“Please.”
Selene took a step away from Victor. She breathed in deep, expanding her lungs fully. The rhythm of the familiar melody echoed in her chest. She could feel it in her bones, in the blood pumping through her veins. She let out the first note in her clear, lyrical soprano, singing the line slower than she might have if no one was watching. One by one, the candles around the room flickered and burned with warm light. She could have lit them all at once. It would have been easier. Instead, she started at the one closest to her and followed it around the room, ending with Victor.
“It is a beautiful space.” Selene let her eyes trace the bare wall. “It is a shame we cannot see the magic we create reflected back, like in a proper rehearsal space. That may have been enough to save Benson.”
Mirrors couldn’t have saved Benson any more than they could have saved her father. But Victor didn’t need to know that.
Victor’s brow furrowed as he considered the room. “Why are there no mirrors in here?”
“Pardon?” She would not let the anticipation slip into her voice. He was asking all the right questions.
“This is a rehearsal space. You should be able to see yourself.”
And the ghost.
If the mirrors were there, he would be, too. He would be everywhere. She imagined his prison flooded with light; the shadows kept at bay. And with the shadows away, what could he do? She imagined him reflected in all the mirrors. A hundred ways in and a hundred ways out.
“There is a ghost in the glass.” Selene lowered her voice, as if she was telling him a secret. She had known Victor, years before. How to get him to do exactly what she wanted. It was time to see if things had really changed. “Years ago a girl became so frightened she threw herself off the roof of the opera house. Surely you’ve heard the rumors?”
Victor waved his hand in dismissal. “Sometimes I prefer the company of ghosts to people.”
“Me too.” Selene matched his smile.
“But the mirrors.” Victor pressed his hand against the wall. There were scars on his knuckles that hadn’t been there when they were children. “This is a safety issue. This must change.”
“I would not do that, sir.” Madame Giroux’s voice echoed through the rehearsal space.
Selene winced at the way she addressed him. She tried not to let her growing disdain for Madame rise off her skin like smoke.
Victor’s smile was all poison and charm. “Madame, how do magicians know what they are crafting if they cannot see?”
“You think this is about what you see?” Madame Giroux crossed her arms over her chest. “Spoken like a man who has never known magic.”
“It is a performance.”
“It is a competition,” Madame Giroux said. “If you think it is about what you see on that stage, then you are sadly mistaken, sir.” She looked sharply at Selene. “It begins before they appear on my steps, small and weak, before they crawl out of bed, before they even know the language of music.”
Victor smiled easily and then started to hum. Selene knew the melody. His voice was easy and natural. He did not have the training, but there was a loveliness to it, like an uncut gem. The flames in the candles burned higher and higher, until they were bonfires, melting the wax down to the wick.
“We do not suffer fools in this theater.” Madame’s eyes darkened. She hit her cane against the wood, countering his melody. The candles doused. Steam wisped out of the sconces, the only shade against the shadow.
“It is a good thing I am not a fool,” Victor said. “I will not bow to superstition, Madame Giroux. If installing mirrors allows your performers to recognize when they’ve pushed themselves too far and prevents incidents like the one I witnessed, it will be worth a little fear.”
His eyes—like tea steeped to bitterness—were locked on Madame’s. Selene had seen him look this way at a chessboard, at his older brothers, at the sea. Like he was trying to solve the puzzle of Madame Giroux. It was a glimmer of intensity. Not the boy from the papers, but a strategist and a leader.
Victor relaxed his shoulders, easing into one of his crowd-pleasing smiles.
“Good day to you, Madame. I’m sure we will see more of each other over the coming days.”
“I shall warn you once, boy.” Madame Giroux’s voice was so quiet that Selene leaned in to hear. “You will bring ruin upon us all if you insist on tricks of glass and fancy.”
Fear traced down Selene’s spine like the brush of a feather.
“Is that a threat, Madame Giroux? Are you afraid of ghosts?”
“Just one ghost.” Madame’s eyes were cut to slits. She leveled her gaze at Selene. Her hands were tight against her cane. “We should all be afraid.”
She gave Selene a long, appraising look and stepped out of the room.
