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Movement centered me.
I would forget all about Antonio Castillas.
Chapter4
Next Time, Just Don’t Come
As soon as the performance ended, my entire body throbbed. Adrenaline had carried me through the night, and now I needed to take my hard-earned exhaustion and fall into a deep sleep filled with gold-gilded dreams. Perhaps they could transport me to mysterious far-away lands, ones that the people of Arrebol never saw. Continents full of witches, and elves, and magic far more abundant and impressive than Blood Magic. A time when our benevolent king and queen had once ruled.
I sighed. The line of kings was replaced by the new government. Wishing for it to change was treason, but no one could arrest me for my dreams.
Maestra Cecelia was waiting off stage for us with towels, and I remembered that my relaxing night would be delayed by the careless prick sitting in the box.
“Antonio will be here soon, girls. You all did well—except you, Maria. Come see me once you’re dry and you’ve had something to drink,” the beautiful woman with a firecracker temper barked around the dressing room.
Her gaze scanned the room and landed on me. “Carmen, why don’t you touch up your makeup as well?”
I stepped into the dressing room. “I don’t have enough powder.” It was a lie, but I felt it was worth trying. I had met Élites before, but Antonio was different. A minor Élite made me nervous because of this unwanted magic flowing freely through my veins. Someone as important as Antonio Castillas?
“Carmen Asbaje, you will meet Señor Castillas first, and I’ll be damned if you look like a sweat-drowned dumpster rat while you do,” she said, this time with greater force.
“Why do you care? He didn’t watch the show anyway,” I said, pressing my lips together while I crossed my arms. “I doubt he’ll notice me this time.”
Maestra Cecelia narrowed her eyes. “I don’t care if he threw a tomato at your face. He is an Élite, and he is scheduled to meet the dancers after the show.” She took two steps toward me. “You are the lead dancer, so he will meet you first.” She snapped her fingers with a dramatic flare. “Makeup now, or I will put Aurora in the first spot next month.”
I tightened my jaw and nodded dutifully. Losing to Aurora was a blow to my ego I wasn’t willing to take. There was a glass bottle on my vanity, and a rice powder foundation next to red lipstick and mascara. I drank as much water as my stomach could handle, patting my neck and forehead dry. I even ventured down the front of my dress before spraying a little perfume.
One couldn’t be too careful.
My chest was tight, and my muscles were still tense. They desperately needed a thorough rub down followed by an ice bath, but I was giving more of my time to a person who remained seated during an entire show—something unheard of.
I was practically huffing down the hall. The entire audience was brought to their feet with the exhilaration of the performance, but not him.
Still seething, I returned the bottle to its spot and picked up the perfume, spritzing only once before turning my attention to the cosmetics. I knew the drill, so I quickly swiped the products in the correct places. Making it into a game helped me to feel less uncomfortable about my lack of natural beauty.
It likely didn’t matter, as Antonio clearly had no interest in anything within the walls of this theater.
“Well done, Carmencita,” Magda said. I kissed her on the cheek, smiled weakly, and walked to the front of the dressing room. After hearing Maestra Cecelia yelling at Maria from her small room on my way out, I was reminded that some people had it worse than me.
I twisted the knob and walked into the hall which lead backstage. After pushing open a second door, I found myself on the chipped black floor I’d spent so many hours performing on.
A voice sounded from the other side of the curtain. Two footsteps were heading backstage to the dressing rooms. “I heard you’re staying at the Grand Hotel. In the historic downtown, no?” Fernando, the usher, said.
His voice was charming, as always, but he always laid on his words too thickly. Did he have to sayhistoric downtownlike that?
I rolled my eyes at his ridiculousness, but relaxed a little.
Fernando was one of my and Magda’s closest friends. He’d seen us dancing in the street, and brought us to Maestra Cecelia’s Theater. I’d been sick from heavy menstruation and rotten food when he’d saved us from a skirmish between Comerciantes Nocturnos over land, and, subsequently, access to new customers. I was eternally indebted to him.
“Correct,” another voice responded.
I froze. I’d assumed that Antonio was with him, but actually hearing his voice was something else entirely. My heart sped up in my chest and I regretted not putting on another spritz of perfume.
“So, what did you think of the show?” Fernando asked. His voice was right around the corner from where I stood. The backstage lights were on while Trabajadores and Artistas scurried around, taking down chairs and carefully encasing instruments.
There was nowhere to hide.
This was it.
