Page 6 of Masked Intentions in Pelican Point
Allison exhales. "There is no curse."
I don't look at her. "History suggests people do reckless things around this mask. Belief doesn't matter. Outcome does. Keep your heads on straight."
A houseman raises a tentative hand. "What if a guest puts on a replica mask and goes... strange?"
"Then you call it in," Allison says. "Don't touch unless they're a threat. Use your words first."
"Your words," I echo, "and your radios. Channel three is event net. One is house security. Two is medical. Test them now."
Radios chirp, voices confirm. I nod at Allison. "Perimeter."
She steps forward. "Gates have cameras and motion sensors. Roving pairs cover garden paths. Two on the seawall. Anything out of place—packages, bags—you don't open it. You report and hold until cleared."
I pivot to the case. "Case is triple secured. Power fails, bolts hold. Glass is scored, pressure equalizes. Buys us time. Anyone too near this case who isn't me, Ms. Bennett, or the Murphys, you challenge them."
A guard leans back, testing me. "And if they don't stop?"
"Then you make them stop," Allison says coldly. "But if you lay a hand on a guest without cause, you'll regret it. Control your temper and your fear."
"Questions?" I ask.
An older maid raises a hand. "We heard a catering van went missing. Do we worry?"
"We prepare," I say. "Could be logistics, could be staging. Treat it as a warning. Extra eyes on deliveries. Nobody through a back door without badge and escort."
Allison tilts her chin. "Say it back."
Blank stares. She points at a server. "You. Repeat it."
The woman swallows. "No one through a back door without a badge and an escort."
"Good," Allison says. "Next." The pattern continues, a steady call and response, each answer drawing the staff a little straighter, a little more focused.
When the last voice fades, I finish. "If you get scared, breathe. If you feel stupid, ask. If you see something wrong, speak. We don't lose this mask on my watch."
Allison adds, voice even. "And we don't lose you on mine."
A few of the staff glance between us, their posture shifting. They respond to her differently than to me—less drilled, more anchored. My tone makes them snap to attention, hers makes them believe they’ll survive the night. It rankles, but it also explains why Fitz trusts her here.
Her words land heavier than mine, pulling the staff straighter. I let the silence hang. "Break. Hydrate. Posts in fifteen."
The team files out, a buzz of voices trailing. Staff shift uncomfortably, caught in the undercurrent. Then I dismiss them, and they scatter like gulls before a storm.
Allison stays behind. She lingers at the back of the room, her gaze locked on me as if daring me to move first. The door clicks shut, and we’re alone.
"You enjoyed that," I say.
Her lips tilt. "Watching them listen to me? Absolutely. Watching you try not to mind? Even better."
I cross the space between us slowly, deliberately. "They listened because they sensed conviction. Doesn't matter if it came from you or me."
Her eyes narrow. "You don't like sharing control."
"I don't share." I stop inches away. "I take."
For a heartbeat, silence stretches. Her chin lifts, proud and defiant. "And what if I don't give?"
My voice drops. "Then we'll find out how long you can hold your ground."
