The corridor, lit by the glow of gas lamps, was silent and felt deserted. The soft yellow light reflected off a weird assortment of theater debris cluttering the hall: a gilded throne, a papier-mâché lion painted to look like marble, framed posters of previous shows, bright red window frames with panes made of sugar glass, dress forms clothed in costumes from last year’s production of Romeo and Juliet. I nearly knocked over three bolts of fabric taller than me.
My boots clicked loudly on the polished wood floor as I looked for the side hallway leading to Dietrich Wolff’s office. I’d never been there before, but he’d given Delphine and me directions earlier. It was at the end of a short hall, separated a little from the other offices.
The door was open slightly. I tapped on it and then gave it a push. “Hello?”
“Miss Mellor, come in.” Presul Wolff stood from his desk and crossed the room to take my hand. He bowed over it as if I were a lady making a social call instead of an unimportant apprentice. He wore no gloves, and his bare skin felt warm against mine. Something flared in me, hot and a little painful, like running my finger through a candle flame.
I slid my hand from his grasp. “Good evening, Presul Wolff,” I said, dropping a quick curtsey. I looked around—no Delphine yet.
He gestured to two small, carved wingback chairs in the corner of the office and took my apprentice bag from me. “Please have a seat. Would you care for some tea?” The serving staff at the theater kept the Guild members well-supplied with hot water for tea.
“Yes, thank you.” I took one of the chairs. It was much more comfortable than the parlor chairs in Nadine’s apartment had been.
The china teacups seemed delicate and small in his palms, but he handled them gracefully as he prepared the tea.
The light from the gas lamps on the wall cast a cozy, warm glow in an office that felt more like a man’s personal library. Bookshelves ran floor to ceiling along the wall behind my chair. They were loaded with books on topics from theater to science, from novels to children’s fairy tales. Their covers looked worn and well-loved. I gazed at them with the same sort of hunger as some of my friends looked at the marzipan candy lining the display window of Miss Tabitha’s Sweet Shop. What would it be like to own so many books? It made me feel envious, but also somewhat less afraid of the presul—a fellow book-lover couldn’t be too dangerous, right?
He brought me a cup and saucer, but didn’t take the chair next to me. Instead, he leaned against his wooden desk in the opposite corner of the room and watched me sip my tea. I couldn’t help noticing how fine he looked—he had changed to a wine-colored, velvet smoking jacket over a dark gray vest and tan cravat. To my knowledge, he didn’t actually smoke, but many men preferred the comfort of smoking jackets in the evening. His dark hair just brushed the collar of his jacket, the fashionably messy locks glinting in the soft light. His eyes were shadowed, but I could feel them studying me. Probing. Asking me silent questions I couldn’t, wouldn’t answer.
He looked steaming hot. And we were alone in the intimate quiet of his office. Far, far from anyone else.
A familiar panic churned to life inside me. Where was Delphine?
“What’s our plan for the evening?” I set the teacup on a side table next to me, hoping he didn’t see the tremor that rattled the cup. I put on a bright, breezy tone. “I brought my sketchbook so I can get right to work on some designs for Delphine.”
He didn’t answer. Just kept looking at me as if he were lost deep in a world somewhere inside him. I had a terrible—yet oddly thrilling—feeling that if I stared back long enough, he would take me there with him.
“Presul Wolff?” My voice cracked into a half-whisper.
“Why Miss Birdwell?” he said finally.
“I…” He wasn’t asking why I was designing for her. But I wasn’t sure I really wanted him to explain what he did mean. “You know why.”
“No. Why is Miss Birdwell taking Dame Fairchild’s role?” He gave me a knowing look that made me hot and cold at the same time. “Why aren’t you doing it?”
I stood and browsed the bookshelf, my back to him, fighting to find a reply that wouldn’t show my fear. “You have a wonderful collection of books. Where did you find them all?”
“Minx Mellor.” He said it gently, not scolding at all. “Why are you letting Miss Birdwell take this risk when your own magic is so much greater than hers?”
