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“Twenty minutes, you scoundrels. We’ll start with ‘Satin Sheets Serenade’. Then ‘Ballad of Temptation’ will follow.”
I didn’t miss the way Orin’s back straightened, cutting a glance to Althea. She’d made almost the same move. I sank back a little further, shuffling behind a rack of feather boas and sequined gowns.
“‘Masquerade Minuet’ is still slow after the bridge, ladies. Get your asses moving. I want no excuses about the shoes this time. It’s three and four and then back to your mark.”
The woman with curly blonde hair pulled the glasses from her nose, letting them fall until the pearl chain around her neck holding them went taut. “Where’s Paesha?”
Thea jumped from her seat and scrambled forward, nearly tripping over the giant metal ring she’d been working on. “She’s coming. The boss sent her to work on something else.”
The woman rolled her eyes, moving a giant feathered quill across her parchment in earnest.
“No. Please, Genevieve. She’ll be here. She promised it wouldn’t take that long.”
“How I run the boss’s show is none of your concern, Althea Washburn. Go… build something.”
She waved her off with a hand, and some of the other women snickered. Thea’s face turned red, and she tucked her head and hustled back to her work. By the time I left the room, I wanted to punch no less than eighty percent of the people within, starting with Genevieve, who’d spoken down to Hollis twice for the way the women picked at their costumes and then went after Thea again when Paesha sauntered in three minutes late.
The Huntress’s eyes found mine before she’d made it three steps into the room. She looked at me and then at the door to the tunnel. Then back to me again with a slight shake of her head. After my conversation with Ro, I believed I’d made a connection I’d missed before, but I would need someone to confirm before I did something I’d ultimately regret.
I beckoned her with a finger and slipped into the tunnel as she approached Genevieve. Minutes later, she stood at the top of the stairs, staring down at me.
“Whatever you’re doing here, don’t.”
“I need you to tell me something.”
She snorted, moving down the stairs quickly. “If it’s that important, I probably can’t.”
“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I know why you hate me, and I haven’t had a chance to apologize. If I could take it back and give him back to you, I would. But I can’t, and there’s only one way to make this right. For everyone.”
“Famous last words, Dey.”
“Does Quill have power?”
My blunt question was met with a sharp breath. I wasn’t sure if she couldn’t or wouldn’t answer, but I didn’t need her to. Not when I could see the answer written on her face nearly as clear as the truth Ro had given. Those in the Syndicate house were my friends, and I was mostly safe with them, but they were keeping secrets. Because they had to or wanted to, I wasn’t sure. But none of that mattered.
“I’ll see you at the house, Paesha.”
“Deyanira,” she said, voice low in warning.
I didn’t look back.
“Maiden,” she hissed.
But her warnings would get neither of us where we needed to be. At least someone knew where I was, in case this night went very, very badly.
Chapter 36
The view from the balcony of Misery’s End was like a different world. Though the heavy black curtains rose with a gust of anticipation, and the eager crowd moved to the edge of their seats, the Maestro strode out with his infamous cane clacking in perfect rhythm. That repulsive smile plastered across his face, lifting his curled red mustache, infuriated me.
“Ladies and gentlemen, wanderers of peculiarity, seekers of sultry, and brave souls who dare to tread where shadows dance and dreams unravel—welcome, oh, welcome, to the beautiful Misery’s End, where no two shows are the same, and our deepest desire is to teach you what lust truly is, to make you feel as if your feet stand upon this beautiful stage. As if your body is moving to the pulse of…” He paused, pointing his cane at the orchestra nestled in the sunken pit in the heart of the audience. They responded right on cue, their barrage of instruments thundering through the theater. The Maestro whipped his cane back, and silence fell. Back and forth, he conducted from the stage, leaving the audience to follow the ebb and flow until they moved when he did. They leaned when he leaned. Frowned when he did. Until he conducted his audience as thoroughly as his musicians. “Just a little warm-up,” he roared, sweeping his arm to the side. “But first, we must introduce our future’s diamond.”
All eyes followed his gesture as Quill, dressed in delicate layers of crimson lace, pearls, and makeup, rose from the ground in that massive gold birdcage, her swing rocking back and forth as she smiled and waved proudly to the crowd. If looks alone could kill, Drexel would be dead upon his stage. The manipulation of an adult by anyone was disgusting, but the orchestration of such tactics upon a tender child was nothing short of abhorrent.
The Maestro’s cackle swirled around the room like hands, gripping every single person as he spoke with so much flare my stomach twisted into knots. It seemed only I could see beyond the mask.
“Lean closer, my delectable darlings, and bear witness to a world beyond the mundane. Yes. I know why you’ve come.” He chuckled, the nuance of the sound practiced and particular. “I extend an invitation that promises an indulgence like no other. Behold a coven of the sensuous and the forbidden, where every tantalizing movement is a serenade to the senses, an invitation to embrace your innermost cravings. Within these doors, a woman’s body is an art form, and a man’s is a display of strength and grit.”
He crossed the stage, the echo of his cane a taunt as a cymbal rattled in the pit, and slowly, very slowly, the music began in a crescendo. The Maestro flourished a gloved hand, holding it extended to the audience. That swine-like smile melted into something far more sinister as his finger curled. “Take my hand and surrender to temptation. Allow yourselves to be ensnared in the intoxicating dance of Misery’s End.”
