House Party

[Nesrin Aziz]

His hand snapped up, completely unexpectedly considering how out of it he’d seemed. The grip on her was pinching, and while it certainly felt like a restraint of flesh, the isolated movement seemed anything but human right then. The mask’s eyes swivelled as it plucked her touch free, turning to stare silently down upon her. There wasn’t anything to interpret in its neon glow, and the Emissary did not speak. It felt strangely like a machine – an automaton.

Fear swelled bright in her chest, and her eyes flared wide, but Nesrin was a committed opportunist. Her thoughts raced as fast as her heartbeat. Around them the blaring music stuttered and the lights went wild. The coincidence filled her with unease. Yet as bulbs popped overhead and the lights died again, she shifted subtly in the same moment. His silence and inaction emboldened her.

She was surprised to discover his pockets were not empty, given the venue. But then his guise was not just a party favour fetish, it was him, so far as the rumours said. Light fingertips found the hard corners of a wallet (discarded – she wasn’t that stupid). The jagged edge of keys. She flexed her caught hand as a distraction while she lifted with the other, though the Emissary still seemed unaware, then tried to pull her wrist free from him. The fingers banding it did not even resist. What the hell was it? She was caught between curiosity and self-preservation.