When Stars Are Bright

by Amber R. Duell

  A wave of exhaustion settles around me. I sigh. “It’s a long story.”

  “I’m sure it is.” She tilts her head. “And you want me to stay so he doesn’t come in?”

  I nod, grateful she understands. “If you don’t mind.”

  “No, no.” She hurries back to the tub and twists a knob. The pipe groans as water sputters from the faucet near the knobs. “I’ll stay. Of course, I will. I just can’t believe Irena’s son—” She shakes her head and turns a lever, forcing the water out of the overhead pipe. “She’s such a sweet lady.”

  I bet.

  I eye the falling water, eager to wash off the weeks of grime. Setting the basket Jackie gave me down beside the tub, I unbutton my dress. The dark blue is now dull beneath a coat of grime. I don’t know where the dirt came from—if he dragged me from my yard instead of carrying me, or if I was dropped somewhere along the way. The green streaks are definitely grass stains. Some of it is dust from the bottom of the trunk, and the black stains—whatever they are—is anyone’s guess. The rip in the skirt, the result of wrestling against Walter during my second escape attempt, is bigger than I thought.

  Jackie swiftly turns around as the ruined dress hits the floor, giving me the illusion of privacy. I hurry over the lip of the tub and pull the curtain closed. The water pressure takes me by surprise. The first few seconds sting but then it’s actually nice. The water swirls brown around my feet, and my head falls back. Stepping closer to the stream, it hits my face, soaks my hair. A heavy breath wracks my body at the same time I lose control of my tears. I let them come freely, biting my lip to stay silent. No one can see me fall apart here. It’s important not to give them an advantage by letting them seem me weak.

  I’m not sure how long I stand there, using the hunk of soap to scrub away every speck of debris, but the water is freezing when I’m finished. I twist the knob Jackie used to turn the water on, cutting the flow.

  “Here.” Jackie’s hand pokes around the white curtain with the towel. “Would you like me to help you do your hair after you’re dressed?”

  I wrap the towel around me for warmth and dab my cheeks with one corner. “Please,” I say. My voice is a bit stronger now that I’m clean, and the thought of having my hair done doesn’t seem like such a waste. Looking presentable might actually help when I insist I’m sane.

  “I’ll run across the hall for my comb,” she says. She’s through the door before I can stop her.

  I dry off as quickly as possible and snatch the clothes off the edge of the sink. If Walter’s going to burst in here and demand I go somewhere else with him, I’ll be fully dressed when I punch him in the face. Now that someone, two someones, are possibly on my side, I’m not afraid he’ll kill me. Not straight away, at least. He’ll have to be more careful with people watching. Unless they’re in on the whole thing. I tug the green wool dress over my head with shaking hands.

  The door opens again. “He’s still with his mother,” Jackie whispers. “I checked.”

  I slide the shower curtain back and pull the wide brown belt tight around my waist. The dress is heavy on my shoulders and the wool scratches at the nape of my neck, but it smells divine. Like spring. “He hasn’t come looking for me?” I ask, climbing out of the tub.

  She shakes her head, pats the seat of a chair she must have dragged in, and sets another smaller basket in the sink. After I’m sitting, she uses a dry towel from the cupboard to rub the water from my hair. “Are you feeling any better?”

  Being clean makes me feel human again, but it doesn’t change things. On the ship with Walter, I learned what to expect—Walter would disappear in the mornings before I woke and return with food a short time later. Every day was filled with uncomforting words of security and dreams of the future. This is different. It’s too hard to think straight right now so, instead, I shrug.

  “It’s a wonder what a good wash can do for the soul.” She sets the towel around my shoulders and reaches into her basket. “You have great hair. I’d kill for a bit of natural curl.”

  “It never does what I want it to do,” I say.

  She laughs. “I suppose the things we don’t have are always more appealing than the things we do.”

  “I suppose so.” Although I’d gladly shave my whole head if it meant not being in this chair. In this house. This country. Everything I used to worry about, which wasn’t much compared to most girls my age, seems so trivial now. Fashion. Hairstyles. Makeup. Boys. I already found my match and now he’s probably lost to me forever. If I ever get the chance, I’ll never hide our relationship again. Our parents don’t have to agree with it—I don’t care if they do.

