Free Masks and Shadows by Stephanie Burgis

his own wit and raised the stein for a hearty swig.
    â€œIt wasn’t a ghost,” Friedrich muttered.
    â€œWhat was that?” Lautzner’s friend lowered his stein, frowning.
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œYou have a problem with what I said, von Höllner?”
    â€œNo,” Friedrich said, frowning back. “I just said, it wasn’t a ghost.” He attempted a careless shrug. “All right?”
    Anton stepped up beside him, laying down his cue stick. “Of course it wasn’t. We aren’t peasants here, to believe in that nonsense, are we?” He stared down Lautzner’s friend. “Are we?”
    â€œNever said we were,” the man muttered. “If that’s what he meant . . .”
    Anton smiled and stepped back. “It was probably just a pair of hungry wolves. Perfectly straightforward.”
    â€œWolves? In the summer months?” Lautzner shook his head. “That’s a mad idea. They only attack men when they’re starving and desperate. This time of year they’ve got hares . . . mice . . . sheep . . .” He grinned. “And anyway, who ever heard of a wolf who drank blood?”
    Friedrich swiveled back to the table as the argument developed. He could feel his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.
    It wasn’t a ghost .
    Black robes formed again in his mind, settling silently into place. Men playing at silly dress-up games, he would have said, and laughed, had anyone described the scene to him. But in the guttering candlelight, it hadn’t been amusing. And some of those hoods hadn’t surrounded faces; he’d been certain of that. Only black, empty voids had shown beneath—voids a man could be sucked into, screaming, as he lost his sanity. And some of those foot-covering robes hadn’t bothered to touch the ground . . .
    No . He lashed out with his cue stick, wildly off-target, and sent balls spinning across the table. He’d been drunk. End of story .
    But he’d received their letter scant hours before this attack. Could it really be coincidence? Or was it sheer, bloody-minded Fate come home to crush him for all the stupid decisions he’d made in the past, like—oh, yes, so especially like—following a new friend down that slippery trapdoor passageway in Vienna, all those months ago . . .
    God . What if tonight had been aimed at him? They would have known he’d find out, known that he’d be frightened. What if it was a warning? A threat of what would happen if he didn’t follow their damned orders?
    â€œNot likely, my lad.”
    It took Friedrich a paralyzed moment to realize that Anton was talking about his last move. Anton gazed at the scattered balls on the table and shook his head, smirking.
    â€œYou’re never going to win against me playing that way. I’m afraid you’re going to lose our wager tonight, von Höllner.”
    â€œJust trying to throw you off your guard.” Friedrich wiped a hand across his forehead and tried to grin back.
    â€œA feeble attempt.” Anton tossed down another stein of beer and picked up his cue stick. “I’m going to really enjoy my winnings this time.”
    â€œWe’ll see about that.”
    For once, though, Friedrich couldn’t make himself enjoy the thrill of the wager. Thirty gulden from Prince Nikolaus’s purse, passing through Friedrich, straight back to Anton Esterházy, the Prince’s cousin . . . What did it matter, in the larger scale of things? Not much, compared to the threat of gory murder.
    â€œI think that letter’s still throwing you off,” Anton said, as he aimed his cue stick. He raised his voice to carry through the room. “Von Höllner got a love letter from Vienna today, fellows . . .”
    Hoots of derision and laughter filled the air. Friedrich sighed.
    â€œEsterházy . . .”
    â€œMade him go as white as chalk, it did.” Anton swept another two balls into