“What is the council?” I asked, genuinely curious how things operated down here. It was so different from the farce that was the government above. There were elections, but everyone knew that it was the Church of Scion who was truly in charge. Everything else was just for show.
“There are seven other council members, in addition to myself. Elena is another, as are a few of my other friends. I will introduce you to them soon. Each councillor oversees a specific district in the city. Under them we have departments that are in charge of different things. Arts, finance, water, waste management, recreation. It’s all the usual bureaucratic stuff.” He waved a hand, pausing between chopping vegetables and scraping them into the pot. “I’m the head of state, so they technically answer to me. But I only have one vote when it comes down to it. I’m more or less equal to them.”
It shouldn’t have been so jarring. But I couldn’t get over Ciaran’s humility. He never acted like he was above anyone here. Even though he was the head of state for this city. Even though these people hadchosenhim to lead them. It was wildly different from the way things were done in Lutesse—in all of Ereba actually, where those in charge weredivinely appointed.
“Was that why you were on the rooftop that night? Were you looking for more magic wielders? Did you suspect I had magic?” I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear the answer.
Ciaran’s dark eyes glimmered. “No. That was a complete shock to me as well. I was just working in the kitchen, as I told you then.” He began grating a knobbly looking root with some kind of sharp instrument. “But when you sang, I knew I’d accidentally found someone worth looking into. I snuck into thetheatre to see you perform in the gala. You intrigued me.” He added the grated aromatic pile to the pot.
I didn’t know what to make of that. So, I went back to my old faithful… changing the subject.
“Okay… so what are you making?” Whatever it was, it smelled delicious. The aroma of shallots, garlic and ginger filled the apartment.
A low chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. “You’ll just have to wait and find out.” Ciaran’s eyes danced with mischief.
Ciaran’s cooking was the most delicious food I’d ever tasted. He had made a fragrant and savoury broth, to which he added long slurpy noodles, tender greens and a marinated soy protein I’d never tried before. Ciaran explained that he didn’t cook with animal products. He promised I wouldn’t miss them. After tasting his cooking, I believed him. He even convinced me to add some spicy red chili oil to the top—it danced on my tongue and lips, not unpleasantly, for a long while after we finished eating.
“Okay, time to get ready for the show. You might want to step up the outfit.” He gestured to the simple black pants and shirt I was currently wearing. So I figured it was as good a time as any to show off the new dress.
Climbingdown the ladder into the catacombs was a bit of a struggle in the dress. I made Ciaran go first and promise not to look up. The onyx-black beaded fringe clinked against the ladder as I descended. I hopped down, adjusted the top, shoving my breasts back from where they had cascaded out, gave my loose curls a shake and told Ciaran I was ready to go. I couldn’t help but notice how his gaze lingered on me as I stepped away from the ladder into the flickering light of the catacombs, haltingbriefly at my neck, my exposed décolletage, the ample cleavage that swelled over the deep neckline of the glittering black dress.
“After you.” He gestured. I swore I could feel his gaze burning a red-hot line on my backside as I stepped in front of him. I couldn’t help the smug bounce in my step as I swung my handbag and hips a little more than necessary.
“I don’t know where we’re going,” I said as we walked toward the Crossroads of the Dead. Ciaran caught up. I smirked at the blush creeping over the lapels of his crisp white dress shirt. Ciaran had dressed up for the occasion as well, swapping his usual plain black shirt for a white dress shirt with a fitted black and grey pinstripe vest and slacks.
“Just keep walking. It’s the speakeasy we passed by the crossroads earlier,” he explained.
“What exactly is a drag show?” I asked tentatively.
Ciaran sighed. “I sometimes forget how repressed everything is up there.” He sounded exasperated by the prudishness of it all. “How do I describe a drag show… So drag loosely stands for ‘dressed as a girl’ and comes from an old theatre term, I think... I’m no expert, so please don’t quote me. A drag performer is usually a man dressed over-the-top feminine. They stand about seven feet tall by the time you factor in the heels and the hair. They do everything: emcee, dance, sing, comedy, all of it. Drag is a celebration of queer excellence. Like a cabaret, but… more.”
