Enrique paused. A faint tingling sensation traveled down his spine. He stood slowly, then turned to face the mirror. He saw his stained bandage and the slight bulge where his ear had once been before Ruslan sliced it off. But beyond that—beyond the way the world had marked him—he saw the threshold of the library.

He had never noticed it before, the wood carved into elaborate shapes and set with gold trimming. It had seemed like another beautiful, decorative thing in a house full of beautiful, decorative ornaments. But now his gaze snagged on a faint, glowing spot set into the wood. At first glance, it seemed like a trick of the light … the flame of a candle or sconce bouncing off the silver mirror. It was situated up high, almost near the joint where the mantel and the frame met. A place no one would have cause to examine too closely.

“Zofia,” said Enrique. “I’m beginning to think you really are a genius.”

“You sound surprised,” said Zofia. “Why?”

Enrique grinned as he walked past her, his hand outstretched to the door … the traditional haunt of the two-faced god.

“Is there a stool?” he asked, casting about.

Zofia picked one up, bringing it to him. Enrique clambered onto it, kneeling. He touched the glimmer set into the wood. It poked out like an innocent splinter.

Enrique pinched it and slowly pulled.

The wood around the glowing splinter yielded with a sound that reminded him of someone riffling through the pages in a book. Enrique held his breath. Whatever he had grabbed hold of gave way with little resistance. Light burst across his vision, and something fell, the sound was like a dish clattering to the ground.

“What is that?” asked Zofia, moving closer.

It was a silver demi-mask. Perhaps there had once been ribbons affixed to the side, but they had long since disintegrated. The mask itself looked plain and unfinished, the metallic paint chipped in some places. And yet, the moment Enrique touched it, he felt a presence invading his thoughts … a glimpse of the inside of a salon, masks dangling from the ceiling, the soft glow of chandeliers. There was only one place it could be, the mascherari salon that hid the location to House Janus.

Maybe it was nothing more than fanciful imagination, but in that moment, Enrique wondered if something of that old Roman god had moved through the room. After all, Janus was the god of change and beginnings. And in that second, Enrique could almost taste the change in the air. It tasted of silver and ghosts, like the resurrection of an abandoned hope that was stirring, once more, to life.

10

LAILA

Laila watched the wedding party approach the bridge. Behind them, a moon as pale as the bride’s neck rose over the cathedral’s sloped roofs. Bleary-eyed stars winked in the sky and bore witness to the lovers. Laila’s throat felt tight as she watched them. She told herself not to look, but she couldn’t help it. Her eyes hungrily roved over every detail of the bride and groom.