The Swan Maiden. That’s what the painting is called. Inspired by the fairy tale.
The thought sends a chill through me and, without thinking, I reach out to caress the feathers of the beautiful painted swan. Presto. There’s a bounce like a spring, and the door opens.
I smile at the surprise. It’s meant to be, I think.
And I’m not shocked the Constantine house would have a secret passageway or two. The opposite.
I peer into the short corridor that leads to a staircase where I can feel a slight breeze. There’s no light switch, but I can see light around the corner at the bottom of the stairs. I look behind me, thinking I should go back. I should close the door to this secret passage and walk out into the hallway and do the safe thing.
But then I see the clock again. Twenty-five minutes.
I don’t let myself think about it. I take hold of the metal railing and make my way down the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible by walking on the balls of my feet, which isn’t easy in these heels.
The staircase curves and twists, and I follow it, growing a little anxious when I have to feel my way through a long, dark corridor. Before I can panic, I’m at the end of it, and I see where the light is coming in around the door. This one has a doorknob, no spring.
I put my hand on it, part of me hoping it’s locked so I can run back upstairs and be the good girl I’m expected to be, but another part, the part I like more, turns the doorknob. I’m elated when it opens onto an unlit patio beyond which is a beautiful, small lake surrounded by trees.
The best part? It’s deserted. And apart from a hum of noise of the guests in the main garden, it’s quiet.
A secret garden.
I cross the patio, reach down to slip off my heels, and hold onto them by their straps before stepping onto soft, cool grass that tickles my feet. I walk toward the lake, hurrying as I take in the lights in the trees around me, realizing they’re fireflies.
I laugh out loud at this. It’s been years since I’ve seen them. My sister, Isabella, and I would chase them when we were little, trying to capture them in jars with holes we punched into the lids. I turn a circle and look up at the sky and the beauty of it all. It looks magical, so perfect I want to cry.
But when, in the next moment I crash into someone smelling too strongly of alcohol and something even less pleasant, all the beauty of the moment vanishes. I turn to find a man in an animal costume so exaggerated, so frightening, I scream.
The man laughs and pushes the mask on top of his head while I clutch my chest.
“Well, hello sweet angel,” he drawls, openly looking me over and still holding onto me with one hand while a bottle of whiskey dangles from the other.
“You scared me half to death!”
He grins, and I look at his hand around my arm, feel how it tightens a little.
Shit.
“What are you doing out here?” His eyes openly drop to my chest where the gown has lifted my breasts so high that if I reach up, I’ll pop out of it.
Someone whistles from the trees, and I look over to find another man walk out of the shadows while doing up the zipper of his pants. He also has one of those masks on top of his head. It’s a sort of wolf or something.
“Well, lookey here. What’d you find?” he calls out to his friend.
“Um…excuse me,” I say, trying to free myself.
“I think you’re one of the prettiest girls I’ve seen all night. What are you supposed to be? An angel?” the one I ran into asks, his breath making me a little queasy. “You sure look like an angel.”
“I need to go,” I say. “My father is waiting for me.” I have no idea where my father is honestly, but it’s the best I can come up with. I try to pull free, but he tightens his grip, and the other man is behind me. Too close behind me.
“Lost your daddy, little angel? Don’t worry, my friend and me will be your daddies tonight. Ain’t that right?”
“Sure is,” the one behind me says, and we’re doing this strange dance where I’m trying to get away but we’re all just turning in a circle one behind me, one in front of me, turning and turning with no way out.
“Please let me go,” I say, trying to sound in control and not as terrified as I feel.
The one behind me touches the wings at my back, fingers caressing my shoulders when he does. He chuckles, and I yelp when his other hand wraps around my middle and lifts me off my feet.
“Light as one of those feathers on that dress,” he says, spinning me around as the other man laughs.
“Let me go!”
Someone clears their throat in the distance, and I wonder if there’s a third wolf-man.
“I believe the lady asked you twice now to let her go, asshole,” someone says. A different man with a voice that’s strangely, vaguely familiar.
Whoever it is, he’s behind me so I can’t see him.
“Can any of you actually hold your liquor or does it make you stupider every time you drink?” another man asks. “You know, they say you lose brain cells with every sip.”
“Well, there you are, Brother. I was wondering where you’d gone off to.”
“Oh, here and there. You know.” This one has a skull mask over his face that’s scarier than any of the others, but when he pushes it off his head, I feel a momentary relief because he looks normal. Not wasted like these others. But then his gaze drops down to the tops of my breasts, and when he returns his eyes to mine, he grins and puts his thumb to the corner of his mouth like he’s wiping something away. Probably drool.
“Hey man, we didn’t mean any disrespect. If she’s with you,” the one I ran into starts, backing off, hands in the air like someone’s pointing a gun at him.
“Get your hands off the lady,” the first man repeats and the one who was holding me around the middle releases me. The instant my feet touch ground, I run a few feet away, only then stopping and turning to look at the scene, to see the two men who just probably saved me from something terrible happening.
My heart races as I look at the first one, the one who sounded familiar. I can’t see his face because his mask is still on, and it hides more than half of it. But his is a Phantom of the Opera sort of mask. Not sinister like the others.
I watch as they exchange words I can’t hear, and I don’t know what they say but my assailants go running back toward the house, to another door near the one I came out of, then disappear inside.
The remaining two turn to me, and I find myself taking a step backward. As soon as I do, the one with the Phantom mask raises his hands, palms toward me.
“Are you all right?” he asks, bending to pick up my shoes which I must have dropped.
I nod.
“Probably not a good idea to be out here alone,” the other one says, and I can see him look me over in the moonlight. I can’t see the color of their eyes, but I take in other details, like a tattoo that’s creeping out of the collar of his shirt.
“Don’t worry, he looks scarier than he is,” Phantom-mask man says, and I turn to him, try to school my features.
“I didn’t mean to stare,” I say quickly, and as if the weight of what just happened, what could have happened, combined with the champagne I’ve drunk, hits me in that instant, I feel my knees give way as I drop to the ground, unconscious.