“And this gorgeous creature is my niece, Gemma Flannery, the ultra-talented violinist who gives our hero the magic he needs to survive his journey,” Ted said.
The gathering applauded for me, to which my cheeks blazed, and the mayor’s young daughter stepped forward to hand me a single pink gerbera daisy.
“I play the flute,” she said.
I kneeled down to accept her flower and ask how old she was.
“Seven.”
“That’s about how old I was when I started the violin. The trick is to practice everyday,” I said. She shook my hand and giggled, and then returned to the safety of her mother’s side.
Ted fielded a handful of questions from the media, his answers carefuly scripted by the new public relations woman, yet another cog in the Dmitri Machine. We posed for a few photos, Junie’s arm tight around my shoulders as she mugged for the shutter. While the photographer did his thing, I could feel Lucian’s eyes on me.
Finaly, the crowd began to disperse and the Dmitris approached.
“So, this is the captivating young lady who has stolen our Henry’s heart,” the elder gentleman said, stepping forward, hand outstretched. “I am Marku Dmitri.” He bowed, gently gripping my hand while planting a polite kiss on its surface. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Ms. Flannery.”
“Thank you, sir, but the honor belongs to me. Your son has done amazing things for our circus,” I said. “And it’s so nice that you could come tonight. Thank you.”
“How’re you feeling after your little fal, Gemma?” Lucian said.
His mother, though she stood right next to Lucian, said nothing, her face like granite. Hard, unwavering, cold. She stared at me, through me, like I was a bug in need of crushing.
I looked away from her glare to answer Lucian’s question. “Um, much better, thank you. And thank you very much for bringing in that amazing doctor.” I touched the area above my eye Dr.
Krishnov had sealed so flawlessly.
He leaned forward and looked closely at the stil-healing stitches.
Fortunately, I was able to cover the tiny blue lines with the edges of my hair and the bruising with makeup. Lucian’s eyes surveying the doctor’s handiwork, however, made me uneasy. You’re my father…
“Dr. Krishnov does amazing work,” he said, stepping back.
“And it is I who should be thanking you. Your musical gift gave this performance its life force today. Your talent is impressive, Gemma.
I am a better person for having heard you play.” Though he was smiling as he stared into my face, there was something in his eyes that gave me the impression of an unsaid subtext, a mysterious, powerful energy hiding within. Did he know that I knew? Did I remind him of my mother, the way Henry reminded him of Alicia?
Did he hate me for it? Did he even care?
Ted interrupted and puled Lucian and his parents across the space so he could introduce them to some of the other performers who hadn’t been present at the prior get-acquainted dinner. Henry gave me a resigned look and moved when Lucian cupped his hand under Henry’s elbow. When our eyes met, I fingered the pendant hanging from my neck. I mouthed the words thank you to him. He smiled.
I stood alone, watching the interactions of the people around me, hearing al of it, snippets from their conversations, and yet hearing nothing. I saw a familiar face step from the crowd gathered around Ted and Lucian. Mr. Harbourne, my philosophy teacher. He put out his hand and Lucian gave it an enthusiastic pump.
“Good of you to come, Ben.” They were standing at least fifteen feet away, but I could hear the hushed tone of Lucian’s voice as if he were right next to me.
“Wouldn’t have missed it,” Mr. Harbourne said.
It didn’t seem unusual that Lucian, a member of the local school board, would know Mr. Harbourne. What was odd was that they stepped away from the group and proceeded to speak to one another in a foreign language. And when Lucian looked from Harbourne directly over to me, the teacher folowed Lucian’s gaze.
They were talking about me, and the look on their faces said that they weren’t discussing the success of the show. A chil caused the tiny hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end.
Lucian gestured to another person standing adjacent to his parents. Ash—and Summer Day!—emerged from the gathering and joined Lucian and Mr. Harbourne, Lucian’s arms draped around Ash’s and Summer’s shoulders. Given Ash’s prior ultimatum about my involvement with Henry and his rabid assessment of the Dmitri family, what I was seeing made absolutely no sense. And Summer Day? Why was she here again? I thought we’d learned our lesson with her previous foray behind the scenes. And why was she so damn friendly with Lucian Dmitri? I thought she hated the Dmitris.
