Light Fantastique

by Cecilia Dominic

  “Oh, you’re still here?”

  “Only just returned to check in on you.”

  “Then I will bid you au revoir. I cannot concentrate on my lines knowing that someone watches me.”

  She rose and moved toward the door. The low laugh that followed her made her shoulders tighten.

  “You mock me, Monsieur?”

  “Try as you might to escape me, you will find that our futures are more intertwined than you may think.”

  “I’m not in the habit of responding to vague threats, especially from men who try to manipulate me.”

  With that, she exited the room and closed the door behind her. Once in the hallway, she realized she’d forgotten her script.

  I’m not going back in there. This may be a good time to send that message.

  The feeling of being watched followed her until she left that floor and ascended to the auditorium level. She only hoped that meant she drew the spirit away from her dressing room and his hideout.

  * * * * *

  Johann saw Marie skirt along the edge of the auditorium and disappear into the administrative wing, her expression determined. Maestro Fouré inclined his head in that direction. Johann nodded, and when the conductor called a break, he placed his violin in its case and went to search for Marie.

  He found her in Lucille’s theatre office giving a message to a young man.

  “And bring me the reply when you get one,” she told him. He jerked his chin to his chest once and was off.

  “What was that about?” Johann asked.

  “Doctor Radcliffe asked that I help you with Amelie Lafitte.”

  In the watery sunlight coming through the window, her face looked pinched and pale.

  “You don’t have to. I’m sure the inspector will manage to blunder his way into the relevant information.”

  Her laugh brought some color to her cheeks and loosened the tension in his chest.

  “He’s not so bad. He only wants to do his job, as we all do. Speaking of which…” She stood. “I must go back to my script.”

  “Which isn’t in here.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s in my dressing room.”

  “I’ll walk you down.”

  She pressed her lips together, but she nodded. “Thank you.”

  When they reached the dressing room, she opened the door and said, “Goodbye for now, then.”

  “Au revoir.” He followed his impulse to lean in and kiss her on the cheek. “Happy studying.”

  She shut the door in his face.

  He rubbed his nose and shook his head. There was something odd—odder than usual—about her behavior. He walked away but waited at the end of the hall behind a lintel where he could watch for her without her seeing him. After a few minutes, she opened her door, looked around, and went the other way toward the stairs to the basement. He followed her and caught up to her just as she reached the two old set pieces she had paused between on their trip down to the Roma camp.

  “Wait,” he said.

  She whirled around. “What are you doing here?”

  Johann looked at the dark rectangle and the pale determination on Marie’s face. There was a spark in her eyes, of the excitement at being on the cusp of an adventure, and he knew there was an answering one in his. “You’re not going down there alone. I’m coming too.”

  She opened her mouth as though to protest, and he clenched his jaw, ready to argue. She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  Johann tried to take the lantern and lead, but Marie held it from him. “I’ll go first. I know how these corridors typically go, and this way I can see if it connects to any of the paths I already know. Move quietly, don’t speak and listen for the sound of anyone following us.”

  “Aye, captain.”

  She rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything. He followed her into the gloom, which seemed to swallow the lantern light such that they could only see a few feet in front of them.

  “Are you sure that light is bright enough?”

  “Hush! We mustn’t talk lest he hear us. I have no doubt he has ways of listening even though he’s supposed to be observing the musicians.”

  Johann wanted to ask who he was, but he complied with her instructions and kept alert for the sound of anyone following them. After a few twists and turns and a slight climb, the lantern light bounced off a wall of glass.

  “Aha,” Marie breathed, then turned to her right. She gestured for him to follow her, and they went through another labyrinth of passages until they came to a dead end and a trap door.

  “Help me open it,” she mouthed.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  She nodded and set the lantern on the floor. They pulled at the door, and it opened slowly. Instead of descending the ladder, Marie shone the lantern into what looked like a workshop. Various mechanical and clockwork parts lay strewn on a table, and Johann caught his breath when he saw two of the steam-powered ravens.

  Who is this, and why has he been spying on me?

  They looked at each other with astonished expressions that turned to panicked ones when a voice behind them said, “And how do you like my toy shop, Mademoiselle? I warned you to stay away from this man.”

  Merde, he tricked me. He wasn’t interested in the musicians.

  Marie straightened and stood, as did Johann. Now that she could see him more clearly in the lamplight, she took note of the spirit and saw he was solid and not at all ghost-like. Not that this came as a surprise—she’d known he was human. But she was glad to directly confront him directly even if it was at the wrong end of a gun.

  A metal mask covered the man’s face, but it was topped with a mane of curly dark hair. He wore evening dress and a cape, but instead of black, it was of a material of the sort of color that blended into the shadows. Marie recalled Radcliffe’s saying that there had been an inventor Patrick worked with who was working on such a substance but who had gone mad from the chemicals and grief over his lost love and disappeared. Could this be the insane inventor of the Union? And had she met him before with Cobb?

