by Laura Lam
I slumped on the bed. “I hope he has another illusion.”
“None will be as good. That illusion is the one he needs to win.”
“Why do you care about our little duel?”
Her smile widened, as if she found me amusing. “You know how precious I find you and the one who was Matla. And I find Maske intriguing. He is a man who has lived many lives in such a short amount of time. He pursued a life of magic and it consumed him until he was nothing but a shriveled husk. He then used his magic to steal money rather than entertain. Your lover found him and they brought each other back to life. Your Drystan continued to flourish, but Maske stagnated. It is only now, when Drystan returned, with you and then the one who was Matla, that he grows again.”
I sunk my head into my hands. “He wants this more than anything, Anisa. And now it might all slip away from him. Again.”
“Not necessarily.”
I looked up at her. “What do you mean?”
“Maske did something very unusual when he invented his mechanical woman. He used several of the small Vestige automata – ones that did not work properly anymore or were not whole. He broke them open, learned more or less how they worked, and used some of the parts to power his invention. Little bits of Vestige are scattered within her, and no mechanic will know how to fix it. What Maske did was ingenious. Not many humans could have done what he did. But even for all his cleverness, he hasn’t quite managed it.”
I deflated. “So all hope is lost.”
“I can fix it.”
My breath caught in my throat. I gazed at her, this strange incorporeal echo from a time long gone, haunted by her past and the possibilities of the future. “Will you?” I asked carefully.
“That depends,” she responded. “On you.”
I tried to read her expression, but in the dim light of the loft she was more transparent than she was by moonlight.
“What do I have to do?”
“Nothing at the moment. But at some point in the future, I will need to use you for something that you would never otherwise agree to. But because of this, you will.” She blinked once, owlishly serene.
Everything within me screamed that this was a terrible idea. But over the months I had grown to care for Maske, and I knew he needed this. And I wanted this too. If Maske won, he could perform again. Drystan, Cyan, and I could stay in the haven of the Kymri Theatre. A place where I could dress as a girl or a boy and nobody cared. A home. I’d lost my home with my family. I’d lost the circus. I didn’t want to lose this place, too.
Though Anisa frightened me half to death and her ways were strange to me, I never felt actual malice from her. She played her hand close to her chest, but was that evil? She cared for Chimaera, and evidently she thought I was one even if I wasn’t sure what to believe, so our goals should align.
In theory.
And with so many people after me, as a fugitive there was always the chance I would be in prison by the time she needed to collect on her favor, whatever it may be.
I closed my eyes. “Alright. I’ll do it.”
“I thought you would, little Kedi,” she said. I opened my eyes. She held her hands out, beckoning me, and I stepped into her embrace. Her image flickered and settled along my skin before disappearing. My body reached down and picked up the Aleph from the floor, sliding it into my pocket.
But I did not do it.
I was a passenger, as I had been with Anisa’s visions, as though I was cordoned off in a corner of my own mind.
The part of me that was still me fought a rising tide of panic. What if this were a trick and she had stolen my body for good?
I’ve no wish for your body, never fear, little Kedi. I am only borrowing it for a time.
I could only hope this was true. She walked my body down the stairs toward Maske’s workshop. She trailed my fingertips along the walls.
We turned a corner, and Drystan walked toward us. He stopped short when he saw me. “Maske is really broken up,” he said, pitching his voice low. “Lily’s finally convinced him to lie down and get some rest, try to fix his illusion in the morning. She’s even making him tea and soup. Mothering him, but that’s what he needs.”
My mouth said nothing.
He peered at me. “Are you alright, Micah?”
My lips curled into a smile. “I’m fine, Drystan. Better than ever.” And my body reached for Drystan and drew him into a kiss.
I could feel everything. His lips. The stubble of his chin. His arms around my neck. He responded enthusiastically. I railed in my mind, trying to regain control of my body. Drystan pulled away, a small line between his eyes. Had he sensed this kiss was different?
What the Styx are you doing? I screamed in my mind.
I could almost feel it, was all she said in response, sadly.
If you ever do anything like this again, the deal is off and I will never, ever help you with anything. I’ll throw your Aleph into the ocean and good riddance!
She did not respond to my empty threat. She told Drystan that she was fine and carried on down the corridor. My body turned back. Drystan looked at me, confused. With Anisa wearing my body, my posture was different, the cadence of my voice altered with the remnants of an accent from long ago. I made a fervent promise to myself that if – when – I had my body back, I would tell him everything so that if he saw this again, he would know. I hoped I somehow kept that thought from Anisa.
She turned away and made her way to the workshop. She opened the door and the mirror maze met us. Anisa walked through it, unerringly following the path through the mirrors. In the reflections, my face was serene and empty.
My body pushed open a mirror and entered the workshop proper. I smelled grease, sawdust, and the acrid tang of metal. The scents almost reminded me of the circus.
The automaton rested in the middle of the room on the slab of table. The large dress for the illusion hung nearby on a wooden mannequin, an even cruder echo of a real person.
