Halloween: Magic, Mystery, and the Macabre (22 page)

Not yet, but someday I will.

As we walked down a tight corridor, the wood squeaked and

flexed under our boots.

“The water is intent on reclaiming its territory,” he said. “Most of the neighbors have moved all their furniture up to the higher levels because of the frequent flooding.”

The reason they hadn’t retreated to the upper floors sat in an

oversized chair. The woman’s large girth and misshapen legs were a bad combination for walking, let alone climbing stairs.

The young man handed the box to his mother. When she pulled

out the mask to examine it, I glanced around the room. Two ladies

who resembled the young man—probably his older sisters—sat

on a lumpy couch. His father sat in the wooden rocking chair. The

runners had warped and it moved in fits and starts. Thump, thump,

thud, bang.

None of the family wore masks. I stared at the floor feeling almost scandalized even though this was their home. Bang, thud, thump,

thump.

“Excellent work, Miss Salvatori,” Mistress Cattaneo said in a

high-pitched musical voice.

“Thank you,” I said, uncertain.

Thump, thump, thud, bang.

“She’s the one, right?” her son asked.

“Yes, Enzo. You did well.” She set the mask on a nearby table and

reached for another box by her chair, setting it in her lap.

Enzo smirked at the ladies on the couch. They scowled back at

him.

Bang, thud, thump, thump.

[166] THE HALLOWEEN MEN

Unease swirled in my chest. Abandoning politeness, I said, “The

balance is due on delivery, Mistress.”

“Of course. Enzo, pay her.”

He strode to a desk and yanked on a drawer. It squealed and then

stuck tight.

Thump, thump, thud, bang.

“We’d like to place another order,” she said.

“Certainly, just stop by the shop—”

“Not for
those
masks.” She tsked. Opening the box, she held up one of my butterfly-shaped Columbina
s
. “I need two dozen more of these.”

Expecting the Halloween Men to jump out of the shadows, I

backed away. “I . . . they’re not . . . I don’t . . . Eep!”

Enzo blocked the doorway. Was he this muscular and tall

before?

“Relax, we’ll keep your secret,” he said.

“I . . . ”

Bang, thud, thump, thump.

“I didn’t want to work through your agent, who refused to name

you. We have a big New Year’s party planned,” Mistress Cattaneo

said. “We’ll pay you three times what your father charges
.
”

“How did . . . ?”

“Each of the
mascherari
has a distinctive style,” Enzo said. “We checked every shop in town, looking for yours. Imagine our surprise when you turned out to be Master Salvatori’s daughter.”

And imagine mine. If he found me so easily, so could . . . “The

Halloween Men won’t—”

“Let us worry about them,” she said, waving away my concern.

“We’ve invited all our clients, including the Medico Della Peste and once
he
sees your unique creations, the whole city will be clamoring for them. Your anonymity will only add to the allure.”

Thump, thump, thud, bang.

I paused. The Medico Della Peste ruled over the city. If he was

a client, it meant this family didn’t work in the factories, but owned them. This meeting was a setup. Did they even live here?

Bang, thud, thump, thump.

MARIA V. SNYDER [167]

Scanning their faces, I considered. They didn’t appear

apprehensive about the Halloween Men. Bianca’s family was the same way. They followed the laws so they shouldn’t have to be terrified.

Neither should I.

And now was the perfect time to shed the fear. I gathered my

courage. “I’m interested, but I can’t make them in my father’s shop.”

“We have plenty of space you can use,” Mistress Cattaneo said.

My thoughts raced. I’d still have to follow my father’s rules and I couldn’t keep up with the late nights. I drew in a breath—time to be bold. “I’d like a sponsorship to set up my own shop.”

Thump, thump, thud, bang.

The details had been easy to work out. The Cattaneo family would

become my patrons, setting me up in the house on Canal Street to

start. They owned the entire row of homes and had used the currently empty one forty-two to make me feel more comfortable—apparently

I had a reputation for being . . . skittish.

