Fiends. Part 31

The lights came up.

Allan walked into the night. By the time he'd walked a block, he was alone.

His mouth was dry. His heart thudded. His legs trembled.

He gave no thought to the windows above the street, barely glanced through the accordion gates of the closed shops, paid no attention to pa.s.sing cars, looked into dark entryways and the gaps between buildings and the alleys for no reason other than to search for her. As he hurried along, he noticed a few derelicts. He saw them, felt neither fear nor disgust, and turned his eyes away to look for the masked woman.

Finally, he came to the block where he'd encountered her. The sidewalk stretched ahead of him, deserted. He slowed his pace. He gazed at the corner.

Where are you?

Maybe I'm early. No. If anything, Cabinet was five or six minutes longer than Nosferatu. Maybe I'm too late, then.

But if she'd come this way, we should've run into each other already.

Maybe she stayed home tonight. Or chose a different route.

He stopped. It was just about here that he'd been halted by the sight of her. She'd appeared from the right, walked to the corner and turned her back to him as if intending to cross the street. It was here that he'd been standing when she turned around.

He waited.

Dribbles of sweat slid down his sides.

I ought to just keep walking. If she doesn't show, she doesn't show.

He checked his wrist.w.a.tch. One twenty-eight.

Give her five minutes.

When he looked up from his watch, she was already past the corner and striding toward him.

He gasped and staggered backward.

Cool it! he told himself. This is it. You wanted to see her, here she is.

The silver fabric shrouding her face s.h.i.+mmered and swayed as she walked. Her hair gleamed in the streetlights. Instead of shorts and a blouse like last week, she wore a dress. It looked purple and s.h.i.+ny. It hung from her shoulders by narrow straps, draped the swells of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, tapered down to a sash at her waist, flared out at her hips and drifted against her striding thighs. It was very short. Her legs looked long and sleek. She wore sandals, not shoes and socks.

Allan's heart thundered.

She's gorgeous! Except for that d.a.m.n mask. What horrors did it conceal?

She must be mad. No sane woman would walk these streets at such an hour - and not in a dress like that!

Don't just stand here, gaping at her.

He started walking toward her.

Her sandals made soft clapping sounds on the concrete. Her skirt briefly took on the shape of each thigh that swept against it. The ends of the sash swung by her side. The silken fabric clinging to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s trembled and jiggled.

Maybe she is a wh.o.r.e, after all.

If so, she might wear the mask merely to conceal her ident.i.ty. Or to make her look enigmatic. Her face might not be ghastly, after all.

Now, only a few strides separated Allan from the woman.

In the darkness behind the mask's eye slots, he could see nothing except mere specks of reflected light. A vague hint of lips showed through the slot at her mouth.

I've got to say something. Apologize. At least.

He was walking straight toward her, so he angled to his right. Her head turned.

He managed a smile.

They pa.s.sed each other.

He breathed in her perfume. A scent so strange and delicious it forced him to sigh, to look back at her.

She halted as if she felt his gaze.

*Excuse me?' he said. d.a.m.n, but he sounded like a scared kid! She turned around.

*Do you remember me?' he asked.

*Oh, yes.' Her voice was low, breathy. In spite of the narrow gap at her mouth, it stirred the mask like a soft breeze.

*Ia I guess I kind ofa lost my cool last week. I'm really glad you came along.' He shrugged. *I wanted to apologize.'

*Apologize? For running from me?' she asked.

*I'm really sorry.'

*What's your name?'

He hesitated. *Allan.'

*Allan what?'

She wants my last name? Good G.o.d, she'd be able to look me up, find me. *Hawthorne,' he lied. *Allan Hawthorne.'

She stepped toward him, mask and dress glimmering, and reached out her hand. Allan shook it. But when he tried to let go, her fingers tightened. She held him in a firm, warm grip. *I'm Ligeia,' she said.

The name surprised him. *Really? Ligeia? There's a story by Poea'

*I know,' she said in her strange, hushed voice.

*I really like Poe.'

*We have that in common, then. Come with me.' She pulled him by the hand. And kept his hand in hers as she led him slowly down the sidewalk.

*Uha Where are we going?'

*Does it matter?'

*I don't know.'

*You're free to leave, if that's your wish.'

*No. No, that's okay.'

She nodded slightly, then turned her head forward.

Allan hoped to see under her mask, but it curved around the side of her face, hiding her almost to the ear. It hung from a headband, a folded scarf that was tied at the back. The way the silver cloth was tucked in over the top of the scarf, it flowed down smoothly except for a slight b.u.mp made by the tip of her nose. Her chin didn't seem to touch the draping fabric at all.

They walked in silence for a while.

He wished she would say something.

Finally, he broke the silence himself. *I really felt awful about running away.'

She stopped and turned toward him. *It was this,' she said. Her other hand came up. Her fingertips glided down the glossy mask, easing it inward. Ever so briefly as the fingers slid down, the mask took on the contours of her face. Though her eyes remained hidden, Allan glimpsed a veiled suggestion of slender nose and cheeks. Her lips appeared for an instant, bare in the opening. Her fingers drifted the fabric against a small bulge of chin. Then she breathed. The hints of her face dissolved behind a silver tremor.

Allan tried to swallow. He wished his heart would slow down.

*I frighten you, don't I?'

*A little,' he whispered. *I guess.'

*We fear the unknown,' she said. *But we're enthralled by it.'

*Yes.'

*Do I enthrall you, Allan?'

He let out a small, nervous laugh. *I don't know. You surea make me curious.'

*You wonder what the mask hides.'

*Yes. Anda and why you walk around at an hour like this.'

*So I won't be seen.'

*But why?'

*My face, of course. Come along.' She turned away, pulling at his hand, and they resumed walking. *I like the night,' she said. *It holds such secrets.'

*But its dangerous.'

*Not for me. The mask protects me. People keep their distance. They take me for a madwoman.'

*I guessa I was afraid of that, myself.'

*I know.'

*You're not, though.'

*You don't think so?'

*Hope not.'

Laughing softly, she squeezed his hand. *I think I like you, Allan.'

*I think I like you, too.'

*Shall we be friends?'

*Sure,' he said.

She looked at him. *Are you sure?'

*Yeah. I mean, why not?'

*You're still frightened of me, aren't you?'

*A little, maybe.'

*I won't hurt you.'

*It's justa you know, the mask. If I could see your facea Is ita is something wrong with it?'

*My face is my own.'

*How can we be friends if you're hiding behind a mask, if you won't let me see what you look like?'

She gave no answer, but led him into an alley. His mouth went dry. His heart slammed. As they left the lights of the street behind, he peered into the darkness. High walls on both sides. Dumpsters ahead. But no lurking derelicts that he could see. Though the alley appeared deserted, he trembled with dread and excitement.

Ligeia halted. She put her hands on his shoulders.

*Is my face so important?' she asked.

Oh, G.o.d! She's going to take off the mask. Now. Right here in the alley. In the dark.

*Is it?' she asked again.

*Uh. I guess not. Not really.'

*You said we can't be friends unless you know what I look like.'

*That isn't quite whata'