Queer excellence. I had to admit that was the first time I had heard those words in a sentence together. The Church of Scion forbade same-sex relationships as vehemently as it did magic. Both were punishable by death. Of course, this didn’t get rid of queer people, but it did force them to hide and repress who they truly were. Several of the male ballet dancers in the opera I knew were hiding their true selves for fear of Scion repercussions. It always seemed extremely wrong—actually evil—that they had to hide themselves away like that. Elena had expressed earlier thatshe was only attracted to women; perhaps drag was yet another reason she was so at home here.
“The emcee of this show is a good friend of mine. I’ll introduce you to her before the show starts,” Ciaran explained. “She’s going to get a kick out of you.” I didn’t know what he meant by that. I soon found out.
Ciaran’s friend was indeed seven feet tall. She went by the stage name Carol Ruby, though Ciaran told me that out of drag, she usually went by Carl. We walked to the back of the speakeasy and found her there. She grabbed Ciaran and kissed him on both cheeks, leaving a large smudge of red lipstick. Ciaran returned the embrace, not seeming to mind at all. As tall as Ciaran was, Carol Ruby, in her heels and hair, towered over him.
“Hello, gorgeous!” Carol Ruby exclaimed with more excitement than I had ever heard in my life. “I can’t believe it: the most handsome King Beneath Lutesse is here to see my little variety show. I’m flattered.”
Carol Ruby had deep brown skin and wore a tall, gently curling platinum blonde wig. Her makeup was more over the top than anything we wore on stage at the opera, her lips a ruby red befitting her stage name, her lashes so long they brushed the top of her painted-on brows. Her dress was pure silver, accentuating an impossibly curvy figure.
“And who did you bring me? Is this the dancer? Or was she a singer? It doesn’t matter, I’ll take you!” Carol was gesticulating wildly as she spoke, showing off perfectly manicured bright red nails.
“This is Seraphina. The dancerandsinger,” Ciaran clarified. “Seraphina, this is Carol Ruby, preeminent Drag Mother Beneath Lutesse.” Ciaran introduced us, making sure to over exaggerate the title of Drag Mother.
“Ciaran, you’re making me sound so old!” Carol feigned shock. She looked to be in her fifties, but she had a youthfulaura that made her seem younger. “I’ve been performing here Beneath Lutesse for many years now,” Carol admitted in a stage whisper behind a theatrically held up hand, “but in all my years, my dear Ciaran has never once brought a girl to one of my shows.”
“Oh, I’m not… he didn’t bring me… I mean. We’re just friends.” I was stumbling and fumbling over my words again. Carol, to her credit, just nodded and gave me a knowing tap on the nose.
“Okay, friends, sure.” She winked. I wanted to melt into the floor. “I remember having friends like that.” She chuckled.
“Seraphina is very new to our ways here.” Ciaran cleared his throat and changed the subject. “This is her first drag show.”
“Well, we will be sure to show her a good time,” Carol said. “You know, Beneath Lutesse is a haven for magic wielders, but it’s been a refuge for queer people as well. Why, I myself barely have a tiny spark of magic. But here I am free to be who I am. We are free to love who we love. We don’t have to worry about being hunted or persecuted. And for that I’m so grateful. I hope you find a true home here, as I have. We look out for each other.”
“Thank you, Carol. That means a lot. It’s wonderful to meet you.” I was moved by her sentiment. A similar one that I had been hearing all day: we look out for each other. No onehadto be this kind and welcoming to me. I was no one. And yet.
“It is wonderful to meetyou,darling. Us theatre people have to stick together. We understand each other.” Carol made a gesture linking us together. “Drag queens are the keepers of our stories, you know. We may look and act like silly clowns, but we’re the ones who record all our histories,” Carol explained. I nodded. I understood, truly, the need for hope, for art and entertainment. It could be both serious and playful. That was life, after all. If you were lucky.
