Revelle

Glittering cocktail servers flooded the pit. Perfect smiles adorned their painted faces, revealing nothing of Luxe’s fate. Was she alive? Were her graceful limbs as broken as those cherub statues on the promenade?

And where the hell was Roger?

Trys stuck a curious finger into the champagne fountain. “This tastes like piss.”

“Are you really thinking about that right now?”

“C’mon, Jame-o, you don’t even know her. We just need to be here for Roger, in case it’s bad.” She glanced around. “Is it me or is everybody staring?”

Though most tourists were still pressed against the stage, waiting for Luxe to reappear, the bartenders were whispering and pointing to Trys. “I guess it’s not every day they see a Chronos in the Big Tent.”

“Two Chronoses tonight.” She smirked at the bartenders, who wisely looked away. “I’m going to check on Dewey. Tell Roger I’ll be right back, okay?”

Tucking her cane to her side, she slipped into the crowd before I could protest. Trys had a way of blending in when it suited her. Though it rarely suited her.

As I waited for Roger to return, I slid my mother’s brooch out of my pocket. Good, it was still here, along with the photograph of my parents standing on a beautiful beach, a worn wooden dock behind them, the boards carved in that intricate rectangular pattern. And me, as a baby, nestled in the thick blankets my mother held.

I slipped the brooch into the jacket and the photograph into my wallet, where it’d be safe.

“Well, hello there, gorgeous.”

A stunning white girl with soft curves spilling out of her gown ran a finger down my arm, flashing me a smile I’d seen Roger use countless times. Definitely a Revelle. I checked behind me to see who she was talking to.

She giggled. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Me?”

“Come with me.” Taking my hand, she pulled me into the crowd.

I stumbled behind her. “Did Roger send you?”

“How do you know Roger?”

“We’re friends. We came here together.”

“That’s a story I’d love to hear. Another time, handsome. Just follow me.”

She moved with a practiced grace. I tried to keep up, but paths opened for her and eclipsed for me. “Where are we going exactly?”

“It’s your lucky night. Luxe Revelle has requested a private meeting with you.”

The party blinked from existence.

So I hadn’t imagined the connection between us. She was alive. And she was asking for me. “She’s—She’s okay?”

The girl giggled. “She’s fine. Come see for yourself.”

She led me through crushed velvet curtains. Performers draped in colorful costumes crossed paths with organized chaos. A pack of children wielding broken hangers smacked my legs, collateral damage in their battle as they swept past us. My unfazed guide turned a corner, slowing only to wave to a woman breastfeeding a sleeping baby, her sequined cocktail uniform pushed off her bare shoulder.

Up narrow stairs next. The walls were no longer stripes of plum and black, but dark, aged wood. With the quiet came the onslaught of reality: there was no way Luxe Revelle wanted to see me. “Are you sure about this?”

She gave me a funny look. “Of course, gorgeous!”

We passed a door left slightly ajar. Inside, an elderly man with silver hair giggled gleefully, his fingers poking the air around him. “Bubbles!” he sang.

The girl snorted. “That’s Mr. Lee. He lives in the Day District, but every Saturday evening he walks to the Night to ask for the same fantasy: to frolic in a room full of bubbles.”

“That’s . . . Wow.”

“I know, right? We can make him experience anything he desires, yet every time he chooses bubbles. Harmless, at least.”

A scream sounded from behind the next door. “Are some of the fantasies not harmless?”

My guide didn’t even flinch as the screams grew louder. “Nothing we can’t handle.”

We came to a stop in front of a wooden door at the end of a long hallway, the face of which was carved in a series of dizzying diamonds. Luxe Revelle was behind this door.

“She, ah, probably needs her rest after that fall,” I stammered. “I could come back.”

The girl winked. “All part of the show. But if you’d prefer, I can take you to my room instead. All it’ll cost are a few teensy, tiny gems.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any money,” I admitted. She at least deserved a tip or something.

Her laughter came out in a snort. What a strange sense of humor.

