Masquerade

 

"There's something different about you," Kingsley said, one afternoon while they were supposedly doing homework in Bliss's bedroom. "Supposedly" because that's what Bliss liked to think was going to happen, but Kingsley always had other ideas. BobiAnne insisted that Bliss leave the door open to her room whenever she had a boy over--that was one of her rules. But BobiAnne wasn't there that afternoon. It was her weekly spa appointment, and she would be gone for hours. Jordan was at ballet rehearsal, which ran until midnight. Bliss was alone in the apartment, save for the staff, who were on the first floor, far away in the servants' wing.



"I got a haircut," Bliss offered, looking up from her German essay. She knew that wasn't what Kingsley was after. Ever since the double-bouquet delivery, Kingsley had been harassing her to find out the identity of Bliss's so-called "mystery man."



"No, that's not it." Kingsley smiled. He was stretched out on her bed like a lazy cat, his black hair so long that it curled onto his shirt collar. His notebooks and binders were scattered around him, including that dark leather-bound book he was always reading. But in the past hour, he had done absolutely no homework and instead had been needling her all evening.



"I don't know what you're talking about," Bliss said stub- bornly.



"I think you do," Kingsley drawled. "It's written all over you."



"What?"



"You did it. You took a human during your little vacation or photo shoot, whatever you call it. Vou drank bees blaad," Kingsley said, affecting a Transylvanian accent. "Whoever gave them the idea that we were some provincial hicks from Eastern Europe was brilliant."



"So what if I did?" Bliss asked.



"Oh, goody. Now we're getting somewhere. Did you like it?"



"You're not jealous?" Bliss asked.



"Jealous? Why would I be jealous?" Kingsley looked shocked. "I don't think you understand--it's like being jealous of your hairdresser. Familiars perform a service, that's all. We don't get emotionally attached to them."



"We?"



"You know what I mean."



Kingsley walked over to Bliss's side and began massaging her back. "C'mon, relax....Are you still having those flashbacks? Those blackouts?"



Bliss nodded.



"Did you try doing what I suggested?" he asked.



She shook her head. She was too scared to do what he had proposed.



"Well, you should, it works. Worked for me." Kingsley's fingers kneaded her sore muscles expertly, and Bliss was soon swooning under his touch. It was like being hypnotized....



Red eyes with silver pupils, and a voice that whispered in a hiss...



Soon...



Soon...



Soon...



The beast had come again, chasing her down mazelike corridors. She felt its hot, foul breath on her cheek. She was trapped against a corner, and she could not wake up. She looked it in the eye. Do it, do it, she thought. Do what Kingsley said.



Talk to it.



What do you want? Bliss asked. I demand a palaver.



The crimson eyes blinked.



When Bliss woke up, she found she had scratched herself in fear. There were ugly red bruises all over her arms.



But Kingsley had been right. It had worked. The beast had gone.



Schiz?o?phre?ni?a (n.) Greek for "Shattered mind." Mental disorder characterized by impairments in the perception of reality. Persons having schizophrenia suffer from auditory delusions, visual hallucinations, disorganized speech (incoherence), disorganized behavior (crying frequently).



Continuous sign of disturbance must occur for more than six months in order for the patient to be diagnosed as such.



--Dictionary of Mental Disorders, American Academy of Mental Health Professionals