  “So you’ve found the entrance to my workshop,” he said. “And therefore of my humble quarters. You know I cannot allow you to leave now that you know my secrets.”

  “You’re not a very good ghost if you’re going to confirm all the rumors about you. Spirits like you are supposed to be more subtle,” Johann said.

  “Ah, and as for you, Maestro, I did tell you to stay away from Mademoiselle.” He gestured with the steam pistol, and the red indicator on the butt made the shadows appear to whirl around him. “You first, Maestro. And don’t try anything funny in the workshop.”

  Johann preceded Marie down the ladder and then helped her when her dress caught. The spirit climbed down it with the nimbleness of an arachnid, always keeping the gun trained on them.

  “As for what to do with the two of you, I shall have to ponder that. Into the chamber with you.”

  “The chamber?” Marie asked.

  “Yes, I had it built for just such an occasion.” He opened a door on the other side of the workshop and ushered them through before locking it behind them. A chain hung from the ceiling, and Marie pulled it. A bulb illuminated the chamber and gave her the feeling of being in the midst of a crowd, for the room was paneled with mirrors that reflected their images in each direction.

  Everywhere Marie turned, she saw her face, but it seemed to her that in each panel, she looked slightly different. In one she appeared confused. In another, angry. In a third, frightened. And in the final one, she swallowed against the paleness, the sense of stark truth that with everything reflected to her externally, she was empty inside.

  “Are you all right?” Johann asked.

  “It’s the mirrors. There’s something strange about them.”

  “Yes, but look at the bulbs. Or bulb. I think th
ere’s just one.” He pointed to it, and Marie recognized the three-tube structure of the ones Cobb used on his train and what he’d had installed in the theatre when he pretended to try to make nice with her mother.

  “They’re Cobb’s,” she whispered into Johann’s ear. “The spirit must be his inventor, the one Radcliffe talked about.”

  “Now, now, no secrets, Mademoiselle. That’s not very entertaining for me.”

  “I’m not trying to entertain you,” she snapped.

  “Then you’re not going to be a very interesting captive. And I know you have such a range of talent. How do you like my mirrors? They each have a different coating and surface texture to give you an altered appearance. Of course when I built the chamber, I anticipated it would just be for you, after this upcoming performance.”

  “Why?”

  “Because your mother owes me, and I was going to take that which is most precious to her. But don’t worry, Mademoiselle, that will all be made clear in time. Meanwhile, I need for you to tell me what happened with Cobb once you met with him. Enough of the preamble.”

  A slight odor came to Marie’s nose, that of Cobb’s tobacco, and she knew that wasn’t all the spirit pumped into the room. “No,” she said. “I won’t tell you anything unless you release Maestro Bledsoe.”

  “Marie, no,” Johann said. “I won’t leave you here. This man is mad.”

  “I’m mad?” The spirit’s voice floated into the chamber again. “Or perhaps you are to think you had a chance with her. You do realize she’s spoiled goods.”

  “Oh, now that’s unnecessary,” Marie said. She struggled to keep her eyes open and slumped against one of the mirrors. Johann caught her and lowered her to the ground, where he supported her torso to recline against his.

  I have to do something, keep him from pulling the information out of me. It’s my only bargaining chip.

  She thought about the mirrors, the facets of herself, and how the different roles pulled from her own characteristics. If there was anything everyone agreed upon, it was her stubbornness. What role had she played that meant she was focused and stubborn?

  The ingenue, the one that drove Maurice mad. No, I can’t do that one. I can’t manipulate Johann like that.

  “Do what you need to do,” he said. The weight on her head told her he was also slumping.

  “You can try to get me to talk,” Marie heard herself saying, her voice younger and lighter, “but I refuse to do so on the grounds that I am my own woman, and I will not be manipulated by a man.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Théâtre Bohème, 5 December 1870

  Pay attention, Radcliffe had said. Johann couldn’t be sure because he recognized he was under the influence of some sort of substance, but Marie felt lighter, and she sounded younger with all the stubbornness of a typical teen. Johann’s mind drifted to the past in spite of his wanting to listen to the conversation. He remembered that attitude well from his own younger sister Lizbeth. She was probably married off by now to someone who would help increase the fortunes of the estate or its influence or—

  “Very well, Mademoiselle,” the spirit said and broke through Johann’s fog of memory and resentment. “You can stay there in the chamber while I see how the orchestra is getting on without Maestro Bledsoe, but be aware I will be back, and I will discover your secrets. I need something in your memories, and I refuse to think I have brought you along on this journey for nothing.”

  Cool air blasted into the chamber, and Johann’s eyelids released their vacuum-like grip on each other.

  Edward would be proud of my scientific observations.

  He dragged his lids open and ignored the urge to look around at the crowd of reflections. Only one thing mattered to him.

  Marie appeared pale, and with her eyes closed and lips slightly pursed, she seemed young and innocent. He’d bedded many actresses, and they’d all had a hardness to them, but Marie was all soft strength, not bitter brittleness, no matter what she’d been through. He suspected that when—if, he corrected himself; he couldn’t presume her feelings, and her willingness meant everything to him—they did come together, he would lose himself, his heart, to her. Her kisses, more addictive than opium, had shown him that, but he was willing to trust himself to her. Now if only he could get her to trust him.

