by Laura Lam
“When she crossed through, she remembered all those many lives. And she knew if she returned to another life, she would forget it all again. So she stayed in the river.
“This upset the balance. Because of Death’s error, the Lord of the Sun and the Lady of the Moon forbid him from coming to earth to collect souls. Now, we find our own way to the river, but we all find it in the end.”
The smoke swirled into darkness and the gaslights rose. The magician’s assistant stood on the stage, wearing a white wig. The other brother stood in a dark robe. The “old” woman shimmered with the light of her “spell”. She ran at the hooded Death. Death held its robe open to her and when they met, they both disappeared.
Applause deafened my ears as the curtains closed. They opened again to show the two Taliesin twins, their assistant between them. They lifted their joined hands and bowed before the curtains fell.
As people rose to leave the theatre, Maske scowled, and I didn’t need to look at Cyan to know that the last trick was related to the dress he had shown us. Maske’s fingers twitched, as though he were already drawing new diagrams to make his illusion better.
“Are you alright?” I asked him as we threaded our way through the seats.
“I will be when we beat Taliesin,” he said, and I reeled from the heat in his voice. “He knew that trick was one of my favorites.”
I rested a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll beat him, Maske. I promise.”
“I hope you’re right.” He twirled his hat in his hand. “I’m going to see Lily.”
We nodded, and he gave us a curt farewell before heading off, his shoulders slumped.
Cyan, Drystan and I waited near the backstage. We spoke to the stagehand and told him who we were. After a wait that was long enough to border on rude, we were led backstage. We wanted to speak to our competition. Cyan would try to see if they planned to cheat.
The Taliesin brothers lounged in their dressing room, their bowties loosened and their shirtsleeves rolled to their elbows. They regarded us coolly.
Cyan took a step back from them, as if their thoughts repelled her.
Which is which? I thought at Cyan.
Pencil Dick is on the left and Styxhead is on the right, she shot back at me.
I sent a wordless burst of surprise and affront.
I “heard” rueful laughter. Sind’s on the left and Jac’s on the right. They think I’m beautiful. But in a skin-crawling way. They’re both imagining me undressed.
I sent her the mental equivalent of “eugh!”
“So,” Sind drawled. “You’re the magicians we’re to thrash in a few months’ time?”
“We’re your opponents, sure enough,” Drystan said, and Sind’s attempt at dryness was nothing compared to his. He was the White Clown, even if he spoke with the Temri accent of Amon.
“I think I’ve seen enough,” Jac said. Neither of them bothered to rise.
Drystan leaned forward until he was uncomfortably close to them. “I think you two need your arrogance brought down a peg or two. I’ll be happy to oblige in a few months.”
I let Drystan handle this. I became flustered in a fight and never knew what to say. This hadn’t served me well in the circus, nor as a noble’s daughter.
The brothers rose, and Drystan faced them. Sind and Jac’s hands were balled into fists. Drystan’s were lax at his sides, but he stood in a tumbler’s ready stance.
“You three will never beat us, and we’ll see to that,” Jac said, his face twisted into a snarl. “We’ve only just started performing, but we were born for the stage.”
“And we were born to win,” Drystan said. “Believe me, you have no idea who you two are tangling with.” His face was perfectly calm, but his eyes scared even me. It was the face I had seen when he struck Bil with the cane. That stillness when we found out about Shadow Elwood. I forced my head high. Show no fear.
“Get out of here before we bloody that pretty face of yours,” Sind growled.
Drystan batted his eyelashes. “Oh, you think I’m pretty, do you?”
Sind swung his fist. Drystan dodged it easily and jabbed Sind in the throat, just hard enough to make him sputter and drop back. Jac jumped in next, but they were magicians, not brawlers. They were no match for Drystan and his tumbler’s reflexes. Within moments, they were both on the ground, gasping, with Cyan and I looking on in amazement.
