by A. C. Wise
Her voice cracks, losing the thread of the melody. Sweat gathers at the small of her back. Madeline’s expression grows pained, like she wants to turn her head and look at CeCe, but she can’t.
“You’re too late,” the demon says.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
The demon cocks an eyebrow. “Will you fight for her then?”
CeCe finally tears her gaze away from Madeline, gaping at the demon.
“What do you think, ladies and gentlemen?” The demon addresses the crowd, arms spread wide. “Shall we duel for the lady’s favor?”
“She isn’t a prize,” CeCe says, but her words drown in wave of applause.
“Last chance.” The demon drops her voice low again, turning back to CeCe. “Time to tuck your tail between your legs and run.”
“Like hell I will!” CeCe draws the handle of her cane from the base, revealing a thin sword.
Running with the Glitter Squadron has taught her a thing or two about always being prepared.
She leaps onto the stage. A brief electric shiver makes its way from CeCe’s polished wingtips to the crown of her slick-coiffed head. She flourishes her sword, vamping as she prepares to lunge.
“Tsk. Tsk.” The demon wags a finger. “I can fight dirty, too.”
A thunder-crack fills the air accompanied by a flash and the scent of black powder and cinnamon. The demon’s jacket shreds as two powerful bat wings snap free, beating the air and lifting her off the ground. The horns aren’t just a shadow on her forehead anymore, and instead of shiny black shoes, cloven hooves peek out from her trouser cuffs.
Cries of surprise fill the air, and panicked footsteps rush for the door, leaving CeCe, Madeline, and the demon alone.
“Surprise.” The demon bares fangs and dives at CeCe.
CeCe dodges, rolling, and springs up with her sword-cane brandished. She can’t help thinking of Errol Flynn as Robin Hood, battling for his ladylove against Basil Rathbone as Sir Guy of Gisbourne. Adrenaline-high and emboldened by the image, she slashes at the demon’s face, drawing a line of red on her cheek. This is nothing like sparring with Butch, this is the real deal, and she has no intention of holding back.
The demon snarls, landing with a force that shakes the stage. She grasps Madeline’s shoulders, shoving her toward CeCe. Madeline stumbles, letting out a choked noise of surprise. CeCe drops her sword, catching Madeline.
“Are you okay?”
Madeline’s face is tear-wet; a tremor runs the length of her body, physically trying to shake free of the spell holding her. But it still has its claws in her, and panic skitters across her features. She fights CeCe, eyes wide, trying to escape.
“What have you done to her?” CeCe whips around to face the grinning demon.
The terror in Madeline’s eyes breaks CeCe’s heart, but she lets Madeline scramble away. CeCe reaches for her sword, ready to smash the smile from the demon’s face. But the demon is too quick. She kicks the blade away and catches CeCe by the throat, lifting her and slamming her into the wall backing the stage.
CeCe’s vision blurs, her eyes stinging as she pries at the hand gripping her throat. The demon relaxes her hold just enough to allow the tips of CeCe’s polished shoes to scrape the stage. She leans in close, her lips brushing CeCe’s ear, breath hot.
“I can give her things you can’t.”
Stars burst behind CeCe’s eyes.
“Pleasure. Fortune. Fame. I can make her a star,” the demon purrs.
“She doesn’t want…”
“You don’t know what she wants.” The demon squeezes, cutting off CeCe’s words.
CeCe kicks, shoes scuffing the stage, but she can’t get purchase. The tiny hairs on CeCe’s ear bend under the weight of the demon’s breath.
“How about this, then? Two for the price of one, the three of us, all cozy together?” The demon snickers, pushing images into CeCe’s mind—the demon’s lips on her throat, Madeline naked and crawling toward both of them.
CeCe reaches for another image—Madeline on New Year’s Eve, eyes bright, talking about Paris; Madeline, sweaty from rock-climbing, trying to cajole CeCe into coming along this time; Madeline speaking to her sister on the telephone, discussing their mother’s cancer diagnosis and fighting back tears. This is Madeline—not CeCe’s gal, and not the demon’s. Her own goddamn person, the person CeCe wants to share her life with.
“I don’t deal with devils.” CeCe hears the rasp in her voice. She wants to accompany the words with a dramatic gesture, but her hands play traitor, hanging limp at her sides.
