The moon hung low over the town, casting silver light on the sprawling Deveraux property, wherein the masquerade ball shimmered with shadows and secrets. Celeste stood although for a moment at the pinnacle of the grand staircase, her breath shallow under the black lace mask protecting her face. All around her, human beings in silks and tuxedos twirled and laughed and clinked glasses. But beneath the track and laughter, anxiety simmered.
She wasn’t here for the birthday party.
Her gown shimmered in deep navy, tight enough to hide the blade strapped to her thigh and the mini-recorder tucked in her bodice. Somewhere in this house, her uncle Julius changed into hiding something—something about her father, about Damien, about everything that had torn her insides apart.
Celeste descended the