I gripped the shelf in front of me. Damn him. Damn his magic, his all-seeing gaze. Damn his unwillingness to politely pretend, as the other presuls did, that I was just a technomancer like all the rest. I stared at the book spines in front of me, without even seeing the titles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a tech apprentice. Not acting.”
The floor creaked behind me. I felt him coming closer. “That’s what makes no sense. You act without even realizing it. Your magic is so strong, you’re able to shift it into technomancy even though that’s not what it really is.”
I faced him, willing myself not to tremble. “That’s a bunch of…” I decided profanity in front of a Guild member might not be very smart.
“A bunch of what?” He was standing next to me now, his eyes drilling down to me, challenging me to say it.
“Of coggle-brained fantasies.”
He half-smiled. “Is it?” He leaned against the bookshelf, bringing his face closer to my level. “Or is it the truth? I know what you are. You have vicimorph magic—just like Miss Birdwell. More than Miss Birdwell.”
I held my breath, my heart hammering. I couldn’t muster a denial, couldn’t say anything at all.
He continued, walking in a tight, slow prowl around me. “Her vicicordis magic lets her change her mind, her voice, her personality. Maybe even her soul itself. She is powerful. Her magic is rare.” He stopped, so close I could have leaned my head on the lapels of his jacket. He lifted his hand, as if he would caress my cheek or my hair. He didn’t touch me, though. “But you are much, much more rare. You can do all that. And more. If you were to take Dame Fairchild’s place, there would be no need for make-up or wigs to make you look like her. And you and I both know why.”
“Stop it, please,” I whispered.
He dropped his hand again. “You have vicicorpus magic. You can change your physical form. You can become any person or creature or being you wish.”
His words washed over me in dark waves. I could feel his presul magic all around me, calling to my own magic, exploring the painful pieces of my true identity. Images flashed through my mind—the horrors that had been forced on me by my own magic. And by the magic of a man I refused to name, even in my mind. I drew a shuddering breath.
He didn’t seem to notice. “You, Miss Mellor, are not a technomancer. You are a shapeshifter. Miss Birdwell can change her personality, but you can change your very shape.”
I stared up at him, blinking back unwanted tears. “And you can go to hell.”
Blast it. I should not have said that to a presul.
But he didn’t look angry. Just startled, like he’d woken from a daydream. He stepped back from me and bowed. “I apologize. I don’t mean to intrude.” A great sadness filled his eyes, a shadow of something long past. “But I’ve only known one other.”
One other? I didn’t even want to ask. “You are very mistaken.” I swallowed and forced a firmer tone into my words. “I am a technomancer. That is all.”
We both knew it was a lie. He gave me another penetrating gaze, a look so searing, it was like all the secrets inside me curled into scorched bits of ash. Finally, he looked away. “I see.” His voice was tight with regret and disappointment.
I was terribly afraid that yes, he did indeed see. Far too much. And yet, a part of me felt a sharp, painful sort of joy at having the truth spoken out loud. Of being recognized and seen for who I truly was.
Before I could find anything more to say, I heard a soft tapping on the open door.
“I’m sorry I’m a little late. But your directions were im
possible to follow.”
Presul Wolff spun around. “Ah, Miss Birdwell. Welcome.”
Chapter Ten
I really hoped it would be the last time I’d be so glad to see Delphine Birdwell. Presul Wolff gave her the same gentlemanly greeting he’d given me, offered her tea, and showed her to the second chair next to mine. I took the opportunity to regain my composure and pull my sketchbook out of my bag so I looked businesslike and ready to work. I forced the disturbing conversation with the presul out of my mind. I had to concentrate—keeping Delphine safe from the Peacock was all that mattered right now.
Presul Wolff set his desk chair in front of us, a pile of documents in his hand. He gave Delphine and me each a copy of a booklet. “This is the script for A Captain’s Courage. Dame Fairchild’s part is Julia Donovan, Captain Moffett’s love interest, who ends up captaining the ship when Captain Moffett and his crew are injured during a kraken attack. Miss Birdwell, obviously you will need to learn her lines. But Miss Mellor, I want you to memorize them as well.”