Anisa moved my body to the automaton. The panel over her abdomen had been removed. Inside was a mass of cogs and wires. Anisa leaned forward. Interspersed between the brass and nickel of her interior were flexible strings of Vestige metal dotted with small, blue-tinged crystals, like faceted Penglass.
What are these?
“The hearts of mini automata. The spark that animates them. Gives them life.”
Life? An odd choice of word.
“What is life?” she countered. “Am I alive, even though the various husks that housed my mind have long since vanished to dust?”
I had no answer for her. I saw my hands reach into the depths of the automaton, moving, detaching, and reattaching. I felt her hold the tip of my tongue between my teeth. After a few minutes, she took my hands away. I had no idea what she did, but the interior of the automaton looked… tidier. Complete. She fitted the plate back on the abdomen, and screwed it back into place.
The door of the workshop opened. Maske stood, blinking, with Drystan and Cyan behind him. Lily and Oli must have left for home.
“Micah?” Drystan asked, tentative. “What are you doing?”
My face folded into a smile. “I fixed your trinket for you, Jasper Maske.”
Cyan blanched at my tone. “That’s not Micah.”
Drystan opened his mouth in confusion, which deepened when I showed no reaction to Cyan’s words.
Before Drystan could say anything, Maske drifted closer to the automaton.
“Turn it on, magician,” my mouth said.
He reached shaking hands to place the automaton into a standing position. He pressed a button in her back.
The automaton “awoke”. Swinging her head back and forth, she continued to lift her arm into position, her crude fingers making the motion that would fasten the sleeves of the dress together, had she been wearing it. Her movements were smoother than before. She drew her arms down to her sides and froze. At this point of the illusion, she would have been lowered through the star trap.
Maske’s face twitched, as if he had so many emotions swirling through him that his face could not decide which to register.
“I don’t understand. The Vestige didn’t work.”
“You used Vestige?” Drystan asked. He looked to me again, but Anisa did not deign to meet his gaze.
“Not particularly well,” my voice said with a small smile. I felt my hand reach into my pocket and draw out the Aleph.
Cyan stepped forward. “Get out,” she said, glaring at me. “You’ve overstayed your welcome, damselfly.”
“Cyan!” Maske said. “What are you going on about? He saved my illusion.”
“I’m not speaking to Micah.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
A low laugh escaped my throat. Deep, sultry, and completely unlike my own. Drystan flinched.
Anisa set the Aleph on the floor and pressed the button. My arms were held out in front of me. Swirls of blue light danced over my skin and then Anisa’s projection emerged from my body until we stood side by side. I felt a sickening lurch within my mind and then I fell to the floor, a marionette with strings cut.
Drystan recognized her – how could he not, after all those nights in the circus pantomime? To Maske, she must have looked especially strange, with the tattoos that snaked along her hairline and down her neck and the large dragonfly wings. And the fact she had just stepped from my body and was completely transparent. The magician was slack jawed as a child.
“All my life, I’ve wanted to see true magic,” he whispered. “And here it is under my roof.”
“Magic.” Anisa laughed the same laugh she had made with my throat. I put my hand to my neck, so grateful that my body and my mind were my own again.
Drystan took a step backward. “Micah? What is going on?”
I realized: Maske and Drystan could hear her. Why could they hear her, when no one but Cyan and I could before?
“Her name is Anisa,” I managed to say. “She first spoke to me in the Pavilion of Phantoms, and I took her with me the night we left the circus. I didn’t know why at the time. At the séance the first night we came here, she spoke to me again, and she’s responsible for the visions Cyan and I have.” My mouth was dry.
Drystan narrowed his eyes. “And you never told me about her?”
I shrugged a shoulder, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth.
“It is my fault, White Clown. I stressed the importance of discretion,” Anisa said. “They are helping me. They are important to me. And you have many secrets you have not shared with anyone, Drystan Hornbeam.”
Cyan’s mouth made a little “o” as she recognized the surname.
“Can you see the future, damselfly?” Maske asked.
“Sometimes. What do you wish to ask of me, magician?”
“Will… Will we be victorious in our duel?”
A soft smile played about her lips. She walked over to Maske, a trail of light leading from the hem of her dress and back to the Aleph. She rested a phantom hand against the older man’s face. Tears shone in his eyes.
“Won’t it be sweeter to find out on your own, dear magician? I will say this, though.” She gave Cyan a look over her shoulder, who stood as stiffly as if she expected a blow. “You have gained more family than you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“You shall see, magician.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek, which I knew he would not feel, and disappeared, until only the Aleph lay on the floor.
I hesitated, and then picked up the Aleph and put it back in my pocket.
They all stared at me. I bit my lip.
“She took control of your body?” Drystan asked, horrified. I knew he thought of the kiss.
“Only to fix the automaton for Maske,” I said, not meeting his eyes.
“And she offered out of the goodness of her heart?” Cyan asked.
I could not meet her gaze, either. “She wanted to help.”
Cyan snorted.
“Whatever her motivations, I am most grateful to her,” Maske said, running a fingertip down the automaton’s face. “Thanks to her, we have a chance to win.”
“To win,” I whispered.
