Page 61 of The Villains of Winter

Elliott persisted, “James, we need to get rid of the fire.”

James rinsed off the blood in the rushing, rapid water of the river, and shell-shocked Elliott entered the frigid waters with him. Sure enough, Perseus and Callum found the high fire that James left in the open to lure them towards his direction. Not long after, James abducted their clothes, and briefly, very briefly, he thought of executing them both.

He was not a man capable of forgiveness.

​​ CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

“THERE YOU ARE!” PROFESSOR ILARIA and the reception party attendees burst into a fresh standing ovation of ardent, vivacious applause when James arrived. “Our shining Apollōn!”

James resisted the urge to check his watch, but he found himself glancing at the mounted clock that read 9:39 AM. A surge of ease lapped him. He was early.

Relieved, James melted into a charming smile, careful to not let it reach his eyes. He perfectly performed the grieving best friend affecting a brave face, his eyes tinted red. Tissues in his hand and more tissues visibly in his pocket.

“Thank you, everyone. The production would’ve been nothing without you all,” James stated, grandly holding court, before passing it on elsewhere. “We are all indebted, of course, to the brilliance of our extraordinary visionary, Séverine Ilaria.”

As always, she swooned beneath his praise. With his cheeks cupped in her hands, she kissed him in front of everyone, right on the corners of his mouth. She ran her tongue over him briefly. “You have a spot on you, my Empyrean protégé.”

Annually, Professor Ilaria held a lengthy cast party for the successful wrap of the theater performance, replete with resplendent fruits, canapés, and libations.

As the libations commenced, James captured photographs and signed autographs, chatting as ceaselessly as the rest of the thespians who adored the sound of their own voices, covetous of any praise given to them. They greedily fed on the adoration, their eyes alive. The actors soaked in the laudation as if it were their lifeblood until the next performance, and they were deadened in between.

James preferred the company of the production crew and the orchestra students. They were highly skilled in their field, and yet they were tolerable.

A violinist presented him with a hand-made card and hand-picked flowers. She was one of the electrician’s daughters. “Condolences, James. I couldn’t afford much, but I got you these. Whenever Elliott was around here, he was really sweet. I’ll miss him.”

A cellist who worked at the Sæxhelm Library offered, “If you need to talk to anyone, I’m always here or dusty in the third-floor stacks.”

“Here’s my dorm number, if you ever want someone to be with you at night,” said a lighting assistant.

“Thank you all, really. You’re very kind.”

As the actors gathered around him, they overcrowded the orchestra members. If they realized they stood right in front of the production crew as well, they didn’t care. It was as though the non-actors were invisible.

“Are you attending his funeral?” A background performer asked, bluntly.

It never astonished him how little situational and emotional awareness there was among some of his privileged, plutocratic peers. “No, I’m headed home for the holidays.”

“You’re not going to bury him?”

“Isn’t the government paying for his funeral? You could be a pallbearer.”

James felt his throat knot in anger. “He made me promise not to see him that way.” James sipped Scotch with a glistening of tears in his eyes. “I want to honor his wish. I need the comfort of home, I suppose.”

“Oh, James…I’m so sorry.” The twin actress threw her arms around him, the one he couldn’t remember the name of either. “Elliott was so great.”

James nodded in agreement. “He was really talented.”

A fellow lead actor recommended, “Come with me to Spain. I’m sure you’ve been. You’ll love Costa d’En Blanes in Calvià this time of year, it’ll take your mind off of everything.”

A second actor countered, “No, come with me to Monaco. I fly out at noon. We’ll see the early Formula One races before the Monaco Grand Prix.”

“He wasn’t lynched, thankfully. Banebury was stuck in the fifties for decades.” Someone prattled on behind him with a dram of aged wine. “The inner city orphans hated the lynchings for some reason. My father said they were very ungrateful. The provost had to cut the honorarium down after the ceremony ended, or else there were protests. The honorarium is executed privately now at least. James should fly his ashes out to Cyprus, poor kid probably didn’t even have a passport.”

Someone agreed, “One night in Paphos, and James will forget about all of it.”

“It’s not like Boston would’ve been kinder to that kid. Elliott didn’t seem to have that hip-hop strength.”

James opened his mouth explosively, nearly sabotaging his entire ruse, but someone flew into his arms. “I visited Boston once and I was terrified. He’s in a better place now.” She squeezed him tighter. “I booked a château on the French Riviera, promise me you’ll come to Côte D’Azur, and you won’t let yourself be alone, mon cœur?”