Page 25 of Masked Intentions in Pelican Point
We move through the panicking crowd, following service corridors toward the basement levels. The temperature drops as we descend, and I hear it again—the drumming that has haunted me since I first touched the mask's case. But now it's stronger, more urgent, coming from somewhere below us.
"Someone’s performing a ritual," Nolan breathes as we reach the lower levels. "Using the mask as a focus."
The stone corridors beneath Saltmoor feel older than the house above, carved from living rock that predates European settlement. Symbols I don't recognize are etched into the walls—not Spanish colonial decorations, but something far more ancient.
"Calusa," Nolan confirms when I point them out. "This place was sacred long before the founders of Pelican Point built here."
The drumming grows louder, accompanied now by chanting in that same unknown language I heard during my vision. But it's wrong somehow, the pronunciation harsh and guttural, as if someone is trying to speak words they don't truly understand.
We follow a narrow stairway that spirals down into the bedrock. The air grows thick with the scent of burning sage and something else—copper and salt, like old blood. At the bottom, candlelight flickers through a partially open door.
I motion for Nolan to stay back and peer through the gap.
A man I later learn is a disgraced antiquities dealer called Victor Dreschner kneels in the center of a ritual circle, the authentic Reina de Oro mask gleaming in his hands. Around him, candles burn in precise geometric patterns, and the stone walls are covered with freshly painted symbols that hurt to look at directly.
But something has gone wrong with his ceremony. The mask pulses with its own light, brighter than it should be, and Dreschner's chanting has taken on a desperate edge. Sweat beads his forehead despite the chamber's cold, and his hands shake as they grip the golden artifact.
"Tamuk chiska miskito!" he cries, and this time other voices answer—not his own echoes, but distinct entities speaking through the gathering spiritual energy.
The mask flares brilliant white, and Dreschner screams as he lifts it toward his face. I see the moment when the spirits take notice of him, when ancient intelligences decide to accept his offered bargain.
"Now," I whisper, and we move.
When Dreschner puts on the mask, his carefully orchestrated performance triggers something unexpected. The combination of an authentic Calusa artifact, blood ritual, and accumulated spiritual energy from hundreds of gathered people creates a genuine spiritual breach. What he intended as theater becomes a real summoning.
The transformation begins subtly—his movements becoming more fluid, his eyes reflecting light that isn't there. But within seconds, something fundamental shifts. The air around him thickens like water, and the temperature drops so fast that frost spreads across the stone walls of the hidden chamber.
"Dreschner," Nolan calls.
I train my weapon trained on him. "Take off the mask. Now."
He turns toward me, and I see immediately that the man is no longer alone in his own body. Multiple voices speak when he opens his mouth, layered harmonies in a language that predated European contact with the Americas.
"The keeper comes at last. Too late, as always."The words ring with authority that makes the stone foundations of Saltmoor House vibrate.
Nolan steps beside me, his own voice steady despite the supernatural chaos. "You're not Dreschner anymore, are you?"
CHAPTER 10
ALLISON
The thing wearing Dreschner's face smiles with too many teeth. The spirits' voices layer through Dreschner's consciousness, and I realize they're not malevolent—they're confused. Centuries of isolation have warped their purpose. They were meant to protect, but Dreschner's selfish summoning offered them only hunger and revenge.
“What do you actually want?” I ask, addressing the entities directly rather than their unwilling host.
"We are legion. Warriors who refused the final crossing, shamans who bound themselves to sacred trusts, guardians who have waited centuries for purpose."The mask has fused to Dreschner's skin, gold flowing like liquid across his features."This one called us. This one offered himself willingly."
"Let him go," I demand.
"Why? He sought power over life and death. We have granted his wish—eternal service as our vessel."
Dreschner's body moves with inhuman grace, rising from the ritual circle without apparent effort. When his feet touch the stone floor, frost spreads outward in perfect geometric patterns. The candles around the chamber flare bright enough to throw dancing shadows that look like warriors preparing for battle.
"You cannot stop what has already begun,"the possessed figure continues."The mask has tasted the life force of hundreds tonight. We have strength enough to manifest in your world permanently."
Nolan pulls out a small pouch of what looks like tobacco and ash. "You're wrong about one thing. I'm not just a keeper—I'm a guardian. My grandmother taught me the old ways."
"Seminole," the spirits hiss through Dreschner's mouth. "Calusa blood runs thin in you, child of two worlds."