  “You’re from Holland then?”

  I pull my bare feet up to the edge of the chair as her fingers slip along my scalp. I close my eyes, the gentle tugs lulling me toward sleep. “Yes.”

  “So you knew Walter and Irena before all of this? They’re from Holland too but I can’t recall where exactly. Is that why he brought you? Because he knew you?”

  “No, I didn’t know him,” I reply quietly. If she thinks he forced me to come along out of love or friendship, she’s dreaming. “I saw Walter at a dance one night. I had such a strange feeling about him that Christian took me home, but he must’ve followed us.” I rest my chin on my knees. “Honestly, I expected to be tossed off the ship in the middle of the night despite how much he claimed to need my magic. I’m convinced he belongs in an institution.”

  Jackie’s laugh holds no humor. “I think anyone that forcibly drags someone away should be shot. Forget about their motives and all the talk about magic. Institutions are a hoax. Half the people in there aren’t even bats. Their families just want to get rid of them because they’re an embarrassment or won’t do what they’re told.”

  My eyebrows fly up. Being shot is rather extreme, not that I would mind, but Walter is obviously in need of mental help. Lots and lots of it. I keep my mouth shut though. It seems like there’s more to Jackie’s words and I have enough of my own problems.

  Jackie’s hands still in my hair. “Nik said Walter called you a Symric,” she hedges.

  “Which means I have fairy blood apparently.” I scoff. Just because I’m short doesn’t mean I’m hiding fluttery wings beneath my dress.

  “Anyway, I’m sure Madam Augustine will help you.” Her voice returns to a light, airy pitch and her fingers begin to move again. “She’s a tough woman but, deep down, she has a soft spot for anyone with special gifts.”

  “Special gifts?”

  Jackie stumbles over a few vowels before finding her voice again. “I just mean… singing, dancing, and the like. Augustine knows a good entertainer when she sees them.”

  “Madam Augustine.” I say, changing the subject. My voice is turning out to be more of a curse than a gift. The word madam sounds familiar, but I can’t remember exactly what it means. “She’s been mentioned a few times, but no one’s told me who she is.”

  “No?” Jackie gently tugs at the back of my hair, tucking stray pieces away. “She owns the troupe. Madam Augustine is really her stage name, but don’t let on I told you. She insists she go by it at all times. Rumor has it, she was married to a very well-to-do man before the depression hit but he killed himself when the market crashed. I think that’s why Mr. Chamberlain—he’s our patron—takes such an interest. His family was close to Madam Augustine’s and he feels—”

  The door opens. “Enough chit-chat,” Walter grunts. “Augustine wants to see us. If I knew I’d get so much grief about you, I never would’ve bothered. That’s gratitude for you, right?”

  I tense under Jackie’s fingers, and she gives my shoulder a squeeze. “I’m not sure who you think you are, but you’re not about to barge in here barking orders.”

  He pushes himself up straight. “Move it, Symric.”

  Jackie inhales to say something else but I touch her arm. This will be the last time I have to see Walter, the last time I have to hear him call me Symric, even if I have to walk
out of here and swim home. The sooner it’s over, the better. And hopefully Jackie and Nik are right—Augustine will help me get home to my mother. And Christian, if he forgives me.

  “Don’t bother,” I say. “I want to see Madam Augustine too.”

  The hot, arid air in Augustine’s room smells so strongly of orange blossoms that bile rises to the back of my throat. Walter nudges me from behind, forcing me further into the suffocating room until my arm brushes against a wall. I blink, dabbing moisture from the corners of my eyes.

  Don’t let them see you cry.

  Nik steps inside, blocking my exit, followed by Irena. I don’t understand why she has to be in here. With so many people crowding into the already tight space, I can scarcely breathe. There’s nowhere to move when Walter presses against my side, and my pulse flutters.

  A bony woman sits in the faded armchair angled toward the window, her snowy white hair bright against the dark walls behind her. She clutches a curved wooden cane in her left hand and looks me over from beneath heavy eyelids. She purses her lips, the lines around her mouth deepening, and snaps her gaze to Walter.

