The Mask of New Paris ✓

XIV. A Mardi Gras Masquerade

I am standing with Farah in the kitchen, preparing chicken fricassee when Reed enters and drops his briefcase on the counter. He shares a tired sigh before he struts down the hallway and leaves us in the kitchen without a word being said. Frowning, I reach to prepare a glass of fresh lemonade, a slice of lemon drifting on top.

Before I even dare to touch the doorknob, I knock calmly on Reed's office door, remembering the first night we shared in this house together. The urge with which he wanted to avoid me roaming in his office.

After it remains silent, I try the door. It is unlocked. Creaking, the wood shoves out of place and shows me the office that Reed tries to keep me away from. Surrounded with dark wood, a single burgundy carpet is the sole difference from the natural material.

My eyes are immediately glued towards the figure sitting with his back to me, the round shape of his leather chair obscuring bits and pieces of his magnificent posture. The setting light coming from the big window behind him, illuminates his edges as if he's covered with a halo. The memory of our wedding day, Reed standing in front of the colored glass of the church of Eauville, tingles my senses.

Upon hearing my arrival, Reed doesn't flinch. Instead his eyes are strained on the view from the magical bayou outside. The big window offers the late afternoon sun a chance to warm the room with its orange tones. But my husband has no eye for its beauty. Instead he is out of this world, in trance thinking about all the worries he has decided he has to bear all by himself.

"How was work, honey?" I break the silence, placing the glass of lemonade on the corner of his mahogany desk. The nickname doesn't seem to roll fluently over my lips even though we've now reached a more comfortable relationship with each other. Calling him anything else but Reed feels wrong.

No answer.

"Reed? Is there something I can help you with?"

Finally he looks up to me. His warm brown eyes, normally a baken of serenity and familiarity, seem distant. He shakes his head, dark strands of hair tumbling from atop of his head. His chin is resting on his hand.

Instead of speaking, he extends his hand. When I take it, his hold pulls me towards him, until I am perked up on his lap. His arms sneak around my waist and his forehead leans between my shoulderblades. A shaking sigh escapes him.

"Banner was killed today." Are the first words that he mutters to the fabric of my dress.

"I thought he was on the better hand?" I ask, confusion clear in every word I say.

Edgar Banner, the councilman who was attacked a while ago, was normally no longer in critical condition. The radio even dared to say it wouldn't take long until the councilman could testify against the two suspects the Night Guards had arrested.

"He was smothered to death in his hospital bed."

A gasp escapes me. "How awful."

"It only confirms my suspicions, though." Reed continues to talk, his voice soft and silent.

I turn around on his lap, facing my husband. His dark eyes scan over my face, his hand lingers at my cheek.

"I am sorry about the mess this will all bring."

"Reed, please tell me. I know you want to protect me by not sayin', but you can't just toss out phrases like that and then expect me not to care."

He shakes his head. When he raises his gaze towards me again, the distant look in his eyes is replaced by a shimmer I can't place yet.

"I am not certain, Belle, besides I need you to be uninformed for just a little longer." He taps on my thigh to make me rise up from his lap. I watch curious as Reed stands up and stalks towards one of the bookcases filled with binders.