A REMINDER OF PANTOMIME
DRAW BACK THE CURTAIN
Let me remind you of what has happened to Micah Grey, in case it’s been some time since you last stepped into Elada. When we last saw Micah, he was on the run from a ruined circus and was about to step onto the magician’s stage.
The first time we met him, with a little nudge from me, Anisa—sometimes known as the Phantom Damselfly—he’d stepped through those gates and fallen in love with both the magic and the danger of the circus. He was enchanted by the trapeze act, performed by Aenea and Arik, and he yearned to fly.
Before he ran away, Micah had tried to throw himself into the role of a young, noble lady named Iphigenia Laurus, or Gene: he’d spent time in the Emerald Bowl estates in the country, attended afternoon tea, and debuted into society. He shared a kiss with his friend, Oswin, and even tentatively saw a future with him, though it was unlikely to be a love match. Yet when Gene realized his parents were so afraid of anyone discovering the truth that they were willing to operate on him without his consent, Gene fled. After a few harrowing days on the city streets, he renamed himself Micah Grey and found R.H. Ragona’s Circus of Magic.
Micah daringly auditioned on the trapeze and earned a chance to prove himself in the circus. It was not easy. Training with the aerialists Aenea and Arik was grueling. Micah endured hazing and pranks from some of the clowns until Bil Ragona, the ringmaster, and Drystan, the white clown, put a stop to it. Micah performed some of the lowest tasks for the grunts, from scrubbing the loos to looking after the animals.
On his second night in the circus, I revealed myself to Micah, telling him that Chimaera and their magical abilities were returning to the world—and he was one of them. His powers would grow, and I needed his help against a blurred man I saw in visions who wished to destroy them. He didn’t want to believe me, of course, and grew frustrated when I could not tell him what little I knew of the future for fear of it not coming to pass. I let him throw his anger at me: eventually, after all, he would discover the truth.
A newspaper article printed with Iphigenia Laurus’s face offered a reward for the whereabouts of the runaway noble daughter. The Laurus family hired a private investigator to bring Micah home. He later came face-to-face with this Shadow Elwood on a rare day off with Aenea in the city and managed to evade him. Arik finally retired from the trapeze, and Micah took his place as a performer as the circus left Sicion behind.
R.H. Ragona’s Circus of Magic paused for a few weeks in the fishing village of Cowl to practice the pantomime they planned to weave between the acts, so the circus had a chance to stand out in the great capital of
Imachara. Micah ended up cast in the role of Princess Iona, with Drystan playing the part of Prince Leander. Micah had discovered that Drystan was another noble runaway, like himself, from the prestigious Hornbeam family.
One of many dangers in the circus was the ringmaster himself. Bil Ragona had turned more to the bottle. He gambled or spent coin he could not afford on Vestige artefacts rather than ensuring the wage packets were full. He was prone to mercurial moods: he might fire someone one night and give grandiose promises the next. Once in Imachara, his wife, Frit, finally left and took some money from the safe with her. Bil grew worse, and Drystan stepped up to keep the circus going. Micah had been torn between his growing romance with Aenea and his increasing attraction to Drystan.
One night, near the end of the season, Shadow Elwood found Micah. Elwood made a mistake by going to the ringmaster first. Instead of simply detaining Micah until the Shadow returned, Bil lost his temper, especially once Drystan and Aenea came to Micah’s aid. Drystan struck Bil with the hidden blade of his own cane, accidentally killing him. Bil had nearly murdered Aenea, but Micah managed to grab my disc, known as an Aleph, from the safe, and it was my turn to help him. He let me step into his body and control his kindled powers. I brought Aenea back from the brink, but in return, Micah could never see or speak to her again, lest she affect what was to pass. Juliet, Tauro, and the shapeshifting Violet, the other three Chimaera of the circus, brought Aenea to the hospital to be treated, and Drystan and Micah left the circus behind them in flames.
The Shadow trailed Micah and Drystan, cornering them in the Copper District on the night of the full moon. Micah remembered the
prophecy I’d told him and placed his hands on the Penglass, which responded to his power, releasing a bright light that nearly blinded the Shadow, allowing them to escape.
Drystan and Micah decided to remain together, and the white clown, the pale jester, knew where to go next: the Kymri Theatre, to Jasper Maske, a disgraced stage magician who owed him a life debt. And so that is where we find them, cold and afraid, standing on the threshold, with more adventure, magic, and danger to come.
1
THE SÉANCE
“Countless times, I have drawn closed the black curtains against the daylight, clasped hands with believers and cynics alike, and claimed to commune with the dead. Some believe I actually bring forth ghosts, and others hold tight to their disbelief. But no matter how cynical, there is always the glimmer of fear in their eyes when the supposed supernatural crowds the room with them. When whispers fill their ears and they feel the brush of an unseen hand. Fear of the darkness, and of what they do not understand. Or perhaps it is not fear, but guilt.
Is it ghosts that truly haunt us, or the memory of our own mistakes that we wish we could undo?”