I shot him a suspicious glance. “Why?”
He sat in his chair, looking very serious. “You and I have to know her part thoroughly so we can spot the moment something starts to go wrong. We also need to study the whole play, especially the second act, to see where the most likely point of attack may be.”
I felt foolish for being so quick to challenge him. “I see.”
He turned his attention to Delphine. “You and I will rehearse the part of Julia Donovan privately, with you impersonating Dame Fairchild, so that your portrayal of Julia and hers are as identical as possible. Dame Fairchild will continue rehearsing with the rest of the company. The three of us will sit in on some of their rehearsals, but we won’t make the switch between Miss Birdwell and Dame Fairchild until the dress rehearsal. We don’t want the rest of the company to know about any of this until it’s all over.”
“That means I won’t have any experience rehearsing with the company until the dress rehearsal.” Delphine bit her bottom lip, frowning.
“That’s correct. Not an easy prospect for you, but we can’t risk you being discovered.”
“But surely,” I interrupted, “the Guild members could be trusted.”
“We would hope so,” he replied evenly, “but we don’t know how or when the Peacock is getting backstage or if he has accomplices. We don’t know who his eyes and ears may be. The fewer people who know about this, the more chance of success we have.”
Delphine leaned back in her chair, her face pale.
“Scared?” I said, sneering.
“Of course,” she snapped. “I have to face a murderer with only your silly toys to protect me.”
“My ‘silly toys’ got us away from the—” I slammed to a halt and clamped my mouth shut.
Delphine looked disgusted at my near slip.
“Both of you, stop it.” The presul’s expression turned severe. “Let me make one thing clear—I don’t care what your personal feelings are for each other. You can hate each other all you want. But when I run a rehearsal, I expect you to leave that outside the door. Here—” He gestured to the room, to the three of us, his eyes stern and commanding. “—we are a team. No matter how you feel about it, you will treat each other civilly. Miss Birdwell’s life depends on it, and possibly others as well. Understand?”
God, he was so hot when he was being all take-charge. Scary, but hot. And he was right, of course. Very well. No bitch-baiting for me for the next few weeks. “I understand.”
“I do, too,” Delphine murmured meekly. She shot me a hateful look from the corner of her eyes, but Presul Wolff didn’t seem to notice.
That was fine. I could rise above it. Be the better person. For Nadine.
And Dietrich Wolff.
“Good.” He ran his hand through his hair. His expression softened into a smile. “And I have another suggestion to make. Being that we are a team, and we need to feel more comfortable with each other, I suggest that we use each others’ given names. Only while we are rehearsing together, of course.”
Delphine and I glanced at each other. A Guild member suggesting such a break in etiquette was unheard of. I was beginning to suspect, though, that our presul wasn’t much of a slave to rules.
Finally, Delphine gave a curt nod.
“I’m agreeable to that,” I said. It might be helpful to call him by his first name. Maybe I’d feel less intimidated around him. I could pretend I was worldly and confident, totally comfortable socializing with such a man. Dietrich, darling, let’s go out for some absinthe sometime. I know this divine little pub around the corner...Ugh. I mentally cringed—my mind was an embarrassing place at times.
“Excellent. Thank you.” That settled, he pulled several documents from an envelope and unfolded them. “This is a copy of the investigative report on the Peacock murders. I looked through it during dinner and thought you both should know what’s here.”
I held out my hand. “May I?”
He gave me the papers, and I skimmed through them as he continued.
“They’ve questioned the company members and stagehands who were present on the nights of the murders, but they’ve gotten very little information. They have no sure cause of death—the victims were dead before they were hung. But there were no wounds, no broken bones, no sign of a struggle at all. The investigators suspect the Peacock uses either poison or some sort of magic to commit the actual murder, but they have been unable to identify whatever it is.”
I studied the papers. “It appears no one heard or saw anything unusual. No struggle from the victims, no sign of an intruder. Just a dead body dropped from a catwalk.” I looked up at Presul…Dietrich. “How can that be?”
He shook his head. “I wish I knew.”