My attempt at listening in on their conversation, which had reverted to English, was interrupted when Marlene announced that dinner was being served. She invited everyone to make their way to the meal tent, which had been transformed into a wonderland of formal linens and china, twinkly lights wrapped around metal support beams, and tiny tea lights tucked into elaborate centerpieces. No expense had been spared for this evening’s party.
Jean-Pierre provided us with four courses that had alowed him to flex his culinary muscles. Extra staff from a local catering company had been hired, and we were treated to a rare sit-down meal instead of the usual buffet-style lineup. I sat with Marlene, Ted, Irwin, and the Dmitris, and did my best to concentrate on their talk of the show and of shows to come, to drown out the bedlam consuming the tight quarters. The conversation was cautious, an air of unspoken tension hovering over the table.
“The Roulette was astounding, Ted, realy,” Lucian said. “I think it should be a regular part of the show.”
Ted gave Lucian a hasty smile and sipped his wine.
Marku, who’d otherwise been quiet throughout the meal, suddenly spoke. “It’s too bad Alicia couldn’t be here to see you fine lads getting on so wel,” he said. The chatter at the table abruptly halted. Al eyes turned to him. Lucian shifted in his chair, squaring his shoulders at his father, his intonation severe.
“Yes, Father, thank you,” Lucian said. He gave the rest of us a curt smile.
“She always did like a beautiful performance. She would have enjoyed meeting the lovely Gemma, such a talented girl.”
“Taci din gura, Marku,” Lilith snapped.
Lucian was glaring at Marku, who seemed oblivious to the foul taste he was leaving in his son’s mouth. Lilith removed the wine glass from her husband’s hand and Marku met Lucian’s eyes, the two of them regarding one another as if an attack were imminent.
Ted cleared this throat and stood, taking his own glass in hand, and proposed a toast. Marlene tapped her butter knife on the side of a champagne flute, and the older members of the table seemed to exhale an uneasy sigh of relief. I searched Henry’s face for a hint of softness, but he kept his eyes fixed on the table, his expression neutral. Ted offered the company a quick congratulatory speech and thanked everyone for their effort and dedication, for loving the show as much as he did. The company members shared their colective appreciation via a round of applause and a series of counter-toasts to Ted, and Lucian.
As I sat there, new voices began to funnel into my ears. Get the book…get to Rouen…help us, Gemma… Shades, like I’d never seen them before, were congregating around the edges of the tent, some of them less than intact. Eyes missing, jaws detached, limbs festering, evidence of their deaths prevalent on their rotting bodies.
They’d never come to me in less than ful form before. My eyes darted from one to the next, bile rising, burning my throat. The whittler had moved from his spot in the corner and was standing right next to Irina, across the room at another table. With every pul of his knife, he didn’t shave wood; he shaved his own wrist and hand, the putrid flesh and clotted meat dropping to the ground.
Irina shoved her hands to her temples, head bent, brow furrowed. She heard them.
I looked at Lucian. He was watching my every move, t
he corner of his mouth upturned ever so slightly.
“Gemma, your nose is bleeding!” Marlene blurted out, nearly kicking her chair over to move toward me.
My hand flew to my face, my fingers immediately coated in red.
I was on my feet, unable to take any more. I ran from the tent before Marlene reached my side of the table.
Henry folowed close behind, caling my name as I sprinted for the trailer. “Gemma, wait!”
I was up the stairs and in the bathroom, unroling a huge wad of toilet paper to shove under my nose, before he reached me.
“Where have you been?” I sobbed, my voice muffled by the tissue. He didn’t answer me but wrapped his arms around my body, kissing the side of my face, stroking my head with his hands. The warmth radiating from him felt heavenly, safe.
“I can’t talk. They won’t let me out of their sight,” he said, his face pressed into my hair.
“Henry, so much has happened,” I said, puling away to wipe my nose. He gently moved me to the side and grabbed a washcloth, wetting and wringing it in the sink.
