Slippery Silver

an excerpt

There within her open hands laid the invitation. Her name written in perfect cursive. “Celeste, you are invited.” The gathering would take place just after Christmas. The location was north of the city, where expanses of farmland had been converted into private property developments. An internet search revealed the satellite view of a very large house. It was never clear who among them was the host as no one presented themselves as such and so the host remained nebulous and no one questioned it further. The curated guest list brought together twenty individuals, sometimes more, sometimes less, of unique qualities and tastes. The address was always somewhere different - a labyrinthine cellar, a musky dance hall, a dressing chamber in an abandoned theatre. She turned the invitation over in her hand, felt the weight and quality of the paper, and delighted in the colour of its text - silver.