Once I’d made enough money to pay them back and be self-

sufficient, I’d open my own shop. The deal seemed too good to be

true, but Mistress Cattaneo assured me she didn’t need interest on her investment, she wanted my masks.

The hard part would be telling my father.

I waited until after Enzo brought me the paperwork to sign a

week after they’d agreed to sponsor me. His family had cleaned

out the moldy furniture in one forty-two and converted the upper

three stories to a workroom and living quarters for me. The speed

of the renovations impressed me and confirmed the Cattaneo family

was well connected. Surely, the Halloween Men would never arrest

them.

Filling a box with my masks that had languished in my

father’s showroom—getting rid of the evidence, according to my

conscience—I summoned my courage. As expected, he came out

from the back room to see what I’d been doing. I blurted out my

plans in a gush of words.

“You’re a fool,” he said. “The Cattaneo family will not be able to protect you.”

[168] THE HALLOWEEN MEN

“From what, Father? I’ve broken no laws. I’m of age and it’s a

legal agreement.”

His gaze burned right through me, reminding me of the

Halloween Men on the street corners. Sweat dripped under my

mask. The desire to flee from his anger pulsed through my body, but I stayed, determined to see this through.

“Haven’t you been listening to me all these years? They don’t need evidence to arrest you. Suspicion and rumors are all they need.”

“Suspicion and rumors about what? Other than telling me of

crimes and punishments, you never give me details. Maybe if you

told me why Mother was taken, I’d understand.”

He jerked back as if I had just slapped him.

“I saw them. What did she do?” I asked.

“You saw . . . ?” He recovered a bit. “What did you see, Antonel a?”

“I saw enough.” I yanked off my mask. Cool air caressed my hot

skin. “You should be happy I’m leaving. Then there’s no chance of

seeing my face. Of seeing what you lost.”

Openmouthed, he stared at me. I returned to packing.

A pounding on the door shattered my concentration. I jerked in

surprise, knocking over a container of beads. My heart beat extra

fast as I peeked out the window of my workroom. Bianca pressed

against the door. Relief coursed through me. When would I be able

to hear knocking without panicking?

Bianca banged again with her free hand. She held a white box in

the other and she’d hitched her robe up to avoid soaking the hem in the ankle-deep water. I hurried down two flights of stairs to let her in.

She surged in with a wave of water, sputtering with exasperation.

“You could have warned me to wear my waders.”

I closed and locked the door behind her. “You said you’d be here

this morning. That’s low tide.” Then when she continued to gaze at me, I added, “Sorry.”

“It’s worth the soggy socks to see your face, Nella.”

I ducked my head. The desire to cover my cheeks and nose flared.

It would take more than a week for me to get comfortable with being MARIA V. SNYDER [169]

with people without my mask on. “You saw me last Halloween at

your party.”

“Barely. You arrived with your mask on, and then after an hour

of hiding in a dark corner, you left.”

“I wasn’t hiding.”

“So you say. This year you are to leave your mask at home and

you
must
mingle. I invited Enzo Cattaneo and he accepted.”

“Bianca!” My fingers itched to tie on my Columbina and hide

the flush of heat in my face. Enzo had visited me every day since I’d moved here. Each time I had my mask firmly in place.

She held up two fingers. “You have two weeks to get used to

the idea.” Then she handed me the box. “Here are the pastries for

Mistress Cattaneo to sample. They’re all colored and shaped to

match the butterfly masks, and the decorator will have examples of the complimentary decorations for her soon.” Bianca twirled. “Our

first client!”

In my head, my father’s voice muttered,
if this party is a failure,
she’ll be your last
. I gritted my teeth. It had been easier to move out of his house than evict him from my thoughts.

After Bianca left, I settled my favorite Columbina on the bridge

of my nose and tied the ribbon. The familiar pressure helped me

concentrate on my work and kept Master-follow-the-rules-to-the-

extreme Salvatori at bay.