  “Let’s get right to it, then,” she says in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. “I run a tight ship. This country has seen better days and folks have to be very careful where they spend their hard-earned money. The silver screen is making things harder for us by the day.”

  Walter nods.

  “So, with the competition, it’s reasonable to assume a scandal will only hurt my show.” Her beady eyes narrow. “Scandals like kidnapping a teenage girl and keeping her like some sort of zoo attraction.”

  Walter blanches. “Madam Aug—”

  “And you,” she says, turning to me. “I’m not sure what kind of game this is to Walter, but going to the police isn’t an option. People talk. The city isn’t half as big as the mouths on some.”

  Moisture coats my palms. I’m not sure why I’m surprised, but I am. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m never anything else, dear.” She inhales. “You’re a tiny little thing. How tall are you?”

  I glance at Nik, desperate for a friendly face, an ally, then back at Augustine. “150 centimeters, but I’m not sure what that has to do with—”

  “Translate,” she snips at Nik.

  “About four-foot-eleven, Madam,” he answers.

  She scowls. “Hmm.”

  “Madam Augustine, please listen,” I beg. “I never wanted to be here. He chloroformed me, locked me in a trunk, dragged me onto a ship, and convinced everyone I was insane while keeping me tied to a bed just because he thinks I can sing. All I want to do is go home.”

  Augustine pinches the bridge of her nose. “Well, Walter. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  He wheezes beside me. “With a Symric like her, we can land any gig you want. I recognized her magic the moment she opened her mouth and had to bring her.”

  “The next sentence you utter needs to be you asked her politely.” Madam Augustine stands, crumbs falling from her ankle length pinstripe skirt. “Because I’m finding it very difficult to find a reason she would lie. I’m not blind—look at her. She’s a mess.”

  My breath comes faster, and my entire body tingles in anticipation. There’s no reason to lie if I wanted this. None. I don’t want it, and she sees that. The sailor followed his captain’s order to tackle me on the ship, but Augustine is a self-made woman. The owner of an entire... something. Actors? Musicians? I jolt with sudden realization. Madam Augustine. Madam’s run brothels. My blood turns icy in my veins.

  And I thought it couldn’t get worse.

  “I just thought... I...Well, I...” Walter stutters.

  “You stole a girl from her home, gifted or not. I’m incredibly troubled you don’t see a problem with this,” Augustine chides.

  The room tilts, and I rest my head against the wall. The stale air burns my nostrils and the wool dress bites at my skin. Sweat beads along my lip. I wipe it away and try to focus on the scene in front of me. The hum of Augustine’s voice reminds me of a wasp, incessant and angry, but I can’t make out the words. A hand touches my shoulder, and I twitch away from it.

  “Are you okay?” Nik whispers.

  I look up into his face. The edges blur. I try to speak but my balance shifts, and I fall back against his chest. The citrus scent of the room churns my stomach. I’m going to vomit. Or collapse. Something. My brain screams not to but my body isn’t listening. It’s shutting down, pushing away the new reality of things.

  Augustine steps closer to Walter and points a crooked finger in his face. Neither of them bother to look in my direction. They don’t notice that I’m leaning into a complete stranger to stay on my feet. A stranger who, from across the room, noticed my distress when no one else did. He’s the first person I’ve met that didn’t focus on the wrong end of the problem. Yes, bad Walter. Shame on him, lock him away for life, but get me out of here first.

  “I don’t.” My voice comes out as a puff of air. “Feel,” I try again. My tongue refuses to work. Am I dying? Will I wake up if the darkness wins? It doesn’t feel like I will.

  A clicking echoes in my ears. My teeth, I realize, as the shaking spreads down the rest of my body. My feet are numb. And my hands. My lips. My stomach lurches and I gasp. My knees give out. A pair of hands grip my arms as I fall.

  A throbbing pain behind my temples pulls me from sleep. I grimace, my back arching, but a hand on my forehead holds me down. My eyes snap open, and Nik hovers over me. “Shh,” he says. “You’re safe.”