“Your mom—I saw her. She was crying,” I said. “She wanted me to tel you she loves you.”
“Yesterday, right?”
“Yeah. That’s why I was bombarding you with texts. Wel, that and about a hundred other things.”
He swabbed at the blood above my lip. “She’s gone. It’s quiet.” He pointed to his head. “We have to leave.”
I heard voices coming near. I put my hand to his mouth to quiet him.
“Lucian’s coming. I can hear him.”
“How…?”
I shushed him again. “For some insane reason, I can hear everything. And I mean everything. It’s driving me crazy.” We stood, neither of us breathing. There was a brisk knock on the trailer door.
“I’l come back as soon as I can, I swear,” he said, kissing me hard.
Henry moved to exit the trailer but it wasn’t Lucian standing on the top step. It was Ash.
“Leave her alone, Dmitri,” Ash hissed.
“Back off, Ash,” Henry said, pushing his way out the door. Just as his feet hit the ground, Ash tackled him from behind, knocking him into the sawdust.
“Ash! Stop it!” I screamed, flying after them. I knew if Henry got his hands on Ash, the result would be devastating.
“Boys!” Lucian’s voice boomed from the other side of the courtyard. Henry and Ash sprang from the ground, frozen in their tracks. Without another word, Ash ran off, Summer close behind, and Henry spun on his heel and charged toward the parking lot. He jumped into his car, slammed the door, and sped off.
“How’s your nose, Gemma?” Lucian asked. But he hadn’t moved from his place across the yard. He was speaking to me from beyond the boundary of where I should’ve been able to hear him.
He knew.
“Fine. Thank you,” I whispered, wiping under my nostrils, eyes averted. He nodded and moved to the opening of the meal tent from which his mother was emerging.
“Take care of yourself. I’l see you again soon,” he said, walking in the direction of the lot, Lilith’s hand tucked in his bent elbow.
“Are you okay, dear? You look like you’ve just lost your puppy,” Marku said. He startled me; I hadn’t noticed his approach.
Standing next to him in the brisk nip of the late winter evening, it occurred to me that Henry must’ve gotten his height from Alicia’s side of the family. Of course he had. He wasn’t even a Dmitri.
But I was.
Though a diminutive man, Marku carried himself with confidence and silent strength. His shoulders were broad, his spine straight.
Upon closer examination of his face, few signs of aging marked his complexion. His skin was smooth, not at al haggard, and could’ve belonged to someone not quite fifty. But the pristine man standing before me was alegedly 2,842 years old, courtesy of the AVRA-K.
“It was such a pleasure to meet you, Miss Gemma,” he said, folding me into a grandfatherly hug. “I’ve been waiting many years for this day,” he whispered in my ear.
“Thank you again for coming to our show, Mr. Dmitri,” I said, replacing my game face. “I hope to see you again soon.”
“Please…cal me Poppa,” he said, as he took my hand in his.
His kind eyes were moist and twinkled under the field floodlights.
“And I wil be seeing you soon, young lady, don’t you fret.” He dropped my hand and pecked my cheek. He was so charming, so genuine, the polar opposite of his son. Marku sauntered to the car to take his place in the back seat.
“Gemma, thank you again for your glorious performance,” Lucian whispered across the space. As he walked around to the driver’s side, he puled a trimmer out of his pocket and snipped off the end of a thick cigar. He didn’t light it but rather bit down on its end, the dark brown of the roled tobacco a stark contrast against the white of his perfect teeth. He winked and climbed into his car.
I watched them leave, much as I’d watched Henry drive away.
The sole difference in the departures was Marku waving goodbye through the rear window; Henry hadn’t even looked back.
:31:
It is more shameful to distrust our friends than to be deceived by them.
—Confucius
I’d gone to bed exhausted, after a thorough yet fruitless search of the grounds for Ash. No one knew where he’d gone, not even Junie. He’d taken his mother’s rental car, and I overheard her threatening her husband with caling the police to report it stolen.