My hand hovered over the doorknob. “And you’re certain she asked for me?”

“A word of advice.” The girl leaned closer. “When the Radiant Ruby summons you, don’t ask questions. Just count your lucky stars.” She thrust open the door, pushing me inside.

As the door clicked shut, the softest giggle rang out behind me. Slowly, I turned.

Luxe Revelle leaned against the bedpost wearing little more than a skimpy robe of raven black. Pale curves peeked out between dark lace appliqués. Straightening herself, she uncrossed her ankles and the delicate fabric shifted, revealing the lush skin of her thighs.

I spun to face the wall. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to barge in like this.”

“From where I’m sitting, it looked like Millie dragged you here.”

Her voice. That airy, ethereal voice was even sweeter here than it had been onstage because it was real—and it was tinged with exhaustion.

I’d ask after her. That was all. “I . . . I, uh, just wanted to make sure that you’re okay.”

“So that’s why you’re here. To make sure I’m . . . okay.” She ran her hands over the lacy robe, her eyes sparkling.

“You gave me quite a scare earlier. Not just me, of course. I mean, all of us watching.”

Curls tumbled over her shoulders as she glided toward me. And those pouty lips, the flush in her cheeks, the delicate smattering of freckles over her nose—

I stepped backward. “I should, ah . . .”

“You were saying?” A wicked smile settled on her lips. She knew the effect she had on me—and she was enjoying it.

Was Luxe Revelle flirting with me?

The realization sent a thrill right to my core, and my body responded in ways that, according to the friars, should have had me struck by lightning on the spot.

The sense of rightness when we’d locked eyes, the rest of the world disappearing as she’d sang to me—she’d felt it, too. I wasn’t one to believe in fate, but maybe, just maybe . . .

She stepped close enough to intoxicate me with her sweet perfume, but this time, I didn’t retreat. Onstage, she was a fully grown woman, but up close she was my age or a little younger.

And she’d fallen.

Only then did I notice the shadows under her eyes, the faint tension in the corners of her mouth each time she moved her head. “Are you hurt?”

She pressed her palm to her chest. “Worried about my well-being? How touching.” Her hand slid downward, shifting the robe ever so slightly to reveal those perfect—

“I’m sorry!” I blurted again, turning away.

“For what, exactly?” She tugged gently on my arm, turning me back to her. Everything about her was inviting, flirtatious, dizzying, and yet there were fleeting glimpses of her waning strength. A waver in her step, tension in her smile, all gone as quickly as they appeared.

The friars had never liked us to advertise our injuries to the parishioners in church on Sundays. When their heavy rods left dark bruises, they were always in places we could hide, like our backs and stomachs. To reveal your suffering was a surefire way to get beaten again. We learned to conceal our misfortunes. And I learned to read the subtle signs of masked pain.

She caressed my shoulders, loosening Dewey’s tight jacket. Maybe I was wrong.

“Why don’t you take off your coat and stay awhile?”

“Me? I, ah . . . yes, I suppose.” I shook off the too-small coat. Christ, I was tripping over my words like I was fresh out of St. Douglas’s. A few hours ago, I had stumbled off a ferry and admired her posters. Then I’d watched her fall at least six stories. Yet here she was, in one piece, curling her hands around my suspenders. Maybe I had given a Revelle a jewel after all, and this was but a magic-infused dream.

Her lips curving, she rested her hands on my shoulders. Such soft hands. So warm. And, if I wasn’t mistaken, they were trembling.

Not a dream, then. In any dream of mine, she’d never be in pain.

Gently, I removed her hands.

She blinked at me. “Is something wrong?”

Time to say something intelligent. Gentlemanly.

“I, uh, I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I didn’t wish to disturb you, just to make sure . . . because you fell . . .”

“All part of the act, I assure you.” There was that kaleidoscope smile again. Beautiful, ever-shifting, as if trying to find the right permutation to please me.

I didn’t want her to try; I just wanted her to talk to me—and to sit before she collapsed again. “Maybe you should rest,” I tried to say, but her proximity rendered my mouth useless.

