Broken People (13 page)

His question made her come to a halt near
the end of the table and rest her hip against its edge. “I’m
worried there’s something wrong with the Nightingale.”

So this is what it was
. He should
have known she hadn’t come just to bring him dessert. “What makes
you say that?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“I get this hole in the pit of my stomach …”
She pressed a hand against her middle. “And don’t you dare make a
joke about my mechanical parts!”

“You know I never do that.” His voice
softened. “What set you off?”

“The way she sang tonight … She’s never
missed a note before.”

“With the recent events, it’s
understandable. We’re all under a lot of pressure.”

“No, it’s not that.” Anya shook her head. A
short lock of dark brown hair fell over her face, and she pushed it
behind her ear. “It was worse in Vilnius when the locals wanted to
lynch us. She had no problem reacting then. She scared me.”

“All right. Let’s assume you’re right.”
Nicholas paused long enough to hold her gaze. “What do you want me
to do?” What
could
he do? No one stood up to the
Nightingale.

“Maybe … maybe she shouldn’t come to the
theater.” Anya took a step closer, looking down at him, and propped
her hip against the table once more. With her hips tilted like
that, her stance resembled Cielo’s, though Cielo’s hips would never
reach that high. “She’s not safe there. We can protect her better
at the circus.”

“I voted against it when we discussed it,
but I was outnumbered.” Nicholas raised his shoulders. “People feel
safe with her around.”

“But they’re not, not this time.”

“Maybe they are. What do
I
know?”

Anya leaned forward. Her sweet perfume,
sweeter than the crème brulée, wrapped around him. “You
do
know. You need to convince them otherwise.”

“It’s one thing to make people think I pull
a rabbit out of a hat when there’s no rabbit there,” Nicholas said.
“I’m a magician, but it’s different than making people act upon the
illusions. The mind filters them and, while part of you believes
them, the survival mechanism knows there’s something not quite
right about it. That’s why you don’t do anything stupid in reaction
to them. So hypnosis won’t work.”

“But there’s more you can do.”

Nicholas didn’t agree. “I’d rather not try
something on my co-workers that might backfire on me. We don’t use
our skills on our own people. It’s written in the contract.”

“We’re all weird in some way. They’ll
understand.”

“Oh, they’ll understand all right.” Nicholas
grimaced. “And then they’ll set my car on fire. No, thank you.”

Anya pursed her lips in annoyance. “Then
what do we do? Wait for the sky to fall on us?”

“We hope it doesn’t, but if it does, we do
our best to keep the tide from washing us away.” It wasn’t the
answer she wanted, but it was the only one he had. Besides, it was
a hypothetical conversation. Chances were that nothing bad was
going to happen. The worst case scenario was the townies didn’t
like their show and didn’t let them use the theater ever again. It
would be a blow for his finances as he tended to do well here, but
he would survive.

“I’m not happy with your management.” Anya
placed the bowl back on the tray. Nicholas had licked it clean.

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

Ignoring his apology, Anya picked up the
tray and turned away from him. “Try to get some rest, Nick. You
look terrible.”

Nicholas stretched out a hand to caress her
back, but Anya slid out of his reach before he could touch her.
Maybe it was for the best. A momentary weakness could ruin
everything.

Shaking his head at his lapse of judgment,
Nicholas took another look at the blueprints. So, if they entered
here, the weak spots would be here and here. Once they went
upstairs … Damn, they should get better intel regarding the guards’
schedule.

He fussed over the blueprints of the Hrad
for another hour, imagining different scenarios, until his eyes
threatened to close by themselves. With the days spent at the
theater, the evenings at the circus, and nights making plans, he
didn’t get nearly enough sleep. When the fatigue caught up with
him, Nicholas stumbled behind the curtain and collapsed onto the
bed.

What Riella planned was not part of the
original act; therefore, it hadn’t received Nicholas’s approval.
Yet
.
Riella hadn’t decided if she was going to ask for it.
All she knew was she refused to let Anya steal the spotlight, which
would be too easy to do on a real theater stage. With so few lead
female roles available during the show, Riella constantly competed
with the ballerina. The more gracefully Anya danced, the fewer
clothes Riella wore. It usually worked, but not this time. Since no
one could compete against the Nightingale, Riella was determined to
beat Anya, who used to dance on the famous Moscow stage.

