“Like a corpse.”I repeat the insult to myself, unable to deny it now.
My throat tightens as I lean closer, pressing a hand to my face and cursing the tears rapidly trying to escape the eyes of my reflection. They come anyway.
Thisis what I look like?
Thisis what that Player all those years ago did to me?
I clench the poker tighter, willing to smash the reflection to bits.No.It’s time to focus. I can mourn the death of my own absurd fantasies later.
Besides, now I’m pissed.
The hair on my neck stands, a sudden shift in the air. My ear itches at the sound of footsteps and, before I can think better of it, I dart behind the largest of the chaises.
The steps grow louder, closer, clipped and even. Then they halt.
First comes the clatter and shuffle of items on the vanity. I breathe as quietly as humanly possible, wondering if whoever it is has noticed a few select items missing and wishing my sticky fingers hadn’t shoved the evidence into my pocket.
My hand curls tighter around the poker, weighing if I should risk staying hidden or accept my fate and lunge at whoever has taken to strolling casual circles around the room,whistling.
The steps come to a sudden stop, and the room falls sickeningly silent.
“You can come out now,” says a distinctly familiar voice.
Shit.
Gritting my teeth at the tone, I guiltily rise from my hiding spot, still clutching the poker. A tall, imposing figure blocks the exit at the other end of the room, arms crossed.
“I give you my ring, and you steal my scarf.” Jude shakes his head, makes atsking sound in his throat. “Rude.”
RIVEN: “You—youfollowedme!” Suddenly, the room feels smaller, shrinking inward as the Player’s enormous presence dwarfs it.
JUDE: “If someone walked into your house and started acting suspicious, wouldn’t you follow them?” He raises one eyebrow as punctuation.
Well. Fair enough.
He tilts his head. “Say, is that a bruise under that eye or did you get a little too ambitious with my makeup as well?”
Damn it, I think, unable to tell if he’s toying with me and has already realized what I am: a marked. With every intention of stealing from the Playhouse. I move away from the mirror, subtly wiping my eyes.
Jude’s smirk wilts. “You’re crying.” His eyes drop to the poker in my hand. I must be quite a sight. “How about we put that down, yes? Titus stabbed me with one once, and it was hell to pull it out.”
I breathe unsteadily, wide-eyed and brandishing the poker between us like a sword as he steps farther into the room. I’m not fooled. Jude carries himself with the lazy elegance of a cat, but there’s an edge in his movements that betrays something far more lethal.
JUDE: “Okay, in his defense he was drunk.” He shrugs. “And I was holding the other poker. I might have challenged him. I don’t remember. The Prop Master took away our swords, and we were feeling creative.”
I don’t dare move, watching him like I’ve got an arrow trained on his head, studying the calculated deliberation of his steps. His hands are empty of any weapons—and probably just as capable without them.
JUDE: “All right, something easier, then.” As if bored, he falls gracefully onto the embroidered armchair behind him, his tailored costume of black brocade clinging to his frame like a second skin as he throws his boots onto the table. “What is your name?”
RIVEN: “Do you know me?” It comes out like an accusation, hoarse and desperate. Paranoia plagues my mind as I glance back at the mirror, unsure if anyone could recognize my father’s features on my ghastly face, much less a vain, self-absorbed Player.
Jude bursts into laughter, a rich sound that ricochets, like the whole Playhouse laughs with him. “Love,oneof us is famous, and it is not you. But fine!” He throws his hands up. “She has no name. We’ll leave a blank little space on the playbill for you.”
It’s an effort to unclench my teeth. “Itoldyou I’m not here to audition.”
“Yes,thatmuch is clear.” There’s a cruel, catlike cleverness that I don’t like at all hovering just behind his gaze. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve made meterriblycurious. Now, let’s try this again.” He draws out each word. As if that will distract me from the way his eyes have begun to glow. His voice deepens, almost melodic. “Put. That. Down.”
The air tightens, then relaxes around me. My hand yearns to release the poker; that’s all I want in the whole wide world. To release this weight from my grip—
