A moment later he reappears dressed in a headless horseman outfit, his plastic pumpkin head under an arm. The costume is at least two sizes too small, the arms and legs falling several inches short and the shoulders bursting at the seams. His trinity knot tattoo pokes out the top.

“I don’t think you have that on right,” I say. Max shakes his head.

“What do you mean?” He looks down at the black felt. “I don’t see how I could wear it any differently.”

I stifle a grin. Colin frowns and faces a nearby mirror, seeing for the first time how funny the costume looks. His expression is the last straw. My laughter fills the shop, and beside me, Max shakes with amusement.

Muttering to himself, Colin disappears back into the dressing room. I hear a distinct tear and exchange glances with Max. When Colin reappears, I hold up a beautiful black and gold masquerade mask. “Maybe you should just go with this?” I suggest.

It takes him a moment to realize I never meant to force him to wear a real costume to begin with, but when he does, he snatches the mask out of my hand and tosses the headless horseman costume onto a pile of tutus with such ferocity I half expect it to burst into flame.

I giggle but stop when I realize what’s sitting beside the multicolored pile of fluff. It’s a black cat mask, and it’s beautiful. It’s not your run-of-the-mill felt cutout, but rather handmade from a solid black ceramic. Once upon a time it was probably very expensive.

I snatch it and turn to the mirror, fixing the mask on my face. It looks so realistically catlike. The mask is hard and sticks out from my face a little bit to actually form the cat’s maw. Delicate silver designs trace the edges of the ears and eyes, but the best part is the forehead. Sticking out of it are two long, hornlike prongs, with two shorter ones beside them.

Whoever made this mask knew a Jabberwocky.

“What do you think?” I turn toward Colin and everything shifts, becoming hazy and tinged with magic.

Colin is gone, and in his place stands a man with hair dark as night and eyes greener than the hills behind him. He steps toward me, two black and gold knives in his hands, his muscled body clad in molded leather. He speaks, but the words are in Irish. A shield covers half his body, a three-legged spiral painted across it encased in winding thorny vines.

The Triskelion.

Slowly, his eyes turn completely black.

Then Rose appears in front of him, giant white wings sprouting from her back—an angel costume. The vision dissolves as she slips the mask off my face, her expression uncharacteristically worried. An even more troubled Colin hovers over her shoulder.

“Did you see that?” I ask.