I could never forget you, Selene.
The velvet of his voice, saying her name with such earnestness and intensity, was sweeter than any music. It felt like a promise he could not keep. Oh, but how she wanted him to. She wanted this to be real. She wanted to see him in the light. The magic of the mirror made little sense to her and she was asking all the wrong questions.
A heart that did not bleed. What did that mean? The ghost’s magic was all about blood; it was hard to consider things without it. A heart was the core of something. The essence. The center. But how could she make that tangible? How could she make that matter?
She took out the pocket watch. It was later than she realized. Stripping off her simple day dress, she turned to her closet, overfilled with gowns. At the bottom were twin boxes from the couturier, each containing a dress and mask for the Unmasking Ball. They were all required to attend, with the places in the competition revealed dramatically and publicly. Selene reached into the box, fingering the pale yellow silk.
Why had she chosen this fabric? It was all wrong. She held her stolen pin to the pad of her thumb, but there were already too many scars there. She took it to the back of her wrist. Blood welled immediately.
Selene took stock of her tragedy, of the spaces inside her that ached. There was little magic in her worst memories, the face of her father farther away. There were things she could afford to forget. The first thing that came into her mind was Victor splayed across the doctor’s table, stripes of blood crisscrossing his back and legs from where his father had whipped him. But even now, even when she needed it, she didn’t want to think about him.
The magic burned in her veins. Selene leaned into it. She wouldn’t second-guess. She wouldn’t get in her own way.
Her blood lifted from her finger, turned into shadow. She willed it into the fabric of the dress: a dark, amaranthine purple with black lace at the cuffs and collar.
She dropped the lid back over the dress she’d made new, filled with a new confidence. She would wear something to pull her from the line of singers, to remind Madame and Fenrir and whoever else was there that she was the one they wanted. That she was the one who mattered. And when the moment came, she would reperform her aria, all three elements guaranteed.
She pinned back the top of her hair, letting the rest fall down her shoulders in ringlets. For today, she chose a gown of vibrant cerulean. Black lace circled her throat, secured with a thin silk ribbon. She dusted a bit of rouge over her lips and cheeks. Instead of her boots, she chose a pair of thin satin slippers. Pretty, useless things. They would move softly against the stage, allowing her to steal her moment.
Everything needed to be perfect.
Someone wept in the hallway. Selene bled the door open. It was Priya. Even sobbing, she was beautiful. She collapsed against the landing, clutching a letter in her hand. Revelio must have heard, too.
“Amore, what’s going on?” He ran to her, wrapping her in his arms.
“He says even if I win, I’ll have to forfeit. That this marriage is not negotiable.” She tore the massive engagement ring from her finger and threw it.
Revelio caught it, looking at the ring like it was a knife aimed at his heart. “Your fiancé will have to take that up with the king.”
“This isn’t fair. I don’t want to be his wife. I don’t want to be a mage. I just want to be with you.”
He kissed her head, sliding the ring back on her finger. “I know. We will do what we must, amore. We will do whatever it takes.”
“Let’s run away. We can go now. Forget this place, forget everything but each other.”
Selene wanted him to say yes. She wanted Priya and Revelio to ride off into the sunset, never to be seen again. She wanted to live a life without them.
Revelio paused.
Priya pushed him away, tearing down the hall.
“We can go!” He ran after her. “We can go now.”
But Priya had already found her answer in his hesitation. Selene would have felt sorry for her, but she couldn’t muster it.
She wound down the stairs like an unraveling thread, trying to catch sight of the heart she needed. All she saw were the empty eyes of the statues and the flicker of candles and the rows and rows and rows of chairs.
Behind her, the door slammed shut.
Benson looked better than he had yesterday, which meant he’d managed to catch a few hours of sleep. His hair was combed back. The dark circles beneath his eyes were gone. Magic or makeup or sleep, Selene wasn’t sure. His smile was easy and confident.
“I figured it out.” He handed her the crisp white pages of his music. There was a slight tremble to his hands.
“Have you?” Selene held the music like it was a precious thing.
“With this line,” Benson began. He tapped the first sheet. “And this below it, I can do it. I can do all three at the same time.”
“Which will allow you to add the illusion.” Selene kept her fingers very still. Turning water into mist was no great feat. Adding an illusion through the water and the mist at the same time was nearly impossible.
