by Ioana Visan
Anya raised her dark eyes at him and lowered her hands. The color had returned to her face. “Don’t feel sorry for me. With all my whining, I do know I need a circus act to be part of the cast. This is the only thing that I can do without endangering my legs.” The legs were everything for a ballerina. She never let him forget that.
“Well, then …” Nicholas kneeled in front of her and rested his palm on her ribcage.
Anya arched a delicate eyebrow. “Are you trying to cop a feel? My breasts are higher than that.”
“I was thinking that maybe you should lock the panel next time. Then let them try to open it. It would still be a comedic number.”
Anya’s grin met his. “Maybe I should … Ooh, get out of here and stop tempting me.” She waved both hands at him, shooing him away. “I need to make myself presentable for the final bow. I can’t face the public with this face.”
“Sure you can.” It was a lovely face when not hidden by the mask. “But do prepare for the reception. A lot of people will be eager to see you.” Nicholas caught her hand and placed a kiss on the back of it before getting up.
“Charmer.” Anya pursed her lips but was unable to hide a smile of enjoyment.
“Nicholas!” The door slammed against the wall, and Spinner burst in.
“Is it the electrical system?” Nicholas asked, not overly concerned because there were only a few minutes of the show left.
“No, but there are signs of increasing tension in the ceiling beams,” Spinner said between panted breaths. “They’re old, and Serioja and Misha swear they heard them crack when they were flying on the trapeze.”
Nicholas stifled a frustrated sigh. So much for everything working according to plan. “All right. Prepare to stabilize the ceiling until the audience leaves the building. After that, it’s none of our concern.”
“It might not hold that long,” Spinner said, shaking his head. “We didn’t do a full rehearsal run because of this exact reason. Now it looks like it will collapse anyway. The strain is too great …”
“Hmm … Inform the crew we might be forced to skip the last act. We won’t have it collapse on us.”
“People will be furious. They worked so hard, and it’s the highlight of the show.”
“Better furious than dead,” Anya said.
Nicholas glanced at her, used to her practical side. Things would have been different if she were the one closing the show, but since she wasn’t, reason won. “Get everything ready,” he told Spinner. “I’ll go to prepare the closing.”
32
For the second time that evening, Nicholas entered the mayor’s box. “How’s it going?” he asked quietly, leaning against the archway. “Is everything to your liking?”
“It’s stupendous,” Ternchiev said, oblivious to the tension in the couple sitting beside him. “I knew your act, but I had no idea the rest of the acts were this good. We should have brought you in a long time ago!”
How could he know when he’d banned the circus from town? Someone as important as the mayor would not lower himself to mingling with those “circus freaks”. “The audience has been thinning lately, so we were forced to step up our game. Bigger shows, better productions, more money … You know how it is.”
“Bigger shows indeed.” Ternchiev nodded, his eyes glued to Riella’s light body, spinning inside a wide circle four meters above the stage. In the spotlight, her mane danced like a flame around her.
The talks with management to bring in her silks had failed. The theater safety rules didn’t allow her to use them without a safety line, and Riella’s first attempt to work the silks with the line on had been a disaster. In the end, she had settled for the circle. There was no need to say she wasn’t happy about it. But the combination of red circle, red hair, and skin-colored costume made for an impressive act, and the mayor obviously appreciated it. The majority of the men inside the hall didn’t need the Nightingale’s help to have impure thoughts when faced with that sight.
Nicholas had some impure thoughts of his own, except his focused on murdering her. The silver sparkles decorating Riella’s costume caught his attention from the start because this wasn’t the design they had agreed on. As soon as the glitter intensified, enveloping her body in white fire for a brief second, Nicholas clenched his fists tightly, annoyed by the deviation from the script. Then it stepped outside the script completely. The spinning circle released sparks into a personal fireworks show.
The audience gasped as thousands of shooting stars filled the cupola of the theater with scintillation and smoke. The projectiles burned away to nothing before they reached the audience, leaving behind a layer of smoke that partially obscured the ceiling. With the spectacle they created, no one paid attention to the ceiling curving above the stage and the dust falling off.
Nicholas focused on the affected parts of the infrastructure and extended his power towards them. He had little experience working with whole buildings from such distance and without physical contact, but he did his best to keep the support beams from breaking. Other than saving one of the gymnasts who had fallen off the pyramid once, he hadn’t practiced regularly to get a better command of his “talent”, and had avoided using it altogether when he could. He had a good reason for doing so. No one could force telechargers to use something they had no control over, and mastering took time—time they didn’t have.
His muscles cramped from the strain, and cold sweat ran down Nicholas’s temples when stilt men emerged from behind the curtains, accompanied by Spinner on one side and Rake on the other. The stilt men’s legs elongated unbelievably high, and they lifted the knife throwers to the ceiling. They stuck their knives into the plaster, through to the oak beams, anchoring themselves there. They held the ceiling together with the sheer force of their arms. Those in the audience who noticed seemed to think it was part of the show.
