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“Are you all right, Wadsworth?”
“Of course.” I flicked my attention to him, then back to the doors. The plague doctors would be entering any moment now. Shortly after that, I’d be called up to the stage. A lucky volunteer, chosen to brave Andreas’s magical looking glass and then stand against Jian’s daggers. It seemed as if my random training sessions would be useful after all.
“You’re not planning anything scandalous without me, are you?” Thomas asked, voice low enough to avoid Mrs. Harvey hearing. Uncle had excused himself to direct the search for Liza, and it had taken every ounce of self-control I had to not chase after him and forgo the finale. “That would be unfair, you know. I’m quite good at improvising, especially after some wine.”
He held his glass of white wine up, a crooked smile easing onto his face. The calculation remained in his gaze, however, telling me he wasn’t about to believe the next lie that spilled from my mouth no matter how well its delivery was. Things were still tense between us after our midnight conversation, and would likely remain that way until we could truly talk. Though I was not convinced it would go any differently—perhaps I wasn’t the marrying kind. Maybe I’d always seek freedom from any perceived cage, real or imagined, no matter how often Thomas assured me otherwise. He deserved someone who could banish their doubts. Perhaps he and I were only meant to be work partners.
I sighed. “I’m to participate in the finale, and no,” I whispered as his face partially lit up, “you are not permitted to assist me. I didn’t interfere when you volunteered to be cut in half.”
He drew back as if I’d slapped him. “Is this what you’ve been doing at night with Mephistopheles?”
“Thomas,” I warned. He sounded so hopeful, but a flash of my kiss with the ringmaster reminded me how tired of lies I was becoming. I hadn’t initiated it, and it might have only lasted a second, but the kiss still happened. I would not tell him that was all we’d been doing when it wasn’t the entire truth.
He swallowed hard and stared down at his plate. Apparently he’d lost his appetite now, too.
A string quartet entered the room, their violins and violas playing a soft and dangerous tune. Suddenly lights fell upon two cellists sitting with their instruments near the edge of the stage, their half masks glinting in the blue hue that washed over them.
“Ah. Brahms’s String Sextet number one in B-flat Major.” Thomas closed his eyes as if soaking
in the deliciously played string music. “Opus eighteen is one of my favorites. And a fine choice for the finale. It’s slow to start, then listen to that there… the melody goes faster, more frantic, the piece builds to a crescendo, and then”—he sat back—“and then it goes back to a sweet warning. Danger is on the horizon.”
“Yes, well,” I began, when the doors burst open and the truly macabre and bizarre entered the dining saloon. Audible gasps went up around the room as rows of plague doctors made their silent procession, filing in one after the other, their birdlike white masks even more disturbing against the backdrop of the woeful cellos and violins.
Choreographed to perfection, once they’d invaded the space between the tables, they all stopped, pivoted, and began waltzing around, holding their sleek black cloaks out with one arm. They looked like birds with broken wings. Herbal scents wafted around, no doubt from the fragrant bits placed in their masks. Mephistopheles had gone the authentic route, sparing no detail. I hoped it didn’t mean we’d need the aroma to cover up the scent of decay.
The music took a darker turn, the strings more melancholy and deep in tone, raising gooseflesh down my arms.
“String Sextet number two,” Thomas murmured, brows tugged together. “Another appropriate choice. Though it seems—”
Mephistopheles nearly exploded onto the stage. He appeared behind a wall of igniting fireworks, the white sparkling flares shooting high to the ceiling and remaining that way for several beats of my heart. Smoke lingered before him, grayish tendrils curling about before disappearing. The room now stank of sulfur.
“Ladies. Gentlemen.” He swept his arms out, and instead of simply appearing like wings, his cloak actually had black feathers sewn onto it, so inky and dark it almost looked iridescent. “Welcome to the grand finale. I promised magic, mischief, and mayhem. And this…” He walked around in a wide circle, lights clicking on and illuminating different acts already set up in rings on the stage. “This evening is devoted to mayhem. Prepare to be swept into the space between dreams and nightmares. Welcome to the final night of the Moonlight Carnival.”
Resplendent in her dragon costume, Anishaa stepped into a ring onstage. The pearly lavender scales practically glowed as she blew fire out in long bursts. The audience in front screeched, moving their chairs swiftly back and away, hoping to avoid being burnt.
Another bright flood lamp clicked on, drawing the crowd’s attention skyward, where Cassie shot across the room like a shooting star, tumbling from one trapeze to the next. My heart thrummed. Clowns juggling colorful balls hopped from side to side, making faces. A tattooed woman with a large snake picked her way through the saloon, sashaying as she went, her pet hissing whenever anyone stared too hard. Once everyone was in their spots, it would be my turn. I gripped my napkin beneath the table, focusing on my breath.
Finally, Andreas and Jian made their way into the room, hoisting Houdini upside down on a large wooden scaffold as they went. He was wearing a straitjacket, over which his entire body was woven in chains. I hadn’t seen him practice this trick, and I imagined it was yet another secret the ringmaster had kept to himself.
Once Houdini was strung up like a fish that had been caught, wriggling on the line, Mephistopheles stomped his feet three times, and rings of fire went up around each act. This was it. I sunk my teeth into my bottom lip, watching each performer for any hints as to who might be plotting murder this very moment. Everyone seemed suspicious. And nearly each of them had motive. My pulse sped up—any moment now…
“A volunteer is needed from the audience tonight.” Mephistopheles walked from one end of the stage to the other, gloved hand shielding his eyes from both the flames and blaring lights. “Who amongst you is brave enough to stand before the knight’s blades of fury? Who has the strength to stare into the magical Bavarian looking glass and witness their future?”
The room seemed to hold its breath; not one person moved, lest they were called up to the stage. Understanding dawned brightly. Here was yet another reason Mephistopheles had asked me to participate in the finale—he’d feared this very thing would happen. After the first murder, he’d purchased a bit of insurance for his carnival. The show would go on, and he would have audience participation even if that was an illusion as well.
I slowly stood, my red-and-black-striped evening gown suddenly feeling two sizes too small.
“Audrey Rose, wait,” Thomas’s voice was low and urgent. “Don’t. Something is wrong… where is the contortionist?”
I gestured up to the ceiling as Cassie vaulted from one trapeze to the next, where I knew Sebastián was waiting for his cue to join her in flight.
“You!” Mephistopheles jumped from the stage, his cloak wings spread out intimidatingly. Diners at the nearest table quickly shot up from their seats and rushed to the doors, dodging around the plague doctors who continued to waltz to the same two songs that were being replayed. Apparently the costumes were a bit too frightening, and the sudden movement of the ringmaster wasn’t helping to quell their fears. “Come, sweet lady”—he offered his arm—“let us see what fate has in store for you this evening.”
I squeezed Thomas’s shoulder lightly and accepted the ringmaster’s arm. Once we were onstage, waiting for the target board to be rolled out, the gravity of the night finally struck me. Someone was either about to die, or their corpse was about to be displayed. Of that much I was near certain. Neither of those scenarios would be welcome, especially if my cousin was harmed.
Or if the someone was me.
I wiped my palms down the front of my bodice. The stage lights were hotter than I’d thought. Or perhaps standing before the crowd—though it was a fraction of what it once had been at the start of the week—was more unnerving than I’d imagined it to be.