“I’m sorry, Madeline.” CeCe wheezes, struggling to draw in enough breath. “I love you.”
If she could reach the velvet box in her pocket… But she can’t remember why the box is important. It’s hard to focus.
A wordless yell and the sound of splintering wood breaks the spell. CeCe drops as the demon releases her, hitting the stage on her knees, gasping for breath. Behind the demon, Madeline holds the remains of a splintered chair.
“Get the hell away from my woman.” Madeline’s arms tremble, but she shifts her gaze to CeCe, eyes bright and wholly focused now. “You okay?”
CeCe’s swallows against the bruise left by the demon’s grip. “Yeah.”
“Good. Then let’s kill this bitch.”
Madeline gets the tip of her shoe under CeCe’s sword and flips it into the air. CeCe manages to catch it and pushes to her feet, ignoring the pain. She steps to Madeline’s side, slips her arm around her waist, and together, they face the demon.
“Madeline, honey, babydoll…” The demon’s voice is all liquid sweetness again, plucking at them, a faint prickle at the base of CeCe’s spine.
“No one calls me doll except for her.” Madeline jerks her head to indicate CeCe, driving toward the demon with the chair.
The demon jumps back, wings snapping wide. The microphone stand goes over with an electric whine. A table crashes to the ground and one of the lights overhead pops, raining shattered glass on the stage.
CeCe leans into the wind of the demon’s wings. The succubus howls, lifting higher before tucking her wings and diving at them.
“Get down!” Madeline grabs CeCe and they fall, a tangle of bodies trying to shelter each other.
Pure instinct makes CeCe bring her sword up at the last minute. Too late, the demon’s eyes widen. Momentum impales her on the sword, and there’s a sound like the demon’s suit ripping, only worse. A flash of negative light, a dark so painful CeCe lets go of the sword to shield her eyes. Black powder and sulfur and cinnamon scorch the air. The demon is gone, leaving only a curling wisp of smoke in her wake.
Madeline lets out a cry. The black ring on her finger sparks like ignited gunpowder. There’s a second flash, and it vanishes, leaving an angry, red scar.
“Maddy…”
“I’m okay.” Madeline curls one hand protectively around the other, looking dazed. “You?”
“I’ve had worse days.” CeCe surveys the now-empty bar, the overturned tables and chairs, the cracked mirror behind the bar. “Better ones, too.”
Broken glass crunches under Madeline’s shoes. She stoops, picking up scrap of purple. It takes CeCe a moment to recognize the flower from the demon’s lapel, its petals bruised almost to translucence.
“Did we kill it? Her.” Madeline trembles, shock setting in as the adrenaline wears off.
Her gaze is miles away. Haunted. What did the demon make Madeline see? What did it make her do? Is it possible, despite everything, Madeline actually loved her? CeCe pushes the questions away. “I don’t know,” she says, voice soft.
Madeline lets the flower fall, turning to look at CeCe. “When the demon had you by the throat, you said you loved me. Did you mean it?”
Old habits and old fear almost put a smart remark on her tongue, but CeCe pushes it down. “Sure.” CeCe looks at her shoes. “Of course I did.”
“You’ve never said that to me before.”
“Yeah, well, I me
ant to.” The velvet box in her pocket digs into her and CeCe fumbles it free. “I mean, I know I should have.”
She still can’t bear to look at Madeline. What if she sees the echo of fear in her eyes, the ghost of whatever spell the demon laid upon her? Worse, what if there isn’t a spell but CeCe still doesn’t see love? What if she’s blown her chance? CeCe holds the box out.
“Anyway, this is for you,” she says.
Daring a peek from the corner of her eye, she watches Madeline open the box and trace the ring with the tip of one finger.
“How long have you had this?” Madeline asks.
CeCe’s cheeks flush hot. She feels like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “Since the week I met you.”
“Idiot.” The smile in Madeline’s voice makes CeCe look up.
More glass crunches under Madeline’s heels. She puts her forehead against CeCe’s. Warmth comes from her skin and over the lingering scent of sulfur CeCe catches a hint of rosewater. And cinnamon. The demon’s smell.
Madeline touches CeCe’s chin, anticipating her move, and keeping her from looking down again. There’s sorrow in Madeline’s eyes, but hope, too.