  My racing heart says otherwise, but I attempt to relax against the lumpy mattress. I’m lying in a cannonball bed, covered to my chest with a blue quilt. A cane chair is beside the bed and a green slag glass lamp with black trim sits on a small table, taking up most of the tiny room. A broom leans against yellow and pink floral wallpaper. It must be a room at the boarding house but whose?

  Nik dabs a wet cloth against my cheek. “Are you feeling any better?”

  “Wh—” My voice sticks in my throat. I cough and try again. “What happened?”

  He shifts to sit in the chair instead of on the edge of the bed. “You fainted.”

  “Well, yes, but...” I try to sit but another wave of dizziness throws me back to the bed. “Is there something wrong with me? How long was I unconscious?”

  “Almost three days.” He lifts his eyebrows, concern etching his otherwise blank expression. “We called a physician and he promised you only needed some rest. You were severely dehydrated. Honestly, I’m not sure how you lasted as long as you did without collapsing. When did you eat last?”

  I rub my temples. Three days? I should be on my way home by now. “I haven’t felt much like eating.”

  He sighs. “I know it’s hard to eat without an appetite but you can’t let yourself starve.”

  He’s right. I know he is but my time on the ship wasn’t spent in what I consider the right state-of-mind. I mean, I tried jumping overboard. I tried jumping overboard. I groan. That has to be my worst decision to date. I can’t see my mother or Christian again if I drown. I need to start thinking things through and form a plan.

  “I brought you some breakfast.” Nik grabs a bowl with tiny gold and pink flowers along the edge from beside the lamp. “If you keep this down, I’ll bring you something better later.”

  I inch into a sitting position using the wall, and he sets the food on my lap. It’s a small serving of clear broth. Why bother? But my stomach growls. “Thanks.”

  He leans back in the chair and extends his long legs. The knees of his brown pants are a shade lighter than the rest. “You don’t want to force too much down at once. Not after you haven’t eaten in so long,” he says, crossing his arms. “Trust me.”

  Strangely, I do. We never had much at home, but I never went hungry. The way Nik’s watching me makes me think maybe he has. Still, there are things more important than my diet. “Where’s Walter?”

  “Gone. Irena, too. Augustine fired them
both.” He sits forward again. My eyes lock onto his and for a brief second, I see something there. A small glimmer of something I can’t decipher but then it’s gone, hidden beneath a still face. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get you the justice you deserve. I wanted to take you to the coppers, and I apologize for letting you think I was. It’s just...”

  “Complicated?” I ask, remembering his words. He stiffens. “You were the first person to believe me, so I’ll forgive you this time.”

  His lips quirk wistfully. “This time? Do you plan on desperately needing the police a second time?”

  “Yes.” I grip the bowl, remembering the revelation I had right before losing consciousness. “If your boss tries to force me into prostitution, I’ll most definitely need them.”

  His eyes widen. “Prostitution? Where on earth did you get an idea like that?”

  I hesitate. Could I be mistaking the term? “Madam Augustine…?”

  Nik’s head falls back with a laugh so hard, his chest heaves. “No.” He pauses to collect himself. “She runs the troupe. Not a… house of ill repute.”

  I press a hand over my breastbone and exhale. I should be embarrassed but really, I’m just relieved. “Thank goodness.”

  “I’ll say.” His eyes still shine with amusement.

  “So what is the troupe then?” I poke at the broth with the heavy silver spoon. “Some sort of opera?”

  He laughs again, this time quietly, and holds his hands out to each side. “Welcome to Vaudeville.”

  “Vaudeville?” I scowl. “What’s that?”

  He tilts his head. “Seriously?”

  Heat creeps into my face. Growing up without extra money, I never went to a show. I remember the circus passing through a few times but I was generally too busy working to pay much attention.

  “It’s a variety show. Singers, dancers, comedians, jugglers, magicians. That kind of thing.” He shrugs. “We’re being phased out in favor of the pictures, but we’re not gone yet.”

  “Oh.” That seems less scary than the opera for some reason. I would probably want to see their show under different circumstances. I sip at the lukewarm, flavorless broth. “What do you do?”