Maske looked at the clock. “You all should go to bed. We’ve all had quite a shock today. And tomorrow’s the last day to practice.”
The last day to practice.
All that happened recently finally hit me. A doctor had told me I could start dying at any moment. I had been bombarded with visions from Anisa, telling me I had to help her save the world. She’d taken my body without asking permission, which was worse than seeing any sort of doctor as a child – the ones who poked and prodded me, trying to quantify me, put me into a box of their own making. Drystan was confused and angry at me, and a duel that decided our professional future loomed over us.
I felt my eyes roll back into my head. Strong arms encircled me, and Drystan carried me to the loft.
I didn’t lose consciousness. It was as though my mind just needed time to process all that had happened and could not be bothered with my body. Drystan tucked me into bed and sat next to me. Gradually, I calmed and felt almost normal. I knew I should be worried about the fainting, perhaps even enough to go to Pozzi. But I couldn’t find the energy to care. I pushed away all of the unanswered questions and threats I could do nothing about.
Drystan and I stared at each other, mute, drowning in words unspoken. His mouth twisted. He undressed for bed. My eyes lingered on the muscles of his back in the low light as he reached to pluck his sleeping shirt from the washing line. He slid into bed next to me, but our bodies did not touch. I ached to reach over and take him in my arms, but I was scared of being rebuffed. I realized that often I was not the one to initiate affection, and without a doubt I was always the one to push questing hands away.
I licked my lips and moved closer to him, sliding my arms around his waist and resting my cheek on his shoulder. He sighed, some of the tension leaving his muscles.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“For what?” His tone was not harsh, but clearly implied that there were various things I could be apologizing for.
“About what Anisa did earlier. That I didn’t tell you about her...”
He turned his head away. I couldn’t see his face or tell what he was thinking.
He sighed and turned to me. “Will you ever trust me, Micah? Will you ever trust anyone completely?”
My breath caught in my throat. “I do trust you.”
“There’s so much you haven’t told me over the past few months.”
“Oh, and you’re the pinnacle of being forthcoming about yourself, are you?” I said, pulling my chin away, though my hands stayed about his waist. I could feel the ridges of his stomach muscles tighten.
A corner of his mouth quirked wryly. “True, there are things about my past I have not told you in the greatest detail. But I have told you more than anyone. Anyone. I thought it was the same with you. And then I discover… this. Just because I can’t read minds doesn’t mean I can’t be useful. Or help you.”
He was jealous. He felt like I hadn’t told him because he wasn’t Chimaera. I blushed, ashamed. I should have told him much more. When would I ever learn?
“You’re right,” I whispered close to his ear. “I should have told you, but I couldn’t. Every time I tried my mouth wouldn’t form the words. Like she blocked them. And we know so much less about Vestige than we thought, Drystan. Anisa was alive once. More than once. She was a Chimaera, assigned to guard and raise other Chimaera the that Alder gave her and her husband, Relean. One of the last ones she raised was a Kedi. She called the Kedi “Dev”. And she loved him. Or her?” I found myself finally able to tell him every detail of Anisa’s plan, as if the lock on my tongue had opened: how much she frightened Cyan and me. The horned Chimaera,
Ahti. The way the world had nearly ended all that time ago. I whispered the words into his ear, and his arms were around me, his hands gently stroking my back.
When I finally reached the events of that afternoon when Anisa had taken my body, his muscles tensed again, but he waited for me to finish.
“Why are you going along with this plan? How do you fit in?”
“I don’t know. Some of the time, I don’t believe it. But what if she’s right? I can’t take that risk. And she’s so… so not quite human… but I don’t think she’s lying. I think she wants to try and find her family, and help make sure the Chimaera come back into the world, and make sure they stay here.”
He shook his head. “I’d never have imagined something like this could be possible. Tread carefully, Micah. And tell me about anything else that happens. I want to help. We’re in this together.”
Drystan tilted my head up and our lips met. I clung to him, tears of relief slipping from the corners of my eyes. He didn’t hate me. He smelled of soap and skin. I took off his shirt and threw it to the floor. I ran my fingertips over the lines of his muscles. He had a small scar by his collarbone, and a little constellation of moles along his ribcage. I pressed my fingertips against them. I wanted to memorize every line of his body, until it became as familiar as my own. He tangled his fingers in my hair, dipping his head to nuzzle my neck. I gasped, sensations rushing through me in an avalanche.
He took off my shirt, and it joined his on the floor. His fingers paused on the laces of my Lindean corset. I bit my lip and nodded.
I trusted him.
He undid the laces, one by one.
28
THE SPECTER’S SHADOWS AND MASKE’S MARIONETTES
“Tonight is the night Imachara and Ellada have been waiting for: the duel between Pen Taliesin and the Specter’s Shadows and Jasper Maske and his Marionettes. The future of these magicians’ lives hangs in the balance. Who will win and who will fail? Place your bets here today!”
Sign outside sunbeam betting company.
We arrived at the Royal Hippodrome in the late morning, our nerves strung to breaking point. Out in front of the Hippodrome was a large lithographic poster of the upcoming duel, sheltered against the drizzle by an overhang. I craned my head.