“Come,” she said, and Serioja followed her
into the store.

People turned their heads at the tall
aerialist, and Riella couldn’t help but feel proud to have him with
her—another prize she had stolen from Anya. She wished he’d worn a
vest that put his muscles on display, but it was too cold for that.
Since they were visiting the city, they wore regular clothes, as
close to the local fashion as possible. Still, her fiery curls
attracted enough attention, and she was too proud to hide them. So
people turned their heads to look at both of them.

While she talked with the vendor, arguing
over the price, she made sure to keep an eye on Serioja, who roamed
through the store, inspecting the merchandise. Wrapping paper in
all possible colors loaded the shelves. Serioja’s light gaze moved
over them, not stopping. He didn’t care for wrapping paper. He had
only come along because she had asked him. In fact, he didn’t care
for much of anything, other than his trapeze flying. He’d lost all
of his Russian accent, a sign he wasn’t totally stupid, but some of
his upstairs wiring had to be wrong. Riella had never been able to
understand him or connect with him—not a strong enough reason to
dump him, but enough to push her into Rake’s arms. Rake didn’t talk
much, but she understood him.

When Serioja returned to her side with a
bored expression on his face, Riella agreed on an exorbitant price
and accepted the box filled with two kilos of wrapping paper cut in
tiny pieces. Useless the way it was now, it would triple its value
after it passed through Rake’s hands, and then Riella’s act would
become the highlight of the show.

Bouncing on her feet with excitement, Riella
thrust the box into Serioja’s arms and pulled him out of the store.
She had spotted a fabric shop across the street and wanted to see
if she could find some new silk sheets. With a little luck, she
might find what she wanted. She felt so good today, she wouldn’t
have been surprised if everything worked in her favor. It was time
for the circus to get a new queen, and she was more than ready to
receive the crown.

Other than Cole, no one had visited Dale
since he moved into the attic two long months ago. The thought that
his manners were rusty crossed his mind while he held the door open
and frowned at the little girl standing in the doorway. Rosie
stared right back, her brown eyes huge on her pale face.

“What is it?” he asked when she didn’t say
anything. The kid shouldn’t have been out this late. Then he
remembered she lived in the street below, from where she could spy
on him, and scolded himself for caring.

Still not talking, Rosie pulled out an
envelope from the bag she carried on her shoulder and gave it to
him. The matte paper rustled softly as he opened it, and a wave of
perfume tickled his nose. The envelope contained a theater ticket
to the big circus show. He looked at both sides but found no seat
number written on it. A seat reserved in one of the private boxes
then.

A slip of paper had come out along with the
ticket.
Pick me up at 6:30,
the fancy handwriting said. Dale
cringed. What did the Golden Lady plan this time?
PS. Rosie
shouldn’t spend the night outside, but she doesn’t want to stay
here. Maybe she’ll agree to stay with you.
Wonderful. What was
he supposed to do? Tie her up and drug her to keep her here? The
kid would probably scream bloody murder if he looked at her the
wrong way. Or she’d jump straight at his throat, and those were
sharp teeth she had in her mouth, not to mention the metal bits.
And Dale drew the line at hurting children.

“Did you read this?” he asked, still trying
to decide what to do.

Rosie nodded.

Well, there was that. He stepped to the side
and nodded for her to enter if she wanted. Rosie peeked past him at
the darkness lingering inside the attic. The light filtering in
through the windows barely made the outlines of the room visible.
He couldn’t blame her for refusing to go in blind, so he made an
exception and switched on the halogen lamp on the table.

When Dale turned around, ready to repeat the
invitation, Rosie was already inside, her eyes still inspecting the
place, apparently satisfied with what she found. She dropped her
bag on the armchair. The fingers of her bandaged hand tapped on the
stuffed backrest. At least the prosthetic was functional, and they
hadn’t wasted everyone’s time at the circus that afternoon.