“You can see I’m quite unharmed.” She motioned over her body, and I squeezed my hands into fists at my sides. As if sensing her effect on me, she inched closer. “There must be something else I can do for you.”

“Do for me?” A laugh escaped me.

Her smile slipped, a rare glimpse underneath the mask. “Why is that funny?”

I was tempted to laugh again so I could see another flash of her authentic self, but I couldn’t upset her, not even for a moment. “You must be exhausted. Why would I ask you to do anything for me?”

She arched her brow. “You accepted my invitation for a reason.”

To see you again, to be near you, to see if you felt what I felt.

“If you’d like me to go—”

“No!”

“You want me to stay?”

A single nod. Somewhere in the distance, an accordion picked up a lively tune.

She wanted me to stay. Me.

“Why?” I found myself asking.

“You’ll think me silly.”

“I assure you, I won’t.”

She looked down at her feet. “It is silly, especially given your family, and my family, and, well . . . you know.”

Our families? She was holding back because of concerns about our families? “I don’t have any family.” Never before had I been so happy to utter those words.

“I’m glad you see it that way.” She drew a deep breath. “I noticed you in the crowd, and I . . . well, I was just telling my cousins that I’d like to get to know you better. And here you are.”

“And here I am.” By some miracle, I managed to keep standing. “Your cousin came and found me.”

She scraped her white teeth over her pouting lip. “Millie can be a little forward. I’m sorry if we disturbed your night.”

“Not at all!” I squeaked. Keep it together, Jamison. Roger used to tell me to stop acting surprised when someone showed interest in me. But this wasn’t just anyone, and her interest in me certainly wasn’t another fleeting flirtation. She’d invited me here when she could have had anyone in the crowd.

I steadied myself. “To be honest, your performance was absolutely hypnotizing. I was in awe. And then you fell, and I couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to you. I know it sounds like complete nonsense, especially because I don’t know you, but—”

“It’s not nonsense,” she breathed.

My heart ballooned to twice its size. “You don’t think so?”

“No.” She looked up at me with the sweetest smile. “It might be the most noble reason anyone has entered the Revelle Fun House.”

I glanced around the room, at the ornate gold-painted bed, the crushed velvet curtains, and her negligée. “I’m in the Fun House?”

She stiffened. “You don’t intend to use that jewel?”

“My mother’s brooch? No! I mean, I would be honored, but . . .” How could I have been so thick? I’d been so desperate to see her, I hadn’t even paid attention to where her cousin took me.

“Are you laughing?” Frustration tightened her sweet voice.

“I’m sorry.” I tried to hide my amusement behind my hand. I was never going to live this down with Roger and Trys. Remember the time Jamison stumbled into the Fun House and didn’t even know it? “Do you mind if we have a seat? My head is spinning a bit.”

She looked relieved. She refused to sit when it was for her sake, but for someone else’s, she would. I tucked away that little detail about her.

There were no chairs in this room. Just the bed.

She patted a spot beside her, but I stood a safe distance away. “If, ah, you’re looking to make money . . .”

She waved a hand. “You and I are becoming such good friends, aren’t we? Let’s not ruin that by talking about money.”

Relief swept over me, a balm to my misgivings. “I couldn’t agree more.”

“So now that we’ve established that we are, in fact, in the Fun House, and I am, in fact, a Revelle, perhaps you could tell me what your fantasy would be, if you gave me that jewel.” She wore the mask of the seductress once more, flirtation dripping from each word.

A rush of heat coursed through my veins. “I’m sorry?”

She patted the bed beside her. “Tell me what you want to experience more than anything in the world, and we can see about making it come true.”

My mind went blank. Not a single coherent thought rose to the surface.

She watched me carefully. Waiting.

“I, uh, I don’t know.”

From beneath those thick lashes, her eyes smoldered. “Not all fantasies require magic, you know.”

My mouth went dry.

The seconds ticked away as she pinned me under the heat of her gaze. “Surely there must be something.”

