Rooks and Romanticide Read Online Free PDF Page A

greasepaint, fall into bed, and sleep.
    But even that would not be easy, because the moment his head hit the pillow, his mind would probably refuse to rest and consume him with business concerns and vital items of contemplation—
    There , shifting through the crowd, subtle, but not quite subtle enough—an obvious glance in his direction from behind the black mask he’d noticed earlier.
    The eerie black mask, which stood out to him in this mass of eerie masks and clowns and monsters, painted faces, tributes to the spooky. The black mask that was simple but effective and looked like a raven.
    Cain met the eyes behind the mask and startled to find them staring right back—in fact holding his for a distinct moment—before the mask disappeared into the crowd and was lost again in the sea of faces.
    â€œMy lord—”
    Cain looked over. Butler’s uniform clean and crisp, Dietrich crest flashing in the light, Weston stepped closer and leaned to speak into Cain’s ear, confidential as always.
    â€œThose on guard tonight have sent me with an update of security,” he said, voice like the last dry leaf rattling on a tree in winter. “They’ve located a rather rambunctious group. They send their promises to keep a close watch on these persons and will send periodic updates should anything urgent or significant arise.”
    Cain scoffed wearily. He crossed his arms. “There’s always something , no matter what the hell’s going on. That’s just the way it is. Tell Security ‘Very well, then, but don’t slack on the rest of your duties for some simple delinquency.’ Thank you, Weston.”
    He left Weston and followed the wall to the other side of the ballroom, where all the multipaned doors stood open upon the courtyard. The night air beckoned him, refreshing and cool, and he dropped his hood and pulled his half mask off as he stepped out onto the stone. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
    It was much better out here, under the moon and the lights strung up along the balconies and eaves of the manor. People out here were not really dancing, but talking, lingering, getting fresh air and sipping their drinks, and Cain didn’t mind that. The overwhelming bustle, the socializing—that was inside. Outside, it was not as constricting. Nobody would bother him. Nobody would care apart from the comments from a distance on his costume—
    There , again.
    The black mask with the feathers and the chains, the sharp nose, and little skulls at the temple.
    Before he really deemed the idea fit or not, Cain dipped into the thin crowd outside, skirting guests and waitstaff. His eyes cut over someone’s shoulder and met those behind the black mask directly. Again he was shocked to find them looking right back. He blushed, embarrassed by such brazen eye contact. He averted his glance immediately, continuing on his way to the other side of the patio as if that had been his intention in the first place.
    But there was heat on the back of his neck, obvious and heavy, and he glanced over his shoulder as he strolled to a stop below some overhanging shrubbery.
    Yes, once more.
    The man in the black mask met his eyes briefly and then vanished into the crowd again.
    A smile twitched at Cain’s mouth, amused. So the fellow wanted to play that game, did he?
    He brushed past a woman in purple silk, slipped between her and a man in a gray suit, and his smile broadened as he used his admittedly smaller stature to his advantage. He slithered through the crowd between the shoulders of others, scanning faces and glancing to and fro, and—
    Yes, the black mask.
    This close, he saw just how young the man wearing it was. Why, maybe not even that much older than Cain himself. And then he was gone again, and Cain came to a stumbling halt as a woman who smelled a little too strongly of brandy touched his arm and cried out, “O Death, where is your sting? O Grave, where