The squeaky left wheel of my old rusted cart didn’t quite cover the click-clack of boots following me. I tried hard all day to ignore the Halloween Men. Their interest in me was no different than the other masked citizens shopping in the crowded market piazza in the misty drizzle. Plus they all dressed the same, no way to confirm a certain two took particular notice of me. I was being overly fearful.

But after I left the busy downtown and headed for the quiet rows

of homes, it became difficult to ignore my fears. In fact, they lingered and grew until sweat caused the cart to slip from my grip, spilling its contents onto the wet pavement.

I scooped up my packages in a panic, but it didn’t matter. Mere

steps away, the Halloween Men stopped to help.

[170] THE HALLOWEEN MEN

“Good evening, Miss Salvatori,” the shorter Halloween Man said

as he righted my cart.

All moisture fled my mouth. I rasped. “Good evening, sirs.”

“Returning home?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“We noticed you moved from your father’s house. I hope under

pleasant circumstances?” He took the bundles from me and stacked

them in the cart while his partner picked up the remaining mess on the ground.

My insides twisted. They’d been watching me. “Ah . . . yes. I’m

starting my own mask shop.” I touched my Columbina, ensuring it

remained in place.

He aimed a soul-burning stare at me. “We haven’t seen any

paperwork . . . ”

“Eventually. I’ve a patron right now.” But they already knew all

this. So why bother to ask?

“Ah, yes. The Cattaneo family. An interesting . . . choice for a patron.

Their reputation is . . . well known. Perhaps you should resume your apprenticeship with your father. His reputation is . . . well regarded.”

“I will think about it, sirs.”

“You should do more than think. He’ll keep you out of trouble,

Miss Salvatori.”

In a blur of motion, the Halloween Man pulled on the end of one

of my ribbons holding my Columbina in place.

“No,” I cried as the silky material slid then held tight, jerking my head to the side. I’d double knotted it, but I still pressed my hand to my mask in case he tried again.

“See? He has already taught you well. Most of the citizens are

trusting fools. With one yank on their ribbons we have cause to

arrest them. Understand?”

Fear swept through every part of my body. “Yes, sir.”

They touched the brim of their black leather hats with tips of

their right fingers in what might have been a salute before heading toward downtown.

My heart resumed beating in a sudden rush. If my mask had

fallen off . . . Could they really arrest me if they were the ones who MARIA V. SNYDER [171]

caused it? That would be cheating, even illegal. But I suspected they didn’t care.

Once I calmed down, I analyzed the Halloween Men’s comments and

didn’t like what they’d implied. After I dumped my supplies in my

workroom, I rushed over to my father’s shop. The showroom was

empty, but he heard the bell and came out from the back room. We

stared at each other in the semi-darkness for a moment.

“What happened?” he asked. Neither anger nor annoyance

colored his tone.

I told him about my encounter with the Halloween Men. “Did

you tell them about my masks?”

“Of course not. You are my daughter.”

It took a moment for that simple sentence to sink in. The

feelings behind it were more than just a statement of fact. They

implied . . . affection. “Why are the Halloween Men so against my

masks?”

“Because they will become popular. The other
mascherari
will copy you and even our everyday masks will transform into exotic

shapes and designs. The Halloween Men don’t want that. When they

invaded hundreds of years ago, they used the masks to remind us of our sins. Masks were once used to cover those who had been deemed

ugly by our citizens. Beauty had been valued above all else and those considered unworthy had been forced to wear a mask in public. Due

to our ancestors’ vanity, the masks are a burden we must all bear, a punishment. They’ll arrest all the
mascherari
and those who survive will return to making stark utilitarian masks.”

“How do you know all this?”

“You’re not the first to embel ish masks. Every generation has at least one of the
mascherari
who goes against convention. The Hal oween Men have learned this and now stop the cycle before it can even begin.”

And then it clicked, explaining that box in the attic. “Mother did it, too.”

“No.”

“But she—”

“The Halloween Men came for
me
that night, Antonella. Your