“A little,” I said. “After things got quiet.”
She laughed. “Oh, la. That’s probably the last time you’ll have the opportunity to sleep at all while Paradis is open. You’ll be so exhausted tonight you’ll barely be able to fall into your own bed.”
“Oh, goody.”
“I’m sorry, Mademoiselle Demi, but is honest work a problem for you?” The daimon who had so rudely awoken me appeared, toes tapping beneath her golden gown.
“No, madame.”
“Mademoiselle Charline. Your choreographer.”
I snorted to myself. Of course. Of course there would be a Sang version of Charles Zidler, the famous mastermind behind the Moulin Rouge.
In response, I was slapped across the face for the second time that morning, and this time, I most certainly did hiss. She didn’t even flinch. “If you wish to work at ze most famous cabaret in the entire world, you will learn respect, hard work, and my goddamn name, you vicious little scab.”
I swallowed down my desperate need to rip her to shreds but only for Cherie’s sake. “Yes, Mademoiselle Charline.”
Her mouth pursed. “Better. Now. Show me every single trick of which you are capable.”
“Here? Now?”
All the other daimons had stopped their own practice to stare at me, and I felt the full force of a hundred eyes of all different colors and shapes, some with unnerving horizontal pupils like a goat’s.
It was Mademoiselle Charline’s turn to snort, but hers was an elegant French snort.
“Fifty daimon dancing girls will be just as cruel as a thousand rich Parisian gentlemen. There’s no better trial of your mettle.”
I nodded. I could do this.
“I need three chairs, a mouth stand, a glass box, and a large ball.”
Mademoiselle Charline jerked her chin at the daimon girls standing behind Mel, and they scurried into the wings like terrified mice. Charline’s foot tapped as we waited, and I went through the abbreviated series of stretches Cherie had taught me years ago, the bare minimum that would limber up my body enough to perform the full range of motion required by someone in my profession. It was rote now, as natural as taking a shower or making a bed.
After years of careful practice, my elbows and shoulders could hyperextend easily, and my spine could curve in unnatural ways that I tried not to contemplate too deeply. I’d taken gymnastics as a child on Earth, but being a Bludman made my entire skeleton feel like a Slinky. I forgot, most of the time, that I wasn’t human anymore, but it was never more apparent than when I was contorted like a snake, my fangs digging into the stand while I balanced my feet on my head and salivated over the audience.
The daimon ballerinas reappeared, carrying much-mended practice pieces, not the more showy equipment that would be used during actual performances. I checked each item carefully to ensure that if I embarrassed myself, it would at least be on my own and not because of a weak chair leg or cracked mouth stand. Satisfied, I replicated the setup I had used at Criminy’s Clockwork Caravan and stood gracefully, arms up and show persona in place.
“Music?” I asked.
Charline nodded. “What do you wish?”
Did I detect the barest note of curiosity in Charline’s voice? I had to hope so. And I had to choose carefully . . . and quickly.
I glanced at the collected company, wishing everyone was in costume so I would know which niches might still be available to exploit and therefore which music to request. One group of girls wore Egyptian-style costumes that matched Madame Charline, and there were several butterflies, tons of ballerinas, and a collection of rococo-style ballgowns, but that didn’t help.
“What’s the most popular song for the can-can?” I finally asked.
Mademoiselle Charline raised one thin eyebrow. “What, pray tell, is the can-can?”
I barely restrained myself from bursting out into a Bludman’s characteristic, devil-may-care laughter. If the can-can hadn’t yet been invented in the Mortmartre of Sang’s Paris, then I suddenly knew exactly how I would make my name as a performer.
Was it cheating? Maybe.
Did I care? Hell, no.
Especially considering that popularity would, I hoped, bring me to Cherie. If Casper Sterling could become the world’s most talented musician just because Sang didn’t have a Beethoven, then Demi Ward would become La Demitasse by teaching the daimons how to kick their legs in the air. But I wouldn’t show that off today, where Charline might claim it for herself. No, I would wait until I was onstage and unstoppable, facing thousands of soon-to-be adoring fans. I’d wanted stardom before, but now that it was my key to being taken by the slavers and finding my best friend, I wanted it even more.