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Shit. Shit. Shit.
I’d accidentally stumbled backstage. Moving as the reticent killer of this world, careful not to touch either curtain, I inched down and around until I came to the side stage. If I stepped into the light, those working would see me. If I stayed here and the curtains were pulled for any reason, I’d be seen by everyone else.
I quickly ripped the mask from my face, shoved my hood back, and hopped into a small gathering of women, all dressed in high heels and corsets with feathers in their hair and deep red lipstick, watching whatever was happening on stage more intently than they were their own surroundings. Using that to my advantage, I swiped a hand fan and feather boa from a cart nearby, and walked with a purpose, as if I had all the right in the world to be there.
The power that seeped through the Maestro’s theater was palpable. I could feel it in every step I took away from the stage, drawing me back as if I were somehow linked. Could he have two forms of magic? He was most notoriously known for his contractual binding, the blue bands around the wrists of those indebted to him, but could he have a second power? Magic was so rare. Why would that be?
There were, of course, the Life and Death Maidens, and Lady Visha and her binding, which was also odd. Why would there be two with that power? And then Ro with her mirrors, and certain people had been rumored to have other forms. Strength and speed and skills in cooking and building. One woman claimed to speak to the birds, but she’d lost her mind and had been locked away long ago, the second she started claiming Death was not the savior we’d made him out to be. Those were dangerous words when this world was his domain. Though now, I wondered just how wrong she really was.
No one paid much attention to me as I hustled through. A familiar voice caught my ear, but I didn’t look at Althea. If she knew I was here, she might tell Orin, and I wasn’t ready for him just yet. I needed more answers.
“Are you lost, Little Dove?” An old man’s soft voice halted me.
Keeping my face down, I shook my head and tried to shuffle away.
He called again. “You’re headed straight toward the boss. Come this way.”
The most impeccably dressed old man I’d ever seen in my life clasped his hands together, eyes beseeching. Though his hair was hidden beneath the firm brim of a violet top hat, his bushy white eyebrows gave away the color. He held a respectful hand over the heart of his finely pressed green suit, the trim detailing done in a beautiful golden hue.
“Not to worry, Little Dove, I’ll get you the best seat in the house.” He lowered his voice. “Come now. Before you’re caught somewhere you ought not to be.”
I opened my mouth to say something rude, but the pink in his cheeks and genuine smile halted me. I could trust no one. Least of all, a man who likely had a blue band on his arm, but he hadn’t sounded an alarm or called for backup yet, and that was enough for me. I wasn’t afraid to face the Maestro if it came to it. But I was cautious.
“Thank you,” I answered, my voice unsteady as he gestured down a small hall to the right.
He tugged on a long golden chain, revealing a finely etched pocket watch he clicked open. “You’ll want to hurry. The lights will turn off for fifteen seconds at the conclusion of this song. Take the third seat in the fourth row and don’t sit down until everyone else around you does.”
I hustled, following his directions exactly until I reached the door at the end of the hall.
The old man threw his hand out. “Wait for the song to end.”
“Why would you help me?” I asked.
He pulled the hat from his head and placed it over his heart. “Because my younger sister was your predecessor, Maiden. Your burdens are heavy.”
The lights fell with my jaw.
“Go,” he barked from the dark. “Fifteen seconds.”
There could have been a team of guards waiting for me on the other side of that door. There could have been a magical menace, or even a scorned king, but instead, it was simply the audience, bathed in shadow, breaths held for whatever dramatic event the Maestro might have been concocting. I slipped into the exact seat I was directed, standing with the crowd until purple lights flooded the black stage, and everyone roared in applause as two women stood, back-to-back, with chests heaving and swords raised high.
I sat when the crowd did, expecting my view to be obstructed this close to the stage, but this particular spot sat at just the right height and angle to have a clear, glorious view. The orchestra crept to life, starting their melody as a single note, then growing until my heart was racing in tune with the show, timed with each dangerous step of the women sword fighting on the stage in the most beautifully choreographed dance. They traced their fingers up each other’s bodies, having undressed until they were nearly bare. They’d wiggled and laughed and put on an alluring, erotic show. And I loved it. I’d felt my fingers twitching, wishing I could meet them. Touch them.
It took me three more songs, including one with the woman falling from the ceiling again before I noticed the little girl in the birdcage, watching as a patron and not a part of it, licking a sucker, her legs swaying back and forth from the swing dangling in the middle of her tiny prison.
Her wild brown hair was a calling card. A halo of perfect curls that might have swallowed her whole one day. She was dressed in a fine gown, emphasizing her light blue eyes against olive skin, even from this distance. She would have fit right into my father’s court. I studied the audience more than the performers now, but no one seemed to notice the child. The woman next to me glanced over to see what I was watching. It was as if her eyes had passed right over her.
The theater fell into darkness again. If not for the ominous boots crossing the stage, then the sharp clack of the cane gave away the Maestro seconds before a single crimson spotlight poured over him. His eyes scanned the audience as he plastered a sinister smile across his face, twisting his red mustache at the tip with a pristine, white-gloved hand.
“Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed patrons of Misery’s End, gather around. For tonight, we are about to embark on a journey like no other. Let me regale you with a tale of old gods and legends, a story of how they once graced our world, only to turn away, leaving us to fend for ourselves when we were ravished by war and dying.
“But fear not, for when the gods abandoned us to bloodshed, Death himself appeared with a grand proposition. He bestowed upon us a gift, a boon of immortality for a hundred years, ensuring that we may revel in the splendors of life without the fear of its inevitable end. Death is our savior, our mighty god. But, my dear audience, even he is indebted to me.” A deep chuckle left his throat as he let the gasps fill the space, relishing in every second of his theatrics. “Did I promise you a spectacle unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed? Did I promise you violence?”
The crowd began to cheer, and as those vicious eyes swept toward me, I clapped, though I kept my face cast as far down as possible, heart thundering as he spoke of Death’s debt, confirming my theory of Orin’s twisted power, or so it seemed.
“Is my audience not interested?” He pretended to pout, turning away. The crowd tripled in volume, stomping and clapping and screaming for the Maestro. Just as he’d wanted. A master manipulator.
“Oh, there you are.” He tossed his head back and laughed so loud, so guttural, it must have shaken the rafters. “You seek disorder tonight, and I shall deliver. Behold, a show that will set your hearts ablaze and stir your souls to dance in the dangerous embrace of fear. We shall summon forth the very essence of the Death Court, and from the depths, a hellhound, a creature of myth and terror, a manifestation of our deepest desires and darkest fears, shall appear. They say you should never look him in the eyes. But can you resist?”