“We’ll see you in three months,” Drystan said. “And I expect the result of the wager will be much the same as tonight.” He left, and we followed.
After returning from visiting Lily, Maske didn’t emerge from his workshop all night. He fought his own demons there, trying to solve them with diagrams and equations.
When Drystan and I were in the quiet of the loft, I didn’t ask him about the altercation with the Taliesin twins. I knew his anger hadn’t really been about them. He still felt powerless over the thoughts of the deaths against his name. He had a bit of power over the Taliesins, two boys as rotten as overripe plums. I gave him a long, wordless hug and went to my bed.
I licked my lips in the darkness. It would feel good to beat Taliesin and his twins.
19
THE BLUE LIGHT
“The strange, unearthly light,
On the full Penmoon night.
The blue glow on your skin,
You and I are here again.”
The Blue Light, by Micah Grey
The next morning, Maske was in the kitchen drafting a revision of the winged woman trick, drawing the delicate cogs of the machinery onto the checked paper.
Cyan and Drystan and I opened the books Maske had left out for us for that day’s lessons.
“Séances?” I asked as Drystan passed me a cup of coffee. I smiled at him gratefully as I cupped the warm mug in my hands. Ricket trotted into the kitchen, demanding food, and Drystan obliged.
“We need capital. My séances alone aren’t enough, especially after all the repairs on the theatre. It’s been long enough that I think you two will be safe to perform them. I had to pawn a few things yesterday before we went to that Specter Show, and I’d like to avoid doing that as much as possible.”
“What did you pawn?” I asked, curious.
“Old Vestige. I used to collect it. A lot of it’s not functional or low on power, but I hate to part with it.” I wondered if he ever pawned the illegal Vestige he owned, or if it hadn’t come to that yet.
“Is there a lot of Vestige in the theatre?” Cyan asked, twisting the end of her braid around her fingers.
“A fair amount,” Maske said evasively.
“Hmm,” she said. I looked at her questioningly.
I think that the more Vestige I’m around, the stronger my abilities. It’s so easy to speak to you like this, here. It was a little harder at the Specter Theatre, even though I could sense some Vestige there. Maybe that’s why it didn’t happen often at the circus.
Well, that is… interesting, I thought.
“The Night of the Dead approaches,” Maske said. “I want us to begin séances at least two weeks beforehand, in pairs. One to perform at the table, and another to perform behind the scenes.”
I shivered. The Night of the Dead was the night before the Long Night of the Lady, the longest night of winter. The Night of the Lady represented the hope of a turning point – that longer days and spring would return.
The Night of the Dead symbolized lost hope. Some say the currents of Styx that trapped the dead could flow back through the world and the dead could walk among us.
It was a night for séances.
Cyan met my gaze. She did not have to read my mind to know what I was thinking – with her in our midst, we were sitting on a goldmine. We had a Vestige crystal ball, and numerous other small artifacts we could spirit away in our pockets. If we went to the house of any rich merchants or nobles, they would be sure to have collections of their own. All Cyan needed to do was ask them to picture the dead person they wished to speak to in their mind.
; I pretended to read from one of the books of séance as I pondered the implications.
Cyan?
She looked up. What?
Can I tell Drystan what you can do?
I thought you were still insisting on calling him Amon?
Styx.
She kept her composure, but only just.
Why?
He’ll know the best way to approach this. How not to be too obvious.
There was a long silence as my heart thundered in my throat. I was speaking to a girl with my mind as Drystan and Maske sat at the table with us, none the wiser. She read my mind and spoke back to me. None of it was my own ability as far as I could tell. But even so, it was extraordinary.
Alright. As long as he keeps quiet.
He’s much better at secrets than I am, I thought wryly.
Her laughter echoed inside my skull.
I hid a smile of my own, but I was relieved. I could tell Drystan. The secret was eating away at me. I had lost Aenea from the little threads of lies that spiraled into a web and caught us. I knew I did not want to lose Drystan.
