No.No.The Playhouse can’t leave until I get out—
I turn to plead my case once more, but Jude is on the move, irises glowing, as if someone has struck a match in each pupil. Gold pulses through the veins in his neck, through the hands he raises, crossing the terrace.
Then it begins: a great fog, too thick to find the stars above. It smothers the night, the entire Playhouse, in a vaporous wall. One by one, torches flicker out.
Then nothing—just the wailing of dismissed auditionees clutching onto the gates below in mist and darkness.
“Come now,” a voice says, and I startle to find Jude has reappeared behind me, his face back to normal. “Those arrows aren’t known to miss more than once.”
For my sake, I decide he’s exactly right.
Once I get my hands on that arrow, I won’t miss.
Act I: Scene XIV
JUDE: “Frankly, Alistaire, I don’t know what’s riskier at the moment. Moving the Playhouse while someone’s out shooting Eleutheraen arrows at our heads or leaving you here to brood by yourself. Unfortunately, I must take both risks. Please be good.”
He narrowly slams the dressing room door in time to avoid being hit by the vase I’ve hurled at his head.
It shatters and falls to the ground in pieces. On the other side, the lock slides shut. Of course this place wouldhave locks on theoutsideof the doors.
I’m left with little more company than Gene Hunt’s portrait. She just stares and stares like she knows something I don’t.
“I’m not signing that contract!” I shout through the locked door. “Do you understand? The deal is off! I’m leaving.Tonight.” But his steps are already gone.
I turn to the empty oval room, breathing hard.
My plan was to be out of the Playhouse before midnight, Script in hand. Instead, I’m locked inside while the Players move us to gods know where.
It strikes me that lifting this curse won’t matter if I’m trapped in here for good.
How did this all go wrongsofast?
First, I go for the dresser, yanking open the chestnut drawers and throwing them to the floor. No key of any kind. There isn’t one hiding under the mantel or sewn into the delicate silk throw pillows, either, which I didn’t necessarily need to tear apart, but I’m in a mood. I go for the purple curtains next, flinging them from their hangings. I’m on my way down the corridor to shred the bedroom next when I pass that long mirror off to the side.
With a huff of anger, I storm up to my own feral reflection.
“Home,” I growl at the glass, keeping my eyes on the floor. “Do you hear me?Take me home.”
Nothing happens. I heave a breath, panic whirring in my chest as acrackalerts me to the Playhouse doors opening and sends my feet hurrying to the window.
Outside, the Players gracefully file around the Playhouse, aside from Titus, who limps furiously from his injury and seems to be cursing every other step. Jude’s wall of black smoke billows at the gates, his illusion blocking the cast from anyone’s vision—or weapons.
Impossible. Buildings cannot be moved.
But as my nails dig into the windowsill and flecks of gold fall from it like stardust, I feel less certain the Playhouse is a proper buildingat all.
I watch helplessly from my window as all five Players seem to ready themselves to move the theatre and take me with it.
Then the floor sways beneath me, the window glass starting to rattle.
Jude’s eyes flicker up to my window, locking with mine.
He grins.
And the Playhouse slowly sinks into the ground.
“You know, I find myself asking,” begins Jude, leaning in my doorway. His hands are closed around an ornate silver box. “My, doesn’t she have a lovely profile from all the way outside? And I can see it so well because—oh yes, of course. She’s torn the curtains to shreds!”