We both glanced at Delphine. She shrugged. “Do I look like Sherlock Holmes to you?” Despite her sarcastic tone, there was worry in her eyes.
I shoved the papers back to Dietrich. “This is a waste of time. How can I design anything to keep her safe when I don’t even know what threat she’s facing?”
He took the papers from me, his fingers lightly brushing my hand. My pulse stumbled at the brief contact. Our eyes met, and I could tell he was worried too.
Frustration flared through me. The Theatrical Guild and the police had put the three of us in an impossible situation. And for what? So they could look like they were doing something about the Peacock?
If they were really concerned, why weren’t they here helping us? Why had they mostly tossed us on our own to figure it out?
The horrid truth crashed in on me. Stole my breath. A black fury woke inside me.
They didn’t expect Delphine to actually survive.
They had no intention of preventing her murder. They just hoped they could catch the Peacock before he escaped. Presul Wolff—Dietrich—and I were just window-dressing, to make their cruel plan look better when it became public. That way, when they had to explain why an apprentice had been killed in place of the great Dame Fairchild, they could say they’d tried to prevent it.
Even though they really hadn’t tried at all.
His eyes held mine. I saw the truth reflected in them. He knew, too. And if I read him right, he was just as pissed off about it as I was. He gave me a slight nod, his lips tight. We understood each other perfectly.
“Screw that,” I said.
Delphine gave a lady-like gasp. As if. God spare me from divas.
I scooted to the edge of my chair, leaning toward the presul. “Let’s investigate on our own. What do a bunch of rozzers know about theater people? Nothing. They have to be missing something. I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit back and—”
He squeezed my hand, stopping my flow of words. His eyes warned me not to scare Delphine any more than she already was. He slowly released my hand, still watching me. “I think that is an excellent idea.”
I slid my other hand over the skin he had touched. Breathing was a little harder. My heard beat a little faster.
Fear, and…I wasn’t sure what else.
I leaned against the chair, feeling slightly dizzy and disoriented. It was stupid to let him affect me so.
Delphine crossed her arms, pouting a little. “What about tonight? Are we going to rehearse?”
Dietrich—it was becoming easier now to think of him as such—glanced back to her. “Yes, but not here. And first, I want to try something. Let’s go down to the main stage and see if we can reenact some different ways the Peacock may have attacked.”
I frowned. “I’m not sure how that will help—it will be all guesswork right now until we can investigate.”
He nodded. “I like the idea of doing our own investigating. But we can’t simply show up at the other theaters and demand to talk to people. They’ve got proprietary scripts and set designs lying around just as we do, and they won’t want people from a rival theater seeing all that. I’ll have to make appointments to talk with the other presuls. In the meantime, we have to move forward somehow. This is something we can do tonight.”
“All right,” I said. “And tomorrow, I can visit the library—they usually let non-members use at least the reference section. I can look up newspaper articles from the previous murders and see if there’s anything we can learn from that.”
“What about me?” Delphine said.
Dietrich smiled at her. “You need to study—if you have any hope at all of filling Dame Fairchild’s shoes in four weeks, you’ll need to study harder than you ever have before.”
He stood and offered each of us an arm. “Shall we begin, ladies?”
Chapter Eleven
When we reached the main stage, I helped Dietrich flip the huge levers that turned on the electric lights on stage and in the wings. The Alchemy had been one of the first theaters to install electric stage lights. Some other theaters, such as the Coggled Noggin, still used gas lights which were a terrible fire hazard should any of the actors or a curtain brush too close.
The main stage was set with the ship’s deck scenery for A Captain’s Courage. I made a mental note to diagram the set in my sketchbook later. Toward the back, in the wings, were the giant robotic kraken arms for the attack scene. I sighed longingly at them—it would have been so amazing to be part of designing and making them. But soon. In a few more months, I would finish my apprenticeship, and then I would do anything I had to in order to be hired on and stay at the Alchemy Empire Theater. I never wanted to live or work anywhere else.
Chains of Silver: a YA Theater Steampunk Novel (Alchemy Empire Book 1) Page 9
