But he would do more than that. He’d swallow up the moisture from the air and make water and mist simultaneously, enough to fill the whole house. And while the audience swam in his magical mist, he’d cast a tableau in the sphere of water. He’d tell a story while his beautiful voice would entrap them completely.
Three elements.
“I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you. Your piece was brilliant, Selene. It changed the way I thought about music.”
Benson had written the perfect piece. Clever and technically challenging with enough fanfare to capture a crowd. Selene wished she had written it.
And yet.
She could sense the danger of it. Could feel the razor-thin distance between brilliance and madness. Mages had lost themselves for smaller songs, stretching their minds beyond their capacity to hold the magic. She’d experienced it, in the moment when the magic grew too big for her and she had to choose between ruin or ruin.
“This is …”
If he did this, he would win. The blood she’d shed would be for nothing. If he did this and didn’t go mad in the process.
“Amazing.”
He breathed in relief. What had he expected her to say?
“It has to be one of us.” Benson’s smile was genuine. The sleepless bruises beneath his eyes tucked and folded away. “Whatever happens, I’m glad we were here together.”
“Me too.”
And it was true, for now.
“You look lovely, by the way.” He dropped into a bow.
Selene bowed back. “As do you. What’s the occasion?”
“Today is my day.”
“You don’t know that.” Gigi emerged from the wings, already rolling her eyes. She walked with a confidence she had earned. No tutu today. Her dress was a deep fuchsia that cut above the calves and looked like an inverted flower. Selene recognized the design from Gigi’s sketchbook. The skirt moved around her strong legs like petals drifting in the breeze. The neckline was modest. The back dropped low beneath her shoulder blades, showing off her dancer’s strength.
“My hair is far too amicable today. It’s a sign.” Benson tousled it to offer proof.
Selene smirked. “Last time your hair looked like this, the practice rooms flooded.”
Benson held up a finger. “Not all the practice rooms. Just mine, yours, and Gigi’s. If I recall, that kerfuffle is what made us friends.”
“We’ve always been friends,” Gigi said.
Benson’s laugh was short and sharp. He took Gigi’s hand and kissed the palm. “Please. You’re my competition. It’s actually a shame that I love you so much.”
Gigi’s eyes went wide. “You love me?”
“I love you.”
“You’re just saying that because it’s a good hair day.”
Benson took her in his arms. “I mean it, but I didn’t mean to say it. I was going to wait to say it until after auditions.”
Gigi folded herself into him, her face against his chest. Selene should have looked away. This was a moment far too intimate. But she wanted to mark this as something beautiful that had come out of this experience. Real love. What Priya and Revelio had was an escape, a self-sabotage. It was nothing like this: light and joy and simple, unabashed truth.
“I love you, too.” Gigi tilted her head up.
Selene turned away, letting them have this moment.
Priya and Revelio burst onto the stage, fingers tangled together. They’d made up enough that Revelio had a dark purple mark below his collarbone, but not enough to leave.