Nicholas tugged at the power waves to test the resistance of the edifice and released part of his hold. It was not as bad as it could have been, just a series of cracks that Spinner and Rake had under control. Once they disassembled all of the props and cleared the stage, the danger would be gone. For now, it only needed to hold a little while longer. How long would it take the public to leave the hall? Ten minutes? It was still risky, but doable. He tipped his hat, signaling to close the show.
The circle descended with Riella and, as the air cleared and the music stopped, the crew filled the stage. The performers aligned near the edge and stared at the public. More lights went on, this time aimed towards the seats. One spotlight focused on the mayor’s box, revealing not one, but two men standing.
Armstrong had jumped out of his seat while Nicholas was struggling to prevent the catastrophe, and sported a look of understanding when the two men locked gazes. So he knew. What Nicholas had tried to avoid for years had finally happened, but maybe they could come to an agreement—something worth considering, for sure. Aurore also stared at him, though with a less surprised look. She had probably known all along, or at least suspected, as few things escaped her. Nicholas didn’t worry about her since the Golden Lady had a few secrets of her own. Luckily, Ternchiev was fascinated by the scantily clad dancers and didn’t have a clue.
Unclenching his jaw, Nicholas managed to force a smile. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us tonight!” He raised his voice and stepped closer to the rail of the balcony. “We hope you enjoyed the show and that this glimpse into our world didn’t frighten, but inspired you. Of course, none of this would have been possible without the support of Mayor Ternchiev here—” He extended a hand towards the older man, who nodded and smiled, pleased by the acknowledgement, “—so our thanks go to him.”
Nicholas clapped his gloved hands, and a round of polite applause echoed inside the hall. “Thank you all for your time and patience, and we hope to see you again next year. The Nightingale Circus wishes you … good night!”
The performers took a deep bow, and when they straightened again, the masks were gone, re
vealing smiling, perfectly human-looking faces.
The audience burst into wild applause.
33
With the hall emptying, Dale offered his hand to Aurore to help her up. He waited patiently while she fiddled with her gloves, folded the program, and slipped it into her purse.
“If you care to join us, there are refreshments in the lobby,” Renard told Ternchiev. “And you might like to meet a few members of our crew. I know they want to personally express their gratitude for allowing us to perform here.”
Out of his seat, the mayor hesitated, glancing back at Aurore, who didn’t hurry to leave the cozy box. She snapped and unsnapped her purse, frowning at the uncooperative clasp.
“It’s all right, Uncle,” Aurore said, waving a hand. “You go ahead. We’ll join you in a minute. I’d like to get my wrap first. It’s chilly in the lobby.”
Ternchiev gave them an indulgent smile, muttered something about “young people”, and let Renard lead the way.
Witnesses gone, Dale bent over to free Aurore’s heel from the hole in the floor. Her foot slipped free before he could reach it, and she left her seat with a fluid motion, avoiding all contact. All right. Back to square one.
“Everything working properly?” he asked, unsure what she was planning. Whatever it was, he was still her date/bodyguard, so he had to follow her lead.
“Yes.” The answer came in a clipped voice. “Everything’s fine.” She did a twirl to prove it, and the dress swayed around her feet.
Dale nodded, pretending to take her word for it. The glitch was gone, but it didn’t mean it wouldn’t return, especially with them not knowing what had caused it.
Since when did he care about what happened to the Golden Lady? His expenses would drastically decrease if she disappeared from the picture. On the other hand, the circus people might become less accommodating without the Golden Lady putting pressure on them and vouching for him. Either way, he needed her.
“Good. Let’s go then.” Dale opened the door and checked the corridor. A few people were still leaving. “We wouldn’t want to damage your reputation.”
“What reputation?” Aurore’s smirk was cold, but less secure as she slipped past him.
While they walked down the stairs, Dale’s hand rested on the small of her back in case she stumbled again. Probably thinking the same thing, and busy holding up the dress so she wouldn’t step on it, Aurore didn’t push him away, but her back was as stiff as a board. By now, Dale was convinced she had no prosthetics in her back.
In the wide entrance hall, well-dressed people stood in small groups and chatted with the performers. Everyone looked relaxed and polite, if not downright friendly. The glasses they held might have had something to do with that. The crew also helped by not wearing masks and having changed into proper attire.
Aurore scanned the hall and veered in the direction of her uncle, who talked animatedly with Renard. The ballerina hung onto the magician’s arm. On his other side stood the silk girl and the tall, blond aerialist. They all wore frozen, cautious smiles.
“Ah, there you are …” Ternchiev waved for Aurore and Dale to join them. “I was just telling our friends about the White Night. The museums in town, and part of the Hrad, will be open all night next Saturday with free admittance. There will be a small reception as we have visitors from abroad, and I have a great idea. You should come! It will be great publicity for you.”
“I’m not sure we—” Renard started.
“Oh, I’m not talking about a show like you did here. God, no. It would be a fire hazard, and we can’t risk damaging the Hrad, although it’s a shame …” Ternchiev’s eyes lingered on the redhead for an extra moment. “No, I’m talking about only a few acts. Something that doesn’t require much preparation …”
“To do inside the Hrad,” Renard said.
“Yes, inside the museum, or in the yard if you want to use fire.”
