Wicked After Midnight(23)
When my head rose through the trapdoor, it took a few moments for the scene to coalesce into any sort of sense. We were backstage, the red velvet curtains casting everything in a blushing glow. Stage lights shone in every direction, blinding me no matter which way I turned. Girls ran back and forth, dozens of daimons in a rainbow of colors, speckled all over with satin and sequins, which made me feel a little at home, at least. The face I’d just seen, Mel’s, waited just a few feet away, attached to a petite but stunning body with proportions molded by years of tight corseting. I briefly wondered where the girl kept her innards and if daimons even had innards, seeing as how they fed off of human emotions. Did you need a liver to digest joy? Before I could speak, Vale popped up behind me and swung the trapdoor closed, where it merged seamlessly with the boards.
Oddly, I felt more trapped upstairs in the soaring theater than I had in the dark, dank, crumbling catacombs. Up here, everything felt very final. For so long, I had dreamed of the cabarets of Paris. But now that I was here, I felt like a very small, bloodthirsty fish in a very big pond filled with colorful frogs. I had always hoped to tread the boards for the first time with Cherie by my side, and missing her was like losing a limb, an ache that wouldn’t go away.
“Not here for ze show tonight, eh?” Mel stared pointedly at Vale’s empty hands and smirked. Her accent was heavy, her green lips plump and welcoming. I put a hand on Vale’s forearm on the pretense of steadying myself. “And not making a delivery. So what is ze occasion, monsieur le brigand?”
“A delivery of a sort. I’ve brought you a new girl. Where’s Sylvie?”
“Oh, la. Two moments until show time. Stand still long enough, and she’ll find you. But I wouldn’t recommend that. Shoo. Go to the hallway and wait. Or watch from the back, if you wish. Just don’t let Auguste see you.” She winked, eyelashes brushing her green cheek like a bird’s blessing. “You know how he is about strangers backstage.”
“Merci, Mel. You look gorgeous.”
Mel fluttered a hand at him and focused on me, cocking her head. “What’s your name, chérie?”
I hoped she didn’t see me flinch. “Demi Ward.” I gave her a big, charismatic smile.
She leaned closer, breathing in with an open mouth like cats back home would do when smelling something rank. Her eyes flew wide, and I saw that her pupils had points like stars. “Do you know what she is?”
Vale grinned. “Oh, I know.”
“But there has never been—”
“Such a pretty girl with such an unusual talent. Trust me, Mel. Even daimons can’t do what Demi can. Not even Limone.”
A sick, acid yellow washed over Mel’s skin for just a second before it returned to a glistening emerald green. “Don’t even say that. Zis new girl doesn’t need help finding enemies here.”
The crowd beyond went quiet, and a woman’s dusky voice rang out as if seeking every hidden corner of the theater with silken fingers.
“My fine Parisian messieurs, have you been good?”
A cheer shook the rafters, making the curtains wobble beside us.
“I must go. Good luck.” Mel grasped my wrist for just a second before running off to find her place in the flock of brightly clad daimons waiting closer to the curtains. Vale drew me back into the shadows toward a dark hall, but I balked. I didn’t want to miss the final moments of calm before the show began. It was my favorite part of the spectacle, but I was far more accustomed to being part of it, to taking that deep breath that would hold until the curtain rose. This was where I belonged, not out there, among the rabble. The cheers quieted suddenly, as if someone had sucked the air from the room. The voice went on.
“Have you been very, very good?” A meaningful pause and a low, sexy chuckle. “Or have you been . . . wicked?”
The yelling and whistling intensified. My skin prickled all over, considering how very large the theater must be to hold so many voices. Even parked right outside London, the caravan had never drawn such crowds. I ached to be in front of them, to feel their excitement and hear them calling my name. I swallowed hard, felt every hair on my body rise. Even here, beyond the curtain, I could smell the hot blood pulsing through the building, the sweat rising off their skin, the goatlike stink of overexcited men and their lust. The immediacy of the stage struck through my homesickness and heartsickness, lighting me up from the inside with the otherworldly transcendence of lightning striking the Tower.
“Then let me be the first to welcome you . . . to Paradis!”
If I thought the cheers had been loud for the first two invitations, the third round was deafening. The orchestra began with a frenzy, and I shivered all over as the dancers went completely still on their marks.