That evening, after lessons, I pleaded taking a chill and announced I was going to study in bed until teatime.
“Of course,” Maske said. “We’ll start practicing in earnest tomorrow.” He rubbed his face with his hands, tired. He was doing séances three nights a week, and spent hours and hours in his workshop or instructing us on magic tricks. He was patient, never snapping even when we kept making the same silly mistake over and over again, or dissolving into a fit of giggles. But he was tired.
I crept upstairs with my séance book. I tucked myself into bed, but could not concentrate. Setting my book aside, I held the disc that contained Anisa. Had it really been weeks since I had spoken to her? I sensed she was waiting for me to let her out again, to learn more. She possessed so many answers, if only I could ask for them…
My eyes grew heavy.
Drystan’s tread on the stairs woke me up. I slid the disc under the pillow.
“Come in,” I said, before he knocked.
He entered, closing the door behind him. “You slept through dinner. I tried to wake you.”
I was usually a light sleeper. I wondered why I hadn’t woken before. “Did I? I suppose I was tired.”
“Strange day,” he sighed.
I murmured my agreement. He made his way partly to his bed but then stopped, looking at the crumpled sheets as if they held no comfort. I scooted over on the bed, my heartbeat quickening. With a smile, he slid in next to me, settling his head on my shoulder.
I loved this simple affection. When I first met him, he was so aloof and removed. He still was, in many ways, but like me, he craved physical contact. And this closeness was so nice. Only Cyril had ever given me any physical affection growing up. My parents had never hugged me. Not once.
For a time, we said nothing. We listened to each other’s breath as the flames in the fireplace made shadows dance on the wall.
“Is this uncomfortable?” Drystan asked, tapping the Lindean corset I wore under my clothes.
“There’s no such thing as a comfortable corset.” I strived for lightness.
“Then why do you wear it?”
“Because a boy with breasts is a bit of a curious sight, even if they’re not very large,” I said, a blush creeping up my cheeks.
“Well, everyone here knows the truth. So if it’s a day where we’re just around the theatre, I don’t see why you couldn’t leave it off. No one would mind.” Drystan traced his fingertips lightly over the corset, and I swallowed hard.
“I suppose,” I said. “Here, budge up.”
He sat up, and I loosened the corset stays under my shirt, sliding it over my hips and throwing it onto the floor. I took a deep breath, my ribs free. In that moment, I felt so fully aware of all the parts that made me: the breasts beneath the rough cloth, the little extra between my legs, the shaved down on my cheeks and the wider spread of my hips. I felt… comfortable.
“That is better.”
He chuckled.
We rearranged ourselves. This time, I rested my head on his chest. Drystan stroked a hand along my spine, up and down. I grew dozy with the feel of his feather-light touch.
“Before I fall asleep,” I murmured. “I have to tell you something.”
“Mm?” he said, and I felt the sound echo in his ribcage.
“Cyan said I could tell you. About her.”
I felt his breath hitch.
“You don’t have to. Or she could tell me herself.”
“She knows that. I think she’d rather me tell you. Rather than her having to show you.”
“Is she like you, then?”
“What? Oh.” I coughed, remembering the horrible night I showed him and Aenea what I was rather than tell them because I did not know how to explain. Just before our lives fractured further. “No, it’s not that.”
“How do you know? Have you seen her naked?” he jested.
“No!” I sat up. His eyes dropped to my chest, lazily. I fought the urge to cross my arms over my chest. “You are not making this easy.”
“Sorry, I’ll behave. No more jokes. Cyan?”
Lord and Lady, how to say it? “Cyan can, um, well... She can read minds.”
He stared at me, and then he began to laugh, just as I had responded to Cyan. He kept laughing though, even when my face remained still as stone.
“Did she do some mentalist trick on you? Cover her eyes and ask you to choose a number between one and twenty?”
