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I lifted my chin, knowing it was the most dangerous deception of all, pretending he was someone else, yearning for what his lips might feel like, how cool the filigree of his mask might be under my fingertips. His mouth hovered over mine, sharing breath but not touching. Not yet…
“I’ve thought about doing this all week,” he whispered against my lips. “A-are you certain—”
The door banged open. “Have you got those new cuffs ready yet? Liza’s in a mood and I ain’t got anything better to do than—”
I jerked away from the ringmaster, face flaming as Houdini’s mouth snapped shut. The escape artist appeared as if he was about to do just that. He stood for a full breath, frozen with indecision.
“Uh… sorry to interrupt. Anishaa didn’t
mention—” Houdini motioned toward the two of us, not meeting either of our eyes. “I’ll come back for the cuffs.”
He slipped out from the room before Mephistopheles could regain his composure. I collected my breath, grateful for the interruption, though I hadn’t been surprised. Liza had mentioned that Houdini met with the ringmaster around this time, something I’d been counting on. My plan had been hastily constructed on the walk here, but with any luck, I’d played my part convincingly. Gossip was a currency most couldn’t help spending.
For better or worse, performers would hopefully be whispering about the clandestine meeting between me and their ringmaster. They might have suspected it before, but there would be “proof” now of our feelings. A sleight of hand to keep their attention where I wanted it.
I stepped away from Mephistopheles, giving us both space to breathe as I smoothed down the front of my skirts. Had Houdini been a moment later, I might have fallen into my own trap.
Mephistopheles rubbed the back of his neck, seeming at a loss on how to proceed. “I must apologize for my forwardness, Miss Wadsworth. I didn’t mean to be so untoward—”
“Please, let’s not worry over what could have happened.” I waved a hand in the air, not feeling half as bold as I sounded. My knees wobbled and my heart stuttered frantically. I loved Thomas, but I couldn’t deny the appeal of the ringmaster. Was it possible to pretend to be someone else so thoroughly that you actually stepped into that life? “Right now, I need to examine Jian’s swords. I know we were only joking before, but does Jian keep them locked up? Are they near yours?”
The ringmaster appeared reluctant to turn the conversation away from our almost-kiss, but relented. “Next to and below the animal cargo is where we keep the trunks for the show. Tents, tightropes, most every prop we use is there, including the trunks containing Jian’s swords. They’re painted lapis blue and encrusted with bits of mosaic tiles. You can’t miss them.”
It did not go unnoticed that he hadn’t confirmed where Nightsblade was. “Would it be all right if I had a look down there?”
He didn’t answer at first, expression calculating. “What does this have to do with the murdered women?”
“It has to do with the severed limb, actually.” I had the impression that if I strayed too far from the truth, he’d unravel each of my lies. “I have a suspicion that they’re connected.”
“Very well.” He sat on a stool in front of his makeshift workbench, picking up a few bottles filled with clear liquid and dark powders and setting them in a row. “You may investigate anything having to do with the carnival. Though I warn you, not all the performers will take kindly to having their things snooped through. You may want to go alone and not get caught.” He smiled shyly. “I’d offer to accompany you, but I have a bit of work to do before tonight’s show. If I can sneak away for a moment, I will.” At my raised brow he motioned to the corked bottles. “Dragon fire. Though it’s not for tonight’s performance. I’ll tend to that once you’re gone.”
“Is it the new Houdini act you were going to show me last night?” I tried not to let my relief show that I’d be alone in my search. I wasn’t sure we’d have another interruption should he lean in for a kiss. “Any hints about what you’re working on?”
His grin was full and wide. “Something spectacular.”
I wound my way down and around labyrinthine halls of twisted metal and matte bolts, noticing how empty certain parts of the ship were compared to others. Silence was never complete, though. Some vibration or dull movement could always be heard as well as felt, whether by my fingers trailing over the walls or through the soles of my silken shoes. The ship was alive with constant movement, its engines guzzling energy to exhale steam or its auxiliary sails throwing their arms wide to tame the wind. It was like a metal dragon, flying low over the sea. I shoved those thoughts away and focused on my surroundings.
These narrow corridors were used by the crew, hidden and dark, wedged into the heart of the Etruria. Doors were spaced fairly evenly, leading to servant cabins or storage, I wasn’t sure. My skirts swished as loudly as the blood pulsing through my veins while I turned into another dimly lit corridor. I hoped to avoid running into anyone—though the captain had informed the staff of our investigation, I did not wish to be seen.
Hollow sounds of dishes clinking and smothered voices bounced around the hallway. I hurried along, not pausing to listen. According to the directions Mephistopheles had given me, I was almost upon the room where the swords were kept. Footsteps suddenly clomped from around the corner, slow and steady. Whoever marched toward me was unlikely to be one of the rushing crew. Which meant it was probably a carnival performer.
I glanced around, heart near bursting as I took in few hiding options, then rushed to the nearest door. I rattled the handle, but it was locked. I raced to the next, keeping one ear turned to the footsteps that were getting closer. Another locked door.
“Merciful God above,” I cursed. Of all the rotten luck in the world. I tried the handle on a third door and nearly dropped to my knees in supplication as it opened. A shadow bent around the corner, and right before its owner followed, I slipped into the darkened room, sealing the door shut with a subtle click.
“Room” was a generous term. I’d had either the luck or sheer misfortune of ending up in a very tiny, very crowded broom closet. Sticks and poles poked my back, bruised my limbs, and fought to regain their space. I stood very still, praying that nothing would clatter to the ground. The sharp scent of cleanser bit at my nose, dust motes joining in the brawl. A bucket filled with liquid sloshed over the sides, the astringent dampening my shoes.
I felt a sneeze coming on and vowed to every saint I’d ever heard of to defuse the blasted thing before it gave my position away. Aunt Amelia would quirk a brow, claiming it was the sinner’s curse and attending services a bit more would prevent things such as this.
I pinched my lips together, as if I could keep the sneeze in by force of will alone, my eyes pricking with tears. Whoever had been coming down the hall had slowed. I pressed my ear to the door, listening. Someone was testing the handles of doors.
I fought the urge to bang my head against the metal. The sneeze seemed to release me from its imminent arrival, allowing my shoulders to sag. Relief was short-lived. Before I could hold it in, I sneezed, the sound loud and unmistakable.
“Gesundheit.”
I began to say thank you, then froze. The person who I’d been hiding from wrenched the door open, stepped inside, and closed it as swiftly. For a moment I was stunned; the closet was barely large enough for me, and now with…
“Cresswell? What in the name of the queen are you doing?”
