As she speaks, the lights dim further. A soft galactic whirl of lights—indigo and mauve and pink and purple—plays in waves across the ceiling and chandeliers as the drums thunder louder.
Everyone ensures their masks are on their faces, and the audience falls silent beneath their gleaming silver and gold and bronze facades.
“Are you all ready?” the voice asks. “Are you prepared to have your souls bared, your darkest innermost secrets exposed? If not, it’s too late, because, ladies, gentlemen, esteemed guests, I give you”—the rolling drums deepen, bells tinkle, and cymbals crash—“Sorin the Magnificent!”
A muted explosion—a flash of light and a crack of musical thunder—and a cloud of purplish smoke erupts onstage. It drifts, settles, dissipates to reveal Theo—Sorin the Magnificent—in his high-collared opera cloak of black velvet bejeweled with stars, and moons.
The audience gasps as he swirls his cloak. It’s as though he’s stepped through an invisible dimension from another world, another era—one of Draculas, stagecoaches, highwaymen, wizards and witches and pagan magic.
Theo spreads his arms and bows as applause erupts.
Roshaan is always amazed by the transformation—the way he carries it off. The dramatic sweep of his cloak to his calves; the high stand-up collar and bloodred silk lining; the ornate silver clasp at his throat; the gleam of his polished boots; the crisp white shirt and brocade waistcoat, the silver cuffs on his wrists and jeweled rings. The faint red tint on his lips. The kohl around his eyes. The way his cheeks seem hollowed, his hair slicked into a widow’s peak. His unearthly poise.
The thunder of drums softens, and the harp begins a delicate countermelody.
Roshaan swallows and glances at Avi—at the back of his head. His broad shoulders strain his jacket. Sensing her attention, he turns. A chill slides down her spine. He wears the mask of Thanatos—the smooth, featureless face of impassive death. Thanatos stares back at her.
It’s time.
Thanatos has given her instructions.
She slips out the back door as Theo steps forward to begin the first act of his most searing performance yet.
Roshaan
Roshaan goes first to Theo’s dressing room. She moves swiftly—she needs to be back before intermission.
No one notices her. If they do, she has an excuse ready.
She finds his phone on a small shelf beneath his mirrors. His watch sits beside it. She knows he always takes it off because he wears cuff jewelry as part of his costume. She slips both into a sling bag she brought.
She struggles to find his cabin key card. Panic prickles up her spine—Avi is waiting. She’s on the clock. He threatened her life if she missteps, and she believes him. But she can’t find the damn key. The room narrows, her pulse races.
“Roshaan, hey. You’re not watching the show?” It’s one of the makeup artists carrying two cups. She stops to stare at Roshaan.
Heat flares into her face. “I—ah, I need to pick something up for Theo. Have you seen his key card?”
“Check that little gold box there.” The artist nods toward the counter in front of Theo’s chair.
Roshaan lunges for the box, opens it. Relief swamps her. It’s there. She grabs the key and bolts for the exit.
“Hey, Rosh—” the artist starts, but Roshaan is already out the door and halfway to the elevator.
Inside the glass-bubbled tube, she presses the button for the staff accommodations deck in the bowels of the ship. As the lift slides down, a sinking feeling presses through Roshaan’s stomach.
On the crew deck, she runs down the corridor to Theo’s cabin. She pauses outside his door, listening. Sweat beads at her hairline. She waits until a crew member enters another cabin, then unlocks Theo’s door and slips in.
She goes straight to his desk. His laptop is exactly where she expects it. She slides it into her bag alongside his phone and his watch. In the closet she finds a USB flash drive. Avi’s orders echo in her head.
I want them all. Phone. Laptop, tablet, smartwatch, thumb drive—whatever he could have used to save footage or to access the cloud. Anything he might have used to send footage. I want to know every contact he’s made in order to fully neutralize any threat to my employer.
She then gives the room a quick final scan, a sense of doom pressing through her chest. She has a feeling she’ll never see this place again—the cramped little cabin where she made love with Theo.
Roshaan exits and hastens back up to the lounge theater with her bag secure over her shoulder.
Poppy
Poppy holds her breath as Sorin raises his hands and his cloak fans out like bat wings, his rings catching light.