Renard exchanged a look with Dale. He could see the wheels spinning inside the magician’s head, if only metaphorically. He seriously hoped there were no wheels in there because it would interfere with the use of his telekinetic power, wouldn’t it? But an official invitation to the Hrad on the desired date? They couldn’t pass on that.
“I suppose we can do that,” Renard said.
Both of his female companions nodded in agreement.
“And you must bring the Nightingale. She definitely must sing!”
Ternchiev’s exuberance was met with less enthusiasm.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Renard said. “The Nightingale only does her shows for the circus.”
“That’s ridiculous. All singers perform in public. It’s what they live for.” Ternichev gesticulated with his hands, discarding all protests.
“Not the Nightingale,” Renard said calmly. “She hasn’t performed in public in years … bad experiences …”
“Very bad experiences,” the Swan said.
“Nonsense. There will be no bad experiences here.” Ternchiev rolled his eyes. “I’ll make sure of that. Now, where is she? Let’s talk to her and see if I can convince her.” His grin clearly indicated he had no doubts he could.
“The Nightingale has returned to the circus,” Renard said. “She apologizes for the inconvenience and regrets missing the chance of meeting you, sir, but she was exhausted after the show.”
“No, no, this won’t do …” Ternchiev turned to Aurore. “My dear, talk to these people.”
“I’m sure they’ll reconsider once they get some time to think this through and make the necessary arrangements,” Aurore said. “Patience, Uncle. There’s a whole week ahead of us.”
“I know, but she has such a wonderful voice.” Ternchiev pouted like a child, having his request denied.
Aurore laid a gentle hand on his arm. “You know what will help? More drinks. And I don’t have one. Excuse us.” With a flourish of the dress, she abandoned the group, Dale following, but didn’t head to the left side of the hall where the drinks were served.
A quick scan of the crowd made it easy to spot the absence of the people for whom she was searching. “They’re not here,” Dale said. “They escorted the Nightingale back.”
“How can you be so sure?” Aurore slowed her pace but didn’t stop.
Dale shrugged. “It makes sense.” From what he’d seen at the circus, the knife throwers were the only ones carrying weapons at all times. And the Nightingale needed to be protected. Many people would kill for her mesmerizing voice.
“That’s even better. We were going there anyway.”
The announcement didn’t come as a surprise after tonight’s glitch. During their first meeting, she had said her technician was out of town. “Will they know how to deal with those?” Dale nodded at her arms. “I saw them butcher a kid’s hand, but these seem more advanced than that.”
“I don’t know about them, but someone else does. He attached them twelve years ago.” She didn’t say anything else until they retrieved her cape and reached the car parked behind the theater.
“Out.”
Despite the poor lighting, the driver had no trouble recognizing Aurore. He jumped out of the car and stepped to the side.
She looked at Dale. “Drive. You know the way.”
Yes, ma’am, Dale almost said.
He drove around the theater square and headed for the bridge. The traffic was light because of the late hour, and the dim lighting didn’t encourage speeding—another one of Ternchiev’s initiatives.
In the passenger’s seat, Aurore wrestled inside her cape, her skirt landing in the back seat. Then, white silk flew in the same direction. She fought a series of buttons or zippers under the cover of the cape, but when her hands came out, they still wore gloves. She had either ripped them apart or shortened them somehow.
“I came prepared,” Aurore answered to Dale’s unspoken question. She shuffled in her seat, let out a sigh, and settled down.
The next question came out of nowhere.
“Do you know who the Nightingale is?”
Dale kept his eyes on the road, giving the question serious thought. “Her identity is not relevant to my plan.”
“It might be now.”
“You don’t care that much about my success. You have something to gain from it, but nothing to lose. So why do you ask?”
“I’ll cut twenty-five percent of your debt if you find out who she is for me.”
“Why?”
Aurore flexed the fingers of her left hand. When she spoke, she’d dropped the business tone and used a reminiscent one. “I spent my fifteenth summer at the circus. And I returned home with these.” She held up her hand. The white silk gleamed in the passing streetlights. “It was a painful summer. But there was this girl, younger than me, who stopped by every day and sang to me. Her voice was the only thing that managed to numb the pain.” She paused. The streetlights flashed over her pensive features.
“I was there when those people came in and took her away. Rake and Spinner hadn’t joined the circus yet. We were all alone, as there didn’t seem to be a need for extra security. They took her, and I couldn’t alert anyone. Big Dino paid the ransom, and I suspect he did more than that, but by the time she got back, it was too late. They had done terrible things to her. I was recovering nicely so I wasn’t allowed to see her anymore. Then, just before leaving the circus, they erased my memories of her. I can’t recall what she looked like, and it annoys the hell out of me.”
“But that’s not all, is it?” Dale asked, as he turned the car into the south part of town.
“No.” Aurore rubbed her forehead. “I know it. I just can’t remember …”
“If they don’t want you to know—”
“There must be a reason, right?” She glanced at him and shook her head. “I’m sure there is. You haven’t met Big Dino, have you? He’s very protective of his own.”
“Even when it comes to you?”