The open-and-close click of Emelie Thomassen’s cel phone as she paced in the cold of the courtyard was maddening. When Ash finaly slinked in long after midnight, he was in the shit with his parents, but I was relieved for the onset of quiet.
Monday at school was a whole new world. Junie and Ash had ascended to celebrity status, the student body abuzz about the spectacular weekend performances. A few people even spoke to me, congratulating me on my own part in the show, but geneticaly gifted, death-defying trapeze flyers were far more glamorous than little old me and my violin.
My stitches had pretty much dissolved, though a couple of girls in my lit class asked me if I was feeling better. They’d probably heard the stories circulated by Summer Day as their inquiries were cautious. I offered an equaly careful response, unsure of how to answer as I didn’t know what they knew, if any of it held a figment of truth.
Henry was absent, and I’d heard nothing from him. No emails, no text messages, no cals. I was unhinged with worry, and as I’d suspected, the noisy, crowded environment of school was unbearable, waves of new conversations bombarding me at every turn. When possible, I kept my iPod in my ears, the volume cranked. After the brief convo in lit class, no one realy talked to me, though the majority of the conversations I did overhear had plenty to do with Henry and me.
In chemistry, we had to pick lab partners.
“Hey.” I felt an elbow in my rib. “Be my partner?” Ash.
“Whatever.” I plunked my lab book on the counter and reached for a Bunsen burner.
“Are you going to be mad at me forever, Gems?” He leaned on his elbow and gave me his classic Ash look. I hated him for looking so perfect when I was feeling so alone.
“What page are we on?” I said. Yes, I am going to be mad at you forever.
“212,” Ash said, flipping open his text. I clicked the flint lighter over the burner spout and eased open the gas spigot. A smal blue flame ignited. “I’l get the solution from Cuthbertson. Start heating this up—20 cc of deionized water.” Ash slid a beaker from the center of the lab table before lining up for his turn at the teacher’s desk.
“Miss Gemma,” the voice said. It made me jump. I looked to my left, directly into the eyes of the little shade from the old building along the border of the parking lot. “Miss Gemma…the mean one…she won’t let us go through.”
I couldn’t acknowledge the shade. People would see me, hear me talking to nothing. “Please,” I whispered. “Not here.”
“But the mean one. She won’t let us go through. We need help,” she said. I kept my head forward, eyes on the flickering blue flame of the lit burner in front of me.
“My sister is begging for your help. Won’t you help us?” It was the biggest of the three shades, a boy. His tone was less friendly.
“You have the ability, and yet you let us suffer?” My breathing was shalow, quick. I felt lightheaded, sweat tickling my forehead and upper lip, my whole body shaking. I was terrified. This shade, even though he couldn’t have been any older than fourteen, was scary, menacing. I couldn’t respond, couldn’t even look at him. Someone would see.
“Please, I…I can’t help you.” I squeezed my eyes closed, wiling the ghosts to go away.
Suddenly, the older shade grabbed my left wrist. “My sister…
she’s asking for your help. We need your help.” He was so strong, his grip so ferocious and cold, I couldn’t break loose.
He pushed my hand over the burner and lowered it until the flame licked at my palm. I baled my fingers into a fist and tried to fight free. “The mean one, she’s helping him,” he said. He was centimeters from the side of my face. His breath was cold, and he smeled like death. “You have to find the way out to set us free. Al of us.”
I screamed in agony, the skin on my fingers bubbling over the open flame.
“Gemma!” Ash yanked me backward, away from the counter.
The shades vaporized. “What the hel are you doing?” He grabbed my arm, just above where the shade had been squeezing. “Your wrist…it’s so red. And oh, my God, look at what you’ve done!” Mr. Cuthbertson was right behind Ash. The two of them dragged me over to the massive sink. Ash stepped on the floor trigger and shoved my sizzling fingers into the cold stream of water.
I fought the urge to scream.
“Here,” Ash shoved a wad of tissue into my hand. He dampened a paper towel and wiped at my shirt. Another bloody nose.
Sleight: Book One of the AVRA-K Page 22