“She asked me to think of my fondest memory. And she told me every little detail about it. Including what painting was on the wall, and what book lay open in my lap.”
He sobered at that. “That’s not possible.”
I waved my hand vaguely. “Plenty would say the same about me.”
“But isn’t yours mainly physiological? It’s not mindreading!”
“I’ve been seen by a lot of doctors. None of them have ever come across a case quite like mine. Besides, don’t you remember what else I can do?”
“Remember what?”
“The night we ran away from the circus.” We’d never spoken of it. In the beginning, we were both too broken. And then… it was easier not to discuss murder and death.
A shadow crossed Drystan’s face, his pupils wide and dark. “I don’t remember most of that night… after the cane.”
“You blocked it out?”
He shrugged. “I suppose.”
I didn’t want to bring up that night, but I pushed on. “When the clowns were chasing us, and they trapped us. I told you to close your eyes. There was a flash. And we escaped.”
His brow crinkled. “I think I remember a flash. It’s all jumbled.” Had he truly forgotten the memories to save himself from the pain? I wished I could do the same.
I puffed my breath out from between my cheeks. “Come on,” I said, leaving the warm cocoon of the bed. “As ever, it’s easier to show people than to tell them.”
“You could show me what’s under your clothes again. I remember that clearly enough.”
I threw him a dirty look, even as my face burned. “You said no more joking.”
“Maybe I wasn’t joking,” he said, sending another shiver along my spine.
Unable to articulate my thoughts, I turned from him. We shrugged into our jackets and shoved our feet into our boots. Up to the roof we went, and down the frozen drainpipe. Snow lay thick upon the ground. The world was dark, the sky brilliantly clear, each star shining down on us like a pinprick of light through black cloth. The air was fresh and cold.
It took a long time to find a Penglass dome that wouldn’t be easily seen by people in the tall buildings to either side. Finally, I found one a little taller than us, hidden just inside an alley next to a shop with boarded windows.
Drystan looked at the dome in confusion, his teeth chattering with cold. “Why are we here?”
“Stand here, so anyone walking by won’t see.”
<
br /> He complied. I took a deep breath, my bare palms hovering above the dome. Excitement coursed through me. And fear. Had it really been months since I had done this? Penglass called to me, especially every Penmoon, but I always resisted, not wanting to risk someone seeing… someone being hurt. But would the glass be like it was the night with Cyril, or like the night of the Penmoon?
“Keep your eyes shut until I tell you it’s safe,” I warned.
He did, and I closed my eyes to near slits.
I pressed my palms to the cold glass. Beneath my hands, the dark cobalt Penglass began to glow. The light reflected off the snow until it seemed as though we stood on diamonds. I took my hands away, widening my eyes. It was safe. The imprint of my hands remained.
“You can look,” I said.
Drystan crept closer, the blue light illuminating the planes of his face. His eyes were wide with wonder, his lips parted.
“You created the flash?”
“If I touch it on the night of the Penmoon and focus, it becomes blinding.” I swallowed, thinking of the clowns. I had tried to forget that, because of me, they would never see again.
“How is this possible?”
I tried to lock away the memory of that night in a corner of my mind, along with the other horrors. It was the only way not to be haunted. “I don’t know. I discovered it by accident, when I was climbing with my brother.” That memory had been one of the most amazing of my life, and then utterly terrible. Cyril had fallen off the smooth surface of the Penglass, breaking his arm. I had jumped down the Penglass after him, leaving two long trails of light as I did so. Nearby residents had seen them, and the next day photos graced the cover of the newspaper. No one had ever linked it to me. At least, I did not think they had.
Drystan reached out to touch the glass, but it remained dark under his fingers. I drew a few swirls like the winter wind, illuminating the snow a little more.
“So you see,” I said. “There’s much in this world we don’t understand. I can do this. I never grow ill. My arm healed before I stopped wearing the sling. So if I can do all of this, then what Cyan can do does not seem beyond the realm of possibility.”