  He leaned over and kissed her. “Wake up, sleeping beauty. We have to figure out how to get out of here.”

  “Mmmm.” She kissed him back and reached her arms around his neck. He buried his hands in her hair and ignored the ping of hairpins falling out. Why did actresses need so many pins in their hair? He relished the silky smoothness of it on his hands and wrists and the welcome openness of her mouth. He moved to pull her more firmly on top of him, and the light went out.

  Marie pulled away and asked. “What happened?”

  Johann moved his hands to the sides of her face to keep contact with her and enjoy the contours of her high cheekbones and the curve of her jaw. “I don’t know whether that was intentional or accidental. Either way, it will be more difficult to get out of here if we can’t see.”

  “It would be impossible anyway. He’s too good with building things.” She slumped against him, and he stroked her hair.

  “There has to be something we can do. That I can do.”

  She turned over and laid her head on his chest. “You can accept my offer to take your freedom and leave. The ghost doesn’t care about you, only me.”

  “Never. I’m not leaving without you.”

  He tangled his fingers in her softly curling tresses, and she rewarded him with a contented sigh.

  “You don’t want me, anyway. As he said, I’m damaged goods, and I don’t even know who I am half the time.”

  Her tone was jesting, but the undercurrent of despair to her words echoed his own hopelessness about his family situation and what happened with the Clockwork Guild. He closed his eyes, not that it mattered in the dark, but he had to shove away the wall that rose between his mouth and heart.

  “I never told you about what happened to put me in debt with the Clockwork Guild.”

  An almost imperceptible shift in her posture told him he’d surprised her.

  “No. You’re very good at avoiding the topic.”

  “Because I’m ashamed of what happened. I told you about my father and my brother, how they pressured me to go into something sensible to help the estate.”

  “Yes, and how your musical talent wasn’t useful to them. Such a waste.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Even after I succeeded, the pressure didn’t stop. He kept telling me I was foolish, that I could still take control of parts of the estate my brother wasn’t interested in. As if I should be honored to take his leftovers.”

  “And you couldn’t leave.”

  “No, not completely. You more than anyone know how hard it is to escape the influence of an overbearing parent, no matter how far away you are.”

  She made an unladylike sound. “What in the world gives you that idea?”

  He laughed. “You’ve picked up Iris’s expression. But yes, he started to use his influence to keep me from getting paying musical jobs, and he cut off what little income I was getting from my one corner of our property. I had to show him I was too irresponsible to manage the estate. First I made sure my own reputation as a rake would keep his business associates from taking me seriously, but it backfired.”

  “Let me guess—that helped you with them.”

  He wanted to kiss away the despair in her voice, but he continued. “Yes, some of them had the nerve to ask for introductions to some of my friends. Most men are cads.”

  “That I also know too well.”

  “So then I had to show I wasn’t to be trusted with money, and I started gambling.” Saying the words made his stomach turn like he’d eaten a bad cream puff. How could he have been so
stupid? “And once you enter that world, you cannot leave it unless you go far away or die. I thought I controlled my risk, but I drank too much one night and overshot, although whiskey had never affected me like that before.”

  “Was that the first time you’d gambled with the Clockwork Guild?”

  “Yes, it was a secret club. I had only just gained entrance.”

  Marie pulled away, and he reached for her, only to find she leaned up so she could turn her face to his. She kissed him on the lips, but instead of passion, it held sympathy.

  “That’s how he snared you. Cobb, I mean. He knew he had to get to you to get to Edward and go after the Eros Element.”

  “And everything was choreographed from that point on.” Although he hated the man, Johann had to admire Cobb. The American was even more ruthless than Johann’s father and a much better puppet master. Perhaps he was even involved to some extent in the siege of Paris, although that seemed to stretch the boundaries of possibility.

  “So what do we do?” Marie asked. “We can’t escape Cobb if we can’t get out of this mess. You have to go get help.”

  Johann held her tight to him. “And I told you, I’m not going to leave you. I trust you with my secret. Whatever you have to tell the madman, it will not change my opinion of you. I love you, Marie, no matter what you’ve done, and we’ll get out of this together.”

  Marie scooted out of Johann’s arms. “That’s not you talking, that’s whatever was in the smoke.” Her heartbeat fluttered in her throat like a caged bird that feels the door might be opening to freedom. But at what cost? Yes, he’d revealed his past to her, and she sympathized, but he’d only gone too far with his money, not his body and self. Plus he had used other women, other actresses, to do so.

  The old doubts crept in. Did he truly love her or was he attracted to who he thought she was because he was picking up on her talent? And what about when the siege lifted? Even if he wanted to stay, he would have to continue to run from the Guild until he could scrape up enough money to pay them back.

  Her mind whirled like a panicked bird now banging back and forth between the bars of hope and despair.