THE UNPUBLISHED MEMOIRS OF JASPER MASKE: THE MASKE OF MAGIC
Jasper Maske, disgraced stage magician of Imachara, stood aside in the shadowed doorway of the Kymri Theatre.
I stepped inside and followed him down the hallway as Drystan, my companion in crime, closed the door. Loose mosaic tiles slipped beneath my feet, and dust coated everything like a half-remembered dream. I shivered, the motion triggering a stab of pain in my injured left arm. We’d made a hasty sling of torn fabric from my pantomime wedding gown costume. If I didn’t move, it didn’t hurt too badly.
Was Drystan right to trust this man, with all the secrets that followed us?
Drystan’s expression revealed nothing. He wore a coat over his white and pink clown’s motley. I slid my less-injured hand into his with the lightest of touches, and he gave me a small, tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. My recently dislocated thumbs were back in their rightful places, but they were still tender. A few hours ago, we’d left R.H. Ragona’s Circus of Magic in a flaming ruin behind us. I clung to the numbness of shock, letting it cushion me.
The tall, thin magician pushed open a stained-glass door that depicted a scene of one of the Kymri kings drifting on the river of the afterlife in a boat laden with his possessions.
We entered the cavernous main room of the theatre, though the magician’s glass globe did little to illuminate the gloom. More dust dulled the once-burgundy seats, and peeling gilt glinted off the columns to either side of the empty proscenium stage.
“Now, why have an old friend and his
companion appeared on my doorstep in the middle of the night, in quite the state of disarray, demanding a séance?” A faint smile curled Jasper Maske’s lips. The magician hadn’t yet been to bed when we’d knocked, despite the late hour. He was in his late fifties, at a guess, and his brown eyes held the puffy look of a man who didn’t sleep much, contrasting against his crisp suit and neat, pomaded hair. He had a sharp widow’s peak, and the grey at his temples looked like wings.
“You suspect why,” Drystan said.
He took both of us in again, stroking his tidy beard with one hand, his gaze unsettling.
“Very well,” the magician said, handing Drystan the glass globe. “Wait here.” He navigated his way in the darkness.
The glass globe flickered between us, dyeing Drystan’s white hair the orange of a flame and turning his features eerie. The theatre was cold, and I shivered beneath my damp coat. My voice caught before I could speak.
“A séance?” I finally asked. “We need him to harbor us, not spook us.”
“It’s nothing to do with what the spirits say, not really,” Drystan said. “He’s been retired from stage magic for fifteen years, but he’s as much of a showman as ever. This is more about him evaluating us than some conversation with the dead. He’ll make up his mind about us during it, and then he’ll let us know if the ‘spirits’ told him whether or not we can stay.”
At the mention of spirits, I bit the inside of my cheek. Drystan stared into the darkness like a haunted man.
I couldn’t think about pearls scattered in blood, or the way the ringmaster had thrown Aenea, my fellow aerialist and the
girl I’d been courting, across the room like a broken doll. I couldn’t think about the impossible power I’d used to escape my bonds, or how the Phantom Damselfly, Anisa, freed from the iron safe and her ancient Vestige metal disc, had taken control of my body to help heal Aenea. There had been a moment when I wasn’t sure if she’d give my body back. Juliet, Tauro, and Violet had taken Aenea to the hospital, but I didn’t know if she had survived.
If I started thinking about any of it, I’d never be able to stop.
The glass globe illuminated the mosaics on the wall above the darkened lamp sconces. The Holy Couple of the Lord of the Sun and the Lady of the Moon shone overhead. Below them were scenes from the myth of the island of Kymri. The humans that appeared part-animal were Theri Chimaera. The others could be Anthi Chimaera, like me: human in appearance, but with magical powers. Everyone in Elada had thought Chimaera only myths and legends, but the Phantom Damselfly had told me they weren’t. Any lingering doubts I had were banished after learning there had been no less than three Anthi Chimaera under my nose in the circus: Juliet, the Leopard Lady, Tauro, the Bull Man, and Violet, a large, violet-black cat I’d watched transform into a woman. Not even the animal trainers had realized what she truly was.
“All is ready,” Maske said, returning to the stage.
We entered another, smaller room, the flames sputtering from their candlewicks. A table covered in black lace, topped with a blue crystal ball, was the only furniture aside from a large spirit cabinet in the corner—a sort of portable closet for mediums to use in séances, and an old velvet sofa. A threadbare Arrasian rug lay on the floor, and oil portraits of long-dead monarchs hung on the walls, their expressions disapproving.
“Sit,” the magician commanded.
mixed in water, and the ball itself glowed blue as Penglass, the mysterious domes threaded throughout Elada and the other islands of the Archipelago.
“Now, hold hands, if you can,” Maske said. I rested my right elbow on the table and clasped the magician’s cool, dry palm, his long fingers curling around mine. Drystan put his hand, damp from the rain, into my sling to gently take my other one.
“We call upon you, O spirits,” the magician said. “We call upon you through the Veil to answer our questions of the past and the future, and to ask what I should do with these supplicants at my door.” His deep voice echoed throughout the room.
