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Shivers ran along my limbs. His silence was as creepy as the costume, if not more so.
“Well?” I asked, stuffing my nerves deep down. “What do you plan on doing in those costumes?”
He slowly moved forward, circling me as a vulture might do to a fresh carcass.
“By now your pulse is likely pounding.” Mephistopheles drew close. “Your breath catching the tiniest bit. I have your full attention, your full fear and excitement. I promised three things in my opening sequence, Miss Wadsworth. Do you recall them?”
I refused to be afraid. He’d said his carnival was filled with magic, mischief, and mayhem. “I do.”
I couldn’t see it behind this new mask, but I pictured the devilish grin he’d worn countless times before. “When the finale stage is filled with an army of plague doctors, I believe it will cause a bit of mayhem in the saloon. Wouldn’t you agree?”
A terrifyingly gothic scene indeed.
“Perhaps in light of the fact young women are being murdered and at least one man has been dismembered,” I said coolly, “you ought to rethink that. I know I won’t be wearing it.” I nodded toward another costume laid out on the bed. It was somewhere between lavender and moonbeam gray—another fanciful outfit for the Moonlight Carnival. Silver fish scales lay over the shoulders like armor, the corset of the bodice composed of deep charcoal and black scales. “Who is that for?”
Mephistopheles turned around while he removed his terrible costume, put his old mask on, then pointed at his workbench. On it was the most elaborate mask I’d ever seen. I wasn’t sure how I’d missed it during my first scan of the room, but there were a lot of objects. This mask was more like a Roman war helmet, complete with open jaws that contained fangs. A dragon skull, I realized upon closer inspection.
“Anishaa asked to redefine her act—to come up with something more memorable.” He fingered the fine fabrics of the costume. “She wants to be known as the Dragon Queen instead of a plain old fire-eater. So I obliged. Now, with the aid of a special tonic I’m crafting, she’ll not only swallow the flames, she’ll breathe them.”
“But that sounds—”
“Dangerous?” he asked. “No more so than following a young man into his room, alone, with masks and machinery. Tell me,” he said, shutting the door, “when did you start believing I had anything to do with the murders?”
TWENTY-SIX
A BEAUTIFULLY DRESSED SPY
MEPHISTOPHELES’S ENGINEERING CABIN
RMS ETRURIA
6 JANUARY 1889
My hand ghosted over the hidden blade sheathed on my thigh. “Who said anything about guilt?” I asked. “Unless there’s something more you haven’t told me. Have you news to share?”
To either his or my own credit, he seemed impressed that I hadn’t shrunk away from him. He leaned against the door, arms crossed. “My issue is with you parading about this ship, pretending as if you’re interested in me in front of my performers, when in reality you’re just a beautifully dressed spy for your uncle.”
“You’re the one who wanted them to believe there was something more between us! And I take great offense to that.” I drew myself up. “I am no one’s spy.” Liar, definitely. But he hadn’t accused me of that. Yet. “I’m doing exactly what you asked as per our bargain. If you’re that upset, perhaps it’s time to change the terms.”
“Do not insult my intelligence,” he said. “Yes, I may have wanted them to see us together, to work a bit harder to teach you tricks for the finale, but nowhere in our agreement did I mention flirting or staring at me when you think I’m not looking. Or, would you have me believe between our midnight rendezvous and your predawn dissection, you’ve found yourself thinking of the softness of my hair, the sharp angle of my jaw, the—”
“—the arrogance of your demeanor.” I rolled my eyes. “Perhaps, despite good judgment, I enjoy your company. If you’re that confident of yourself, why is it so hard to believe?”
“So those looks are real?” He examined me closely, attention falling to my lips and remaining there. Half a breath later, he turned the lights off, then slowly moved toward me. My heart, the only thing not playing along with my false bravado, stuttered at his growing proximity.
Uncle had not mentioned my rebellion earlier, but if he were to find out I’d flouted his rules once again… I held my ground. Mephistopheles cocked his head, inspecting every steady breath I took and every slow blink of my eyes, searching for a lie he wouldn’t find. I held an image of Thomas’s crooked smile in my mind, projecting it onto the young man before me.
Reaching a hand out, Mephistopheles tenderly pushed a stray lock over my ear.
“Are you certain that’s what you’d like me to believe, Miss Wadsworth? That you’re here, in this cabin alone with me, because you choose to be… of your own free will… with no motive? You simply wish to spend the morning with me?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice to remain strong when the rest of my nerves were ready to crack. I saw the hunger in his gaze then, the longing he couldn’t cover with any mask. I knew he wanted to kiss me, though I wasn’t conceited enough to believe he wouldn’t gaze at most any young woman the same way. He was an opportunist. And this was a perfect opportunity. His fingers reached out once more, his touch barely anything at all, while he waited for permission.
Up this close I could smell his cologne—it reminded me of the aromatics used in the plague mask, but was heady instead of frightening. Perhaps he was a true mage—because here, in a cabin below the world I knew upstairs, I couldn’t help but fall under his spell.
In the dark it was easy to forget he wasn’t the boy I kept thinking about. The one whose lips were becoming as familiar as my own. My heart surged when he leaned toward me, his face so close to mine. I noticed subtle dark growth over his skin, as if he hadn’t had time for a proper shave this morning.
Curse me, but I almost longed to feel its roughness against my own skin, so similar and yet so different from Thomas. Something in my expression must have shifted, unleashing him. He slipped his hands into my hair, gently pulling me closer. I did not resist.