“Good.” Dale closed the door. “Don’t worry.
I won’t lock it.”

Rosie shook her head.

“Do you
want
me to lock it?”

She didn’t answer but stared pointedly at
the door.

“Okay.” Smart kid. No building was safe in
this part of town. Dale locked the door.

As he returned to the middle of the attic,
Rosie made herself comfortable on the armchair, putting her feet up
and using her bag as a pillow. It looked like she was going to
sleep there, and Dale had no other choice than to accept her
decision. The bed was big enough for two, even three people—an old
piece of furniture from the previous century that, by some miracle,
hadn’t collapsed under its own weight—but he doubted she would
share it with a man she knew nothing about. Life in the streets
must have taught her some tough lessons when it came to that. She
did, however, know enough to trust him to sleep in the same room
with him.

Dale brought a blanket from the foot of the
bed and draped it over her. “Sorry, there’s no food in here.”

As if remembering something, Rosie sat up
and unzipped her bag. She pulled out a rectangular plastic box that
she placed on the table near the lamp. It was filled with thick,
square chocolate cakes. Rosie slid the box towards him.

“That’s all right. I already ate.” Dale had
a sweet tooth but reckoned she needed the nourishment more.

“I can’t possibly eat all this,” Rosie said
in a reasonable voice. “Besides, you have no fridge—” she glanced
around the attic, “—and it would be a shame if we let them spoil.
Miss Aurore always has good cakes.”

Confronted with such logic, and startled by
her sudden eloquence, Dale reached for a cake. They ate in silence,
licking the insanely sweet chocolate off their fingers, and then
each went to his or her corner to sleep.

Shortly after the light coming from the lamp
died by itself, Rosie spoke into the darkness, “She said you should
get a tux.”

The day of the show arrived, and Dale still
didn’t know why he had been invited to attend. He hadn’t seen
Aurore since taking Rosie to the circus … not that he minded. Rosie
had returned the next night for another sleepover, once again
carrying a box loaded with cakes, a sign she remained in contact
with her benefactor. She was absent this evening, but Dale had
arranged for her to see the show. Although the tickets had sold
out, Rake and Spinner had taken a liking to the little girl and
promised to find her a seat. Dale didn’t worry about it. If anyone
could take care of themselves and achieve what they wanted, it
would be Rosie.

He did, however, worry when he showed up to
pick Aurore up as instructed. The rented suit squeezed him in all
the wrong places, reminding him of the parade uniform he wore while
in the army before the war got so bad, there were no more reasons
for which to parade. He didn’t understand how Renard could
willingly wear a tailcoat every day. It was a matter of image, he
reckoned. If Aurore needed a suit to hang onto, she should have
asked the magician to accompany her. But, of course, the magician
was working tonight.

The doorman made him wait in the lobby until
Aurore came downstairs a few minutes later. A long black cape
covered her from head to toe, hiding everything except her face.
She wore little makeup, and inside the loose hood, her blonde hair
fell free.

“Should I go change?” Dale asked when
Aurore’s light blue-gray eyes lingered on him a second too
long.

“No, it’s fine.” She smiled. “I would have
given you the address of my tailor, but Rosie insisted you could
handle the matter by yourself.”

Dale made a mental note to thank the girl
for sparing him the torturous experience.

“I’m ready. Let’s walk,” Aurore said, barely
giving the doorman time to open the door for her.

Years of hiding his emotions helped Dale
cover his surprise. He had never seen the Golden Lady walking alone
in the street, and he had made sure to keep a discreet eye on her
once they became business partners. An armored car always waited
for her in front of the building. Someone with a high profile like
her was bound to have enemies, so why take the risk now?

“You’re wondering about this,” Aurore said
while they walked together on the sidewalk.

People parted in front of them as if they
knew who was hiding inside the cape. They probably did, especially
those living on this street. Heads bowed, eyes looked away, no one
attempted to speak or nod at her. Several couples followed the same
route, apparently also heading to the theater. Aurore ignored them
all.