I heard nothing. I peeked at Drystan, but his eyes were closed.
Tap.
I held my breath.
Tap, tap.
Tap, tap, tap.
“Spirits,” Maske said, “I thank you for joining us this evening and honoring us with your presence and wisdom.”
Tap. Tap, tap.
This was how the magician was going to prove that spirits existed from beyond the grave? A few knocks? I frowned, and the magician caught it.
“It seems we have an unbeliever among us tonight,” he said.
I fought down a surge of fear. I wouldn’t call myself a cynic, with all I’d seen, but that didn’t mean I believed he was actually communing with the dead.
The table beneath us shook. I nearly snatched my hands away, breaking the circle, injuries or no. The table wobbled and rose several inches off the ground, but the Vestige crystal ball didn’t shift, as if it’d been glued down. My heartbeat thundered in my throat.
The table lowered. More raps pattered like raindrops on a tin roof. Whispers rose, the words unintelligible. A woman sobbed in heartbreak and a chill wind ruffled my hair. It reminded me far too much of the Pavillion of Phantoms in the Circus of Magic, where I’d first seen Anisa, that ghost who wasn’t a ghost and who now hid, heavy and silent, within a disc in my pocket.
“O spirits,” Maske said. “Tell me of my guests. Where have they come from? Are they friends or are they foes?” His brown eyes gazed into the crystal ball, his blown pupils like deep pools of darkness. Shapes flitted in the depths of the blue crystal. Drystan squeezed my hand gently, mindful of my thumb, and I was grateful for the small comfort.
“Tragedy has struck you tonight,” Maske said.
It didn’t exactly take a psychic to deduce that. I had fresh rope burns around my wrists, after all.
“Your lives have intertwined,” he continued. “But shall they strengthen into roots that run deep? It’s too soon to say.”
Drystan looked toward me, and I glanced away.
“Your future is murky,” the magician continued. His voice shifted into a deep, resonating timbre. “But the path forward will soon clear.”
The crystal ball on the table brightened until it was so piercing it reminded me of what I’d just done in the Copper District. I’d put my palms on a Penglass dome, and it had responded and allowed me to escape the
Shadow that pursued us. I squeezed my eyes shut. When the light cleared and I dared open my eyes, Jasper Maske’s face lingered close to my own. Drystan had frozen, mid-blink. The cyan-blue light of the crystal ball cast the magician’s face in unearthly shadow. When Maske next spoke, it was in a voice entirely unlike his own, and echoed as though three people spoke at once.
“Take heed, Child of Man and Woman yet Neither. I see a woman in a wine-red dress. Her child is ill, eaten from the inside. I see figures on a stage, playing their parts, the audience applauding as magic surrounds them. Long ago, great feathers flap against the night sky. Another creature, with green, scaled skin, drips red blood onto a white floor. Here, now, Chimaera wait in the wings, and the one who would destroy them is gathering strength. I see a man, checking his pocket watch, counting down the time.”
Images switched like slides in a magic lantern in my mind’s eye. The back of the woman in the crimson dress, pushing a wheelchair. The slide changed with a snick. A woman with great brown wings like an owl, her eyes golden. Snick. A green-tinged hand, limp, blood dripping onto the floor, steady as a pocket watch keeping time. Snick. A man, his face blurred, and a sense of dread so deep I wanted to scream.
—Anisa, I thought, desperately. Anisa, is this your doing?
I imagined the Chimaera ghost leaning over me, spreading her transparent dragonfly wings wide.
—Yes . . . but no. This is your channeling. We’d do well to listen to the spirits, little Kedi, for they are wise, she whispered in my mind. Was Anisa tricking me to make sure I did what she wanted, or was this something more?
—I must sleep . . . she said, and her exhaustion was so strong it almost dragged me down with it. What I did tonight drained me, and
my powers are weakened. These next steps you must take alone. Trust you will know what to do. After this, avoid using your magic. You have grown stronger, but you are untrained, and it is dangerous. When I can, I will help you gain control. Until then, be brave, my child. Be bold. Stay safe. She faded from my awareness.
Maske’s eyes were wide, still gleaming blue with the reflection of the crystal ball. Unseen hands tugged my torn dress and snarled hair. A cold fingertip danced across my cheekbone.
“A magician pulls the strings behind the stage,” Maske continued in that eerie, echoing voice, “and his puppets perform his tricks to regain what he has lost. Chimaera wait in the wings, and the one who would destroy them all gathers strength. You must look through the trees to see the play of shadow and light. The truth of who you are and who others once were shall find you in your dreams and your nightmares.”
I saw Drystan and myself on the stage of the Kymri Theatre, dressed in fine suits and silk cravats. Jasper Maske stood in the wings, his eyes shining with hope. Another figure in a Temnian-style silken dress stood at his side, her face hidden in shadow.
The taps and wailing rose again, and the blue light brightened until I could see nothing but white. A pulse of power, and I fell forward, like a puppeteer had cut my strings, bashing my forehead against the table with a flare of pain.
• • •
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