, despite the heat of the evening and the heavy garment, a shiver ran through her. She looked up to find Jean-Luc watching her as though he knew all her deepest, darkest secrets. What was happening? What exactly was so different about this man? Why had those people run away as if they were frightened by Jean-Luc? True, Jean-Luc's allure was nearly unearthly, unreal, but he wasn't frightening. He certainly made her nervous, but no, she did not find him frightening.

Adrienne lifted her glass and drained it of its content as Jean-Luc, the man of intrigue and allure who had emerged from the shadows, stood close and watched every move she made. Should she be alarmed? Surely not. After all, this man was one of Angelique’s closest friends.

“Shall I get you another glass of wine?” Jean-Luc asked, lightly touching her arm. His touch, though cool, moved through Adrienne like electricity. She couldn't help but wonder if he had felt it, too.

“No, I’m fine,” she lied. The last thing she needed at the moment was more wine. She already felt drunk or drugged even though she’d only had two glasses of wine, and she was also having difficulty reading this man. His nearness was like to a bright beacon of light, summoning her toward something unknown, yet utterly alluring.

“Perhaps it would be cooler if we removed our masks,” Adrienne said, abruptly reaching her hand to the back of Jean-Luc’s head and untying his mask, not waiting for his response. He didn’t halt her and the mask came undone, falling with a soft thud to the ground. For some unfathomable reason, Adrienne had wanted to see his face – his brutally handsome face. Yes, without the mask, it was much better - she felt better.

With no hesitation, Jean-Luc reached over and removed Adrienne’s mask, throwing it to the ground so that it lay discarded by his. “Is that better, mon cher?” he asked.

“Yes,” Adrienne replied though her voice sounded small and unsteady to her own ears.

Jean-Luc studied Adrienne with uninterrupted intensity, his eyes so dark in the dim light they were pools of black. Why in heavens name did he look at her so? She was already acutely aware of his nearness. What was worse was that she knew Jean-Luc knew exactly how she felt, which only served to unnerve her all the more. Maybe she did need that glass of wine. But first……

Impulsively, Adrienne reached up and lightly touched Jean-Luc’s temple. His skin, much like his touch, was decidedly cool despite the heat of the night and the heavy costume he wore. How the bloody hell did he manage to stay so calm, cool, and collected while she felt so nervous, warm, and unsure? And why did she feel as if there was more behind his façade? As though there was yet another mask to be removed?

Mentally chiding herself for reading too much fantasy fiction and thinking such outlandish thoughts, Adrienne started to remove her hand. Before she could do so, Jean-Luc lifted his own and encircled her wrist, stopping her.

“Precisely how curious are you, mon cher? Are you prepared for the ultime, sombre fantaisie which could well be your undoing?” he asked, his voice deep and serious as he watched her, awaiting a reaction to the question he posed.

Adrienne felt the strength in his grasp, yet she had no desire to pull away. Instead, she felt strangely compelled to draw even closer to the man in front of her though they already stood nearly touching, chest to chest. Desire flooded to encompass her. She was suddenly desperate to embrace the ultimate and dark fantasy to which he had referred.

Impulsively, Adrienne extended her hand into the thick, dark ways of Jean-Luc's hair and tugged, hoping to pull him closer still. Instead, as she did so, his handsome visage fell like tissue paper from Jean-Luc’s face to hang limply from Adrienne's fingertips. In surprise – and fear – she stumbled backwards, the second mask falling unnoticed to the ground.

Jean-Luc’s eyes were as black as midnight and full of a hunger that radiated into the depth of her being. Without both masks, he was the epitome of the character Adrienne had jokingly referred to only a short while ago. Jean-Luc was a vampire every bit as real and enticing a character as Lestat, and he was devastatingly wonderful to behold.

The full moon moved behind the clouds and a cool breeze engulfed the veranda. Standing illuminated by only a few remaining candles, Adrienne thought Jean-Luc the most splendid, beautiful creature she'd ever seen. Without hesitation, she moved toward him, much like a moth to the flame, eager to fully accept what truths his darkness would reveal before the dawn's light.