“I’m trying to think.”

She smoothed the comforter, waiting.

And waiting.

“. . . Anything?” Frustration tinged her sweet voice. “What would make tonight absolutely incredible for you?”

“You may not believe this, but meeting you has already made tonight incredible.”

There. I’d said it.

Surprise loosened her mouth into a delicate O. My heart squeezed. “And all we’ve done thus far is talk.”

“That’s more than enough,” I said honestly. “To talk with you, to learn everything I can about you. That’s all I want to do.”

The silence stretched for a heartbeat. Then another.

If I wasn’t mistaken, the formidable edge to her gaze softened. “You’re a bit of a puzzle.”

“You’re the real puzzle. You—You remind me of a kaleidoscope.”

That Effigen drink had robbed me of all sense of self-preservation. Apparently, any blasted thought running through my head was fair game.

“What?”

No smooth way out of this came to mind, so I resorted to the truth. “You flash these pretty, distracting versions of yourself, and you seem to know just how to adjust them to fit whatever fancy you believe me to have. As I shift, they shift, too, distracting me from . . . well, distracting me from the girl at the center.”

She sat up straight. “The girl at the center?”

“She’s even more beautiful.” I waited until she looked at me so she could see how much I meant my words. “She hides her pain. And she’s . . . sad. I’d do anything in my power to take away her sadness.”

My pulse thudded in my ears, the only reprieve from the silence as she gawked at me.

I’d said too much. Any moment now, and she’d laugh in my face.

“Do you really want to know what makes me sad?” No longer was she the star of the Revelle show, not with her shoulders caving underneath the weight of the world.

“Tell me.” I leaned closer. “Please.”

Kicking off her shoes, she hugged her legs to her chest. “My family. Even after nights like tonight, after we’ve accounted for all the expenses, the profit margin is thin. And with black-market liquor prices what they are . . .” Her sweet voice trailed off.

When the older orphans had whispered stories about the Revelles, I’d pictured their luxurious tent draped in gemstones and riches. But Roger had explained his family’s awful conundrum plenty of times: jewels crumbled under their magic, making it difficult for all but the strongest Revelles to turn a good profit. Lowering customers’ inhibitions helped—through booze, risqué costumes, and, of course, the acrobatic spectacles that welcomed the tourists every night. The less magic required, the more profit for the Revelles. But there were too many mouths to feed and not enough gems left over. Their brand was built on decadence, but the Revelles were broke.

Before I could respond, Luxe’s mask snapped back into place. “It’s not easy to explain.”

She didn’t like to be vulnerable. Another precious tidbit I tucked away. “You don’t need to. Roger told me all about your family’s financial woes.”

That got her attention. “Roger already asked for your help?”

“I don’t think he realized there was a way I could help. But I’d be glad to. Anything for Roger’s family. For you.”

She sat perfectly still, as if frozen in shock. “Really?”

Emboldened, I laid my hand over hers. God himself might have smote me down in that moment, but I didn’t care. Her skin was soft, the bones of her wrist delicate. “I know I’ve just met you, but . . . I’d do anything to keep you happy.”

That was certainly on Roger’s list of things I should never say to a girl.

“I think you know what I want.” The vulnerability in her voice pierced my heart.

“Anything for you.”

She leaned closer, her lips grazing the tip of my ear as she whispered, “Even liquor?”

For all that was holy. If she asked me to sell my soul to the devil, I’d ask where to sign.

“I’d give you all the liquor in the world, if I could,” I murmured, “and my heart, if you’ll have it.”

A storm of emotions washed over her graceful features, relief among them. As if there were any doubt about how I felt.

Before I could utter another word, she closed the space between us. Those same lips that had sung to me, had twisted into a dozen permutations of her dazzling smile—those lips found mine. A thousand fireworks sparked over my skin, engulfing me in sweet flames.

I forgot how to breathe.

I forgot how to move my arms, my legs, anything but my lips.

I forgot my own name as I melted against her.