“I can’t wait for the show.” I didn’t know what else to say. I looked over at Ciaran, who was watching me intently.
“Honey, I’d love to stay here and chat all night long, but the show must go on!” Carol turned toward Ciaran.
“We’ll see you out there.” He grinned broadly and led me back out into the main area of the speakeasy.
It had become crowded while we spoke with Carol, but we managed to find a spot at a tiny round high-top table overlooking the elevated stage and dance floor in the centre of the space. The one table that was suspiciously empty. I suspected this wasKing Ciaran’sregular spot. He hadn’t been worried about finding somewhere to sit. But it was so crowded that we had to sit shoulder to shoulder, and I was keenly aware of every infinitesimal move Ciaran made.
“Is everyone Beneath Lutesse here tonight?” I murmured, scanning the crowd and noting just how many people were crammed into the narrow speakeasy.
“A good number of us are here, yes. Carol is an institution. She’s definitely a local celebrity. You’ll see,” Ciaran responded as the lights dimmed around us. He stretched his arms, casually draping his right arm over the back of my chair. A thrill went through me.
The music started. A jazz band played off to the side of the stage, the bass heavy, drums pounding; the brass was energetic, the piano dynamic. Carol appeared from backstage and walked with as much charisma as I had ever seen on a stage performer. The “stage” consisted of a narrow elevated catwalk and a dance floor on the ground in front of it. Carol was elegant and gregarious. She did a short monologue which was absolutely absurd and hilarious and introduced the first act in the variety show.
There were more comics and musicians, some in drag, some not, all interspersed with Carol Ruby’s hilarious interludes andintroductions. Finally, the dance troupe was introduced. Ciaran leaned in and whispered that this was Elena’s number. His breath was hot in my ear, sending a frisson up my spine. I shifted in my seat, unable to move away from him in the crowded space.
The lights overhead changed from warm yellow to deep red; the music went from upbeat and celebratory to unctuous and slippery. And then the dancers appeared. There were perhaps fifteen of them, male and female, all of them wearing impossibly high-heeled shoes. They dragged black chairs behind them as they strutted across the stage, through the audience and into the middle of the floor. They were all clothed in black, technically, but they were barely covered up, each costume slightly different, showing off the dancer’s uniqueness. There was not a lick of modesty to be found. Seff and his father would have been thoroughly scandalized. The dancing was equally scandalous. I felt my face heating as I watched them writhe and turn, flipping their hair, dancing on the chairs as if they were dancing on a lover’s lap. It was hypnotizing, and I had never seen anything like it before in my life. Even the “risqué cabarets” in places like Montmartre were much more tame than this.
Elena was breathtaking. She moved as gracefully as Maren, but the style of dance could not have been more different from the prim and proper ballet I was accustomed to. Her lush hips undulated, her long legs splayed wide as she rolled across the floor, flipping her hair to the music. The audience was whistling and cheering along. No one had any shame, they were all just celebrating the dancers’ movements, their daring nerve, their talent. The men moved in a way that was just as overtly sexual and feminine. It was strange to see such a thing; gender roles were being turned on their heads before my eyes. Heat was leaking from my body and I swore I felt the music in my core. My body was reacting on instinct: I wanted to try it. I desperatelywanted to try my hand at this style of dance. My feet itched to get up there.
I turned to Ciaran to ask him what he thought of the show so far and found his eyes were already on me, burning into my body. His tongue flicked over his lower lip as he dragged his eyes up from my torso to my face; his gaze was so intense that I had to look away, back to the dancers. I cleared my throat and tucked a stray curl behind my ear. Ciaran shifted in his chair beside me. Neither of us said a word for the rest of the show.
But the rest of the show was just as enthralling: there were more drag queens, more dancing, more comedy, and the whole show closed with a big finale number where Carol Ruby danced in the centre surrounded by the rest of the performers. I clapped and cheered as loud as anyone in the audience.
Once it was over, I felt exhaustion wash over me. Had it really been just this morning that Ciaran had taken me through the catacombs and introduced me to this place? It felt like I’d been here for a week already. My eyes grew heavy, and I told Ciaran I needed to go back to his place.
He agreed and we walked back through the catacombs in silence. I didn’t know what came next. I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do with the pieces that were left in the wake of the wreckage that had been the last few days. But I did know one thing with certainty. I was safe here. I was safe to stay and try to figure it out. And that was something I had to admit I hadn’t felt in a very long time.
LIKE SOURDOUGH
The next day, Ciaran took me to a new place in the City Beneath, to introduce me to his most trusted friends and fellow city council members, twin brothers Fionn and Rory.
We walked through the passages of leering skulls, back to the crossroads. Ciaran used his palm to unlock a nondescript door that led to a large open room that had been converted into some kind of training space. The twins were already there.
“Seraphina, meet Fionn and Rory. Their mother took me in, back home in Erinn. The three of us grew up together,” he explained. The twins looked at Ciaran with admiration; he was clearly more of a brother than a friend—their bond familial and warm.
Fionn had the palest skin I’d even seen, which was splattered with freckles, from the top of his forehead, down his neck and even along the top of his arms and hands. He had fiery red hair, in the same buzzed sides style as Ciaran, and piercing blue eyes. While he was lankier and slightly taller than Ciaran, he had a wiry sort of muscled frame.
Rory had ginger colouring as well, but his shoulder-length wavy hair was auburn—dark and chestnut to Fionn’s gingerorange. His skin was golden, and his eyes were also a deep chestnut. The only familial traits they shared were their height and wiry frames.
Fionn sized me up, but his face was open and friendly. He extended a hand to shake mine; his grip was warm and firm, though his hands were rough and calloused. “Any friend of Ciaran’s is a friend of ours.” He had the same lilting accent as Ciaran, a reminder of their homeland, so far away, and looked to be about the same age as Ciaran, perhaps a few years older than I was.
“It’s very nice to meet you.” I smiled.
Rory was more wary, quietly assessing while I greeted his twin. “I’m sorry to hear what you went through at the opera house. I hope you’re feeling welcome and at home down here, though.” Rory’s voice was soft and low, but he was equally friendly, grasping my hand with his broad golden ones.
“Thank you,” I said. I meant it.
“We thought that you would like to start training your magical skills.” Ciaran gestured to the space around us. I took it all in. The walls were carved limestone. The floor had been covered with a soft spongy mat-like surface. Along the back wall there were racks holding dumbbells and weights. On the right was a large table covered in various objects, crystals and instruments. There was a bookshelf along the left wall, containing what I assumed were books about magic. Spell books, perhaps? Did actual magic wielders use spell books? I knew so little, I realized.
“Um… okay?” I was wary. Despite the mounting evidence to the contrary, I still wasn’t sure I believed Ihadmagical skills.
“When we find magic wielders at a young age, it can be easier to train them. They spend some time here training most days, as a part of their schooling. But it is harder to train someone who’s magic hasn’t materialized until they are older, like yourself,”Rory began to explain. I pictured a group full of little children learning how to use magic in this room. My heart squeezed at the adorable image.
“So… you’re going to send me to train with the young ones?” I asked.
“Goddess, no.” Rory laughed. “The three of us will take the time to help you get the basics. And Elena, when she has time.”
“So is this like… a magical gymnasium?” I looked around the room, trying to figure it all out. I gestured to the weights at the back of the training room. “What are those for?”