“I went looking for the succubus. Not her specifically, but someone like her. And I did it long before we had our last fight. I was lonely and scared of the way I felt about you. And at the same time I wanted to make you see me, see that I could be part of your life. All of it.”
CeCe flinches, but Madeline holds her in place.
“Just hear me out,” she says. “I know you say you’re not a joiner, but you have this whole other life with the Glitter Squadron. You claim you’re not part of the team, just occasional back-up when they need you, but I know that’s not true. They’re your family.”
Madeline sighs, and a sad smile touches the edges of her lips for a moment. “I love singing, but it’s not saving the world.” Madeline puts her fingers over CeCe’s mouth to silence her. “I’m not some fragile thing to be left behind while you go out and face danger. I’m not the girl you come home to at the end of the day either. If we’re in this, we’re in it together. Okay?”
Madeline takes her fingers from CeCe’s lips, stepping back a pace.
“You saved my life tonight. I don’t think anyone could accuse you of being fragile.” CeCe offers a crooked smile, but doubt remains in Madeline’s eyes, her expression searching.
CeCe doesn’t think of Madeline as an accessory, or a treasure to be protected. Maybe she needs to say as much. If Madeline is a puzzle to be solved, then so is CeCe. Neither of them are mind-readers, and she has to remember that.
“You could put that on, if you wanted to.” CeCe gestures at the ring.
After what seems like an eternity of CeCe listening to the blood pound in her ears, Madeline returns the smile. Her expression is sly, amusement brightens her eyes, meeting CeCe halfway. Together, they’ll muddle through somehow.
“If I didn’t know better, I might think you were proposing to me.”
The tension drops from CeCe’s shoulders and she straightens, looking Madeline straight in the eye. “What do you say?” She lifts Madeline’s chin. “Be my best gal for good?”
“I say yes.” Madeline leans in and touches her lips to CeCe. “But I want a costume to go with this ring. From now on, you and me are a duo.”
CeCe catches Madeline around the waist. “Doll, you’ve got yourself a deal,” she says and spins Madeline around once before setting her down and leaning in for a longer kiss.
When she comes up for air, CeCe grins. “You and me, we make a pretty good team.”
FROM SAPPHIRE’S LITTLE BLACK BOOK OF COCKTAILS
FROM SAPPHIRE’S LITTLE BLACK BOOK OF COCKTAILS
After the fiasco with Penny I didn’t even bother trying to come up with a drink for CeCe. But you know what? Today, I can’t even be mad at her; her wedding was glorious. I’ve never seen her look so handsome—dark blue velvet tails, midnight silk cummerbund and top hat, and this darling little peacock feather boutonniere that matched Madeline’s bouquet. Lilies and feathers and white roses—and guess who caught it? Now I just need a prince charming to match.
The entire Glitter Squadron stood as CeCe’s groomsmaids of honor. You should have seen the dresses Es made us. Madeline’s back-up band stood as her bridesmen in matching jewel-tone suits. We were a whole rainbow spread out on either side of the happy couple. Except for M, of course. M doesn’t do weddings. Just as well. It would have given me nightmares for weeks. Ugh. But in happier news, rumor has it the Glitter Squadron might just be getting a new member. Es is working on a costume for Madeline as we speak, a sort of belated wedding present. It should be ready by the time they get back from Paris. The Silk Songstress. It has kind of a nice ring to it, don’t you think?
THE STORY OF M IS NOT A STORY YOU WANT TO HEAR. WITHOUT A beginning or an ending, starring one so thoroughly versed in the language of pain it may well be a native tongue. The story of M has eyes framed by leather. The story of M has lips that never part. There is nothing here, not for you. Just leave it be and move on.
FROM SAPPHIRE’S LITTLE BLACK BOOK OF COCKTAILS
FROM SAPPHIRE’S LITTLE BLACK BOOK OF COCKTAILS
Penny asked me the other day what kind of drink I would make for M. I told her, “Honey, fuck if I know.” Who knows what M drinks. It might be ouzo, it could be a lake of petrol on fire.
