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I subtly glanced from Jian’s blades—glinting each time he swung them around—to Anishaa spitting fire to Houdini already half freed from his constraints. He’d escape these new bonds and make yet another legendary story of himself. Andreas, in full plague-doctor costume, stood before his looking glass as if standing guard over the future. All I needed to do was step up to the target board, and the true finale would start. I hoped it would not be my death march.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mephistopheles crooned, “let the mayhem… begin!”
Fireworks burst off in the corners of the saloon like fountains of sparkling water. It might not have been the best idea, considering how jumpy everyone already was. One woman collapsed onto her table, squishing the lobster and sauce across her bosom. Another man shoved back from his seat so quickly, he fell over. Plague doctors nearby assisted them, which might have been more frightening than the loud noise.
Even amongst the stirring crowd Thomas drew my attention as he always did, his sharp gaze stuck to something behind me, brows knit. I half turned, but only saw the looking glass. No one was lurking behind it. No bodies hanging, set ablaze, or submerged. It was just as it always had been, except it appeared as if the ringmaster had finally convinced Andreas to clean it up a bit.
“Miss Wadsworth?” Mephistopheles whispered. “It’s time.”
I took a deep breath and picked my way around the rings of fire until I stood before Jian’s target board. A woman’s silhouette had been painted onto it, allowing the audience a hint as to what was to come. I went to reach for a blindfold, but Jian gave one jerk of his head. “Not tonight. Here.” He handed me an apple, his taunting smile softening into something that almost looked like respect as I took it without so much as a tremor in my hands. “Place this on your head. And don’t. Move.”
I swallowed hard, eyes darting around the saloon in search of a bit of strength. A nod of support. What I needed was my best friend. Except Thomas was nowhere to be seen. “I…”
“Miss Wadsworth,” Mephistopheles said, briefly taking my hand in his and squeezing it in comfort, “be brave.”
In a haze, I slowly walked to the target board, mind moving faster than the silver-clad stilt walkers who’d just
entered the room, spinning teacups on sticks. For Thomas to have left…
I reached the board and brought the bloodred apple to the top of my head, only half thinking about my safety. Liza. He had to have figured something out about my cousin, or was he too angry to sit and watch me onstage? Perhaps he worried Mephistopheles and I might have been practicing our own act and the thought made him ill.
Jian barked commands at the audience, but all I felt was the heat from the lights, the sound of the crackling flames nearly drowning out the string sextet as it lurched into the next melody, and the general cacophony ringing in both my ears and my chest. A bead of sweat rolled between my shoulder blades. Something was wrong.
I stared unseeingly at Jian’s waistcoat—it was unusual for the Moonlight Carnival. It was made of cloth stitched with an enchanted forest from a fairy tale, complete with vines and trees and constellations. I’d seen it before…
A knife sailed through the air, landing near my ear. Another rapidly followed, sinking deep into the wood on the opposite side. My pulse roared. I’d missed something. Something that had caught Thomas’s attention. I could have sworn my makeup was melting down my face under the burning lights. Another knife struck near my skull. Thomas had been staring at the looking glass, but Andreas couldn’t be the one who’d stolen my cousin and severed her finger. He was right there, doing card tricks with the now-free Houdini.
Apple pulp sprayed down around me, the juice sticky and sweet as it stuck to my face and neck. The crowd surged to its feet, bringing their hands together. The knight had dazzled them with his blades once more. I couldn’t concentrate on the here and now, however. Andreas lifted his plague-doctor mask and stole a quick sip of water. Jian took a slow, deliberate bow, eyes fixed to mine. Cassie smiled down from above, her mask glinting like a blade. I swallowed hard, attention straying to Anishaa, who swung twin ropes of flames and then spit them perilously close to where I stood. Each of them was beautiful yet deadly. And perhaps they were all guilty.
I stumbled across the stage, thoughts circling clues like crows circling a carcass, when an arm came down around my shoulders, tugging me near.
“Everything all right, Miss Wadsworth?” Mephistopheles asked. “If you don’t smile and take a little bow, you’re going to frighten the audience.”
I went to comply when recognition finally struck me. “The stolen fabric…”
“Later,” Mephistopheles said. “Please bow and take your seat.”
“No,” I whispered. “Jian’s the murderer. We have to get him off the stage. Now.”
“What?”
“Jian’s the murderer!” I nearly shouted.
Across the stage, Jian cocked his head, spinning a knife in one hand as someone might do with a pistol. “What did you just say?”
A row of cancan dancers emerged from behind him, kicking their limbs high, their skirts in shades of vermilion, chartreuse, and cobalt. They were the only splashes of color in a moonlight palette. And they were currently making Jian’s progression toward me quite difficult. He wove through the line of dancers, ducking back from their kicks, gaze hard as he towered over me.
“You’ve got no proof for that accusation, do you?” Jian demanded.
Mephistopheles somehow managed to tug us behind the dancers and their voluminous skirts, almost as if he’d also predicted this and wanted the scene to be blocked from the audience’s view.
“That fabric you’re wearing? That was stolen days ago,” I said, nodding to his waistcoat. “We believe the murderer is to blame. And here you are, wearing it for the whole audience. Tonight is your big finale, isn’t it?”
Jian stared down at his waistcoat, blinking as if he’d only just noticed it. “This was a gift.”
“A gift from whom?” I asked, unconvinced, although the hurt flashing in his eyes was hard to miss.
He glanced at Mephistopheles while the dancers retreated behind the curtain. “From—”
