The Mask That Sang by Susan Currie Page A

her.
    They soon came upon a building with a wide front porch and an arched doorway. Painted above the doorway were pictures of animals—a wolf, a deer, a turtle, some kind of bird, and others. Words were also painted there: Turtle Island Healing Center .
    An aroma wafted out of the open front doors, where people were walking in and out. Cass suddenly remembered that she had passed a place of plenty and abundance in her dream, with sweet smells.
    â€œIs it a restaurant?” Cass said.
    â€œNope. It helps people.” Degan spoke respectfully. “They do classes, how to find jobs, how to raise your kids, how to get over bad stuff. They have open dinners too. You can go there for a meal. My aunt does some healing circle work with them.”
    The music was building in Cass now, insistent, pounding.
    â€œIt’s close. Turn here.”
    They turned the corner and came upon the store with the large glass window and the sign that read Ray’s Pawnshop .

chapter fifteen
    It was like a dream, but it was really happening. The mask was really here, really inside the pawnshop, Cass was sure of it.
    In a daze, she turned the knob and pulled open the glass door. It jingled, a fact that barely registered in her mind. Her regular senses felt dulled, and other phantom senses inside her seemed to be engaging instead.
    She and Degan stepped through the doorway.
    The man behind the counter was looking at his phone. He had long hair and a beard and was leaning back in his chair. He sat upright when he saw them. He looked them up and down, his eyes lingering on Degan a bit longer than on Cass. As if there was something a little untrustworthy about Degan.
    â€œHey, kids,” he said. “Looking for something?”
    â€œJust browsing,” Degan said. His face had taken on that neutral expression it had worn when Cass first met him. Closed suddenly.
    â€œBackpacks up here,” the man said.
    Cass and Degan put their backpacks on the counter.
    â€œYou got money, son?”
    â€œUh-huh,” Degan said.
    â€œShow me.”
    Degan pulled out some coins and a battered bill from his pocket.
    â€œOkay,” said the man, waving them on.
    They turned down the first aisle, and the singing inside Cass grew stronger and warmer. Like an animal following a scent, she lifted her head to hear it better.
    Turn here , the singers called.
    And here .
    She was only dimly aware of Degan following her. The mask was just ahead, just around the next aisle.
    She took a breath and walked around the last set of shelves. She closed her eyes, willing it to be there.
    She opened her eyes.
    The music burst in her head, for the mask was hanging there on the wall.
    Cass gave a little cry and jumped forward. She couldn’t stop herself. She ran her hands down that hair, along the line of the chin. The eyes didn’t scare her now, nor did the distorted, half-smiling mouth.
    â€œHere you are,” she whispered. “Here you are.”
    She couldn’t have said how long she was caught in that electric reunion. It could have been seconds or hours. But she was startled awake when Degan touched her shoulder gently.
    â€œI have six dollars and forty-three cents,” he said. “Do you have anything?”
    She shook her head to get the dizziness out. Then she felt inside her pockets, although she already knew the answer.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œLet’s find out how much money we need.” Degan’s calm voice helped to fix her to the earth again.
    Cass followed him to the counter. She realized that she had never thought about needing money. Somehow she had assumed that the mask would simply be coming home with her. But now she saw that the man would never release the mask that easily.
    Degan stood awkwardly before the counter.
    The man looked up from his phone. “Can I help you?”
    Degan said in a clear voice: “The mask. In aisle four. How much is it?” His face twitched slightly, but he