It’s funny, not in the ha-ha kind of way—I wouldn’t even recognize M if we met on the street. Assuming M ever does anything as normal as walking down the street. Bunny must know something about M, even if the rest of us don’t; she recruited M at some point. Or maybe M just appeared. I try not to think about it too much. It gives me the creeps. M gives me the creeps. I know, I know—it isn’t kind and it isn’t fair, but it’s true.
I can’t explain it exactly. All I know is M is pain. I wonder sometimes what it would be like… No. I don’t wonder. Shit. I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Thinking about M gets my head all messed up. Now I need a drink. Look, as far as I know, M is a breathing, animate slab of leather, through and through. I am not making M a drink, and I am not going to think about it anymore.
So why can’t I stop? And why am I still afraid? Why are there some things I can’t tell the Glitter Squadron about who I am? Who I want to be? Even Ruby. My Ruby.
Because what if I’m wrong? Then it will all be for nothing. My mother will never have grandchildren. Nobody will carry on my daddy’s name. I could, now, I guess freeze some before it’s too late and find someone to carry my child one day down the line, but it wouldn’t be…right. Because this isn’t me. This isn’t my body. Not yet.
I suppose there’s my answer. It’s not all for nothing. I’ll tell the rest of the Glitter Squadron soon. I’m just not quite ready.
THE OPENING BARS OF “SOMEWHERE OVER THE RAINBOW” CHIME through the Glitter Mansion’s front parlor. Esmeralda smiles, as she does every time their headquarters’ doorbell rings, thinking of the heated battle and the resignation that finally led to the custom tone. Sapphire had rolled her eyes and called “Over the Rainbow” too cliché. Penny had argued for the 1960s Batman theme song, which Bunny pointed out would sound terrible with chimes. Starlight had pushed for the Twilight Zone theme, which led to Sapphire rightly asking, “How would that even work?” In the end, they’d drawn straws and Bunny had won. With a satisfied smirk, she’d had “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” installed.
Setting her magazine aside, Esmeralda unfolds herself from the couch, but Bunny is there ahead of her, waving her away.
“I’ve got it.”
Esmeralda retrieves the magazine, but reading is pretense now. It’s been a while since they had a case. She turns a page for show, listening to the low murmurs from the front door, while trying to surreptitiously keep an eye on the hall.
“We can talk in my office,” Bunny says.
Esmeralda glances up as Bunny and the woman pass, and her stomach does a flip. The magazine slips from h
er hands. Her mother can’t be here. It’s impossible. She doesn’t know about the Glitter Squadron. Can’t know.
Neither Bunny nor the woman—who isn’t Esmeralda’s mother, of course she isn’t—glance her way. Esmeralda lets them pass before letting out a breath, pulse still skittering. Biting her lip, she counts to ten, then creeps down the hall.
Bunny’s office door is open just a sliver. Esmeralda peeks through, trying to get a better look. It isn’t her mother, but the woman looks so similar she could almost be her mother’s twin. The idea nags at the back of her mind, but Esmeralda can’t make the pieces fit.
It isn’t just the woman’s looks. The woman’s outfit reminds Esmeralda of the ones her grandmother brought back from Villahermosa for Esmeralda and her sister when they were little. The embroidery on the white cotton blouse and wide skirt is exquisite, and the woman’s hair is woven around her head in tight braids like a crown, studded with bright red flowers.
Esmeralda stares at the woman, heavyset, who even looks to be about her own mother’s age. The main difference is her brow, carefully cultivated to grow over the bridge of her nose, like a Frida Kahlo portrait come to life, and a faint shadow darkening her upper lip.
The truth hits Esmeralda all at once like a shock of cold water. The silver framed photograph from on top of her grandmother’s piano; the sound of glass shattering and hushed, angry words; the feel of the banister against her palms as Esmeralda and her sister peered down from the second floor, straining to hear.
“Oh.” Esmeralda releases a breath; her hand isn’t fast enough to stifle the sound.
Heels click as Bunny crosses the floor. Guilt freezes Esmeralda in place, so she’s still standing there, gaping, when Bunny opens her office door all the way. The woman behind Bunny looks up, startled. Before Bunny can toss an accusation, before the woman can get a good look at her, Esmeralda flees.
When she’s safe in her own room, Esmeralda sinks onto her bed. She should have apologized, but the dual shock of thinking her mother had found out about her life with the Glitter Squadron, and realizing who the woman in Bunny’s office must really be…
