explode?
“Madame, this is Demi Ward, recently of Sangland. She wishes to secure a place in your cabaret.”
“We don’t take Bludmen, fool. You know that. Why are you wasting my time?”
Dipping a hand into the bag sitting on her desk, she rattled the coins within and raised an eyebrow at us. Vale looked at me expectantly and mouthed, “Your turn.”
I took a deep breath to center myself. In one smooth leap, I landed on top of Madame Sylvie’s desk, balancing on my toes and fluidly transitioning into a backbend. Walking my hands under my skirts as I had for Vale, I lifted each leg into the air with practiced sureness until I held a perfect handstand. Balancing on just one hand, legs spread and skirts aflutter, I plucked Madame Sylvie’s quill from its stand, dipped it into her ink, and wrote, “Contortionist extraordinaire, at your service.”
“How fascinating.” She snatched the quill from my hand and stuck it back in place. “But this is a daimon cabaret. Try Darkside instead.”
“I’m the most tame Bludman you’ll ever meet. I dare you to test it.”
“She did walk through your crowd without so much as a drop of drool, Sylvie.”
The daimon’s fingers drummed on the polished wood, the pointed tips of her red-lacquered nails making staccato clicks that grated on my nerves. “Show me something else.”
I kicked over and stood, my toes in the small space recently taken by my hands. With a dancer’s flair, I twisted and curled a finger at Vale. As if we’d done this a thousand times, he stepped forward as I beckoned and stopped when I held out a flat palm.
“Hold still,” I said.
I lifted my leg straight up until it was beside my ear. Then, with perfect grace, I fell forward until my ankle landed on Vale’s shoulder. To his credit, he made no sound and barely shifted, easily absorbing the impact as I used him as the stand for my split, one toe on Madame Sylvie’s desk and one ankle on the brigand’s shoulder. I straightened my torso and held my arms up like a ballerina. My splits had always been perfect, and even Cherie had trouble keeping her legs so straight, taut, and unshaking.
“Really, this time, don’t move.”
Finding my center, I exhaled and slowly rolled to the side until I held the split upside down, my head and arms dangling between Vale and the desk and my ankle cradling his neck. Before he could freak out, I grasped his leg, just above the knee, and used it to gracefully kick down from the split. Standing before the grand desk, I wrapped a leg around my own neck and curtsied.
Madame Sylvie’s face didn’t change. “Can you fit into a hatbox?” she snapped.
“Easily.”
“Are you a front bender or a back bender?”
“Both.”
“Are you frightened of heights?”
“Only if there’s a tank of seawater below.”
“Marinelli bend?”
“So long as the mouth grip has extra padding for my fangs.”
“Spanish web?”
I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Yes. Oui, oui, oui. Anything your daimons can do, I can do better.”
“Golliwog act?”
“I’m the perfect rag doll.”
“Have you worked with a partner?”
My throat closed, and I struggled to swallow. “I have.”
“But your partner is not with you?”
I shook my head no, blud tears burning hot in the corners of my eyes.
Vale rushed to fill the silence I couldn’t touch. “Her partner was stolen by slavers outside of Ruin. They reached the catacombs before we could catch them.”
Madame Sylvie’s eyes sharpened, boring into me. “Will this loss affect your performance? I can’t have heartbreak on my stage. It shows.”
“I’m a professional above all else.” I glanced at Vale, my eyes pleading, and he shrugged as if to say, You’re on your own now . “This is my dream, Madame Sylvie. I’ve been traveling Sangland in a caravan for six years, and I’ve always wanted to be a star. I’m a hard worker, no bad habits, no vices, no biting, and I’m willing to do anything.”
One sharp
“Madame, this is Demi Ward, recently of Sangland. She wishes to secure a place in your cabaret.”
“We don’t take Bludmen, fool. You know that. Why are you wasting my time?”
Dipping a hand into the bag sitting on her desk, she rattled the coins within and raised an eyebrow at us. Vale looked at me expectantly and mouthed, “Your turn.”
I took a deep breath to center myself. In one smooth leap, I landed on top of Madame Sylvie’s desk, balancing on my toes and fluidly transitioning into a backbend. Walking my hands under my skirts as I had for Vale, I lifted each leg into the air with practiced sureness until I held a perfect handstand. Balancing on just one hand, legs spread and skirts aflutter, I plucked Madame Sylvie’s quill from its stand, dipped it into her ink, and wrote, “Contortionist extraordinaire, at your service.”
“How fascinating.” She snatched the quill from my hand and stuck it back in place. “But this is a daimon cabaret. Try Darkside instead.”
“I’m the most tame Bludman you’ll ever meet. I dare you to test it.”
“She did walk through your crowd without so much as a drop of drool, Sylvie.”
The daimon’s fingers drummed on the polished wood, the pointed tips of her red-lacquered nails making staccato clicks that grated on my nerves. “Show me something else.”
I kicked over and stood, my toes in the small space recently taken by my hands. With a dancer’s flair, I twisted and curled a finger at Vale. As if we’d done this a thousand times, he stepped forward as I beckoned and stopped when I held out a flat palm.
“Hold still,” I said.
I lifted my leg straight up until it was beside my ear. Then, with perfect grace, I fell forward until my ankle landed on Vale’s shoulder. To his credit, he made no sound and barely shifted, easily absorbing the impact as I used him as the stand for my split, one toe on Madame Sylvie’s desk and one ankle on the brigand’s shoulder. I straightened my torso and held my arms up like a ballerina. My splits had always been perfect, and even Cherie had trouble keeping her legs so straight, taut, and unshaking.
“Really, this time, don’t move.”
Finding my center, I exhaled and slowly rolled to the side until I held the split upside down, my head and arms dangling between Vale and the desk and my ankle cradling his neck. Before he could freak out, I grasped his leg, just above the knee, and used it to gracefully kick down from the split. Standing before the grand desk, I wrapped a leg around my own neck and curtsied.
Madame Sylvie’s face didn’t change. “Can you fit into a hatbox?” she snapped.
“Easily.”
“Are you a front bender or a back bender?”
“Both.”
“Are you frightened of heights?”
“Only if there’s a tank of seawater below.”
“Marinelli bend?”
“So long as the mouth grip has extra padding for my fangs.”
“Spanish web?”
I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Yes. Oui, oui, oui. Anything your daimons can do, I can do better.”
“Golliwog act?”
“I’m the perfect rag doll.”
“Have you worked with a partner?”
My throat closed, and I struggled to swallow. “I have.”
“But your partner is not with you?”
I shook my head no, blud tears burning hot in the corners of my eyes.
Vale rushed to fill the silence I couldn’t touch. “Her partner was stolen by slavers outside of Ruin. They reached the catacombs before we could catch them.”
Madame Sylvie’s eyes sharpened, boring into me. “Will this loss affect your performance? I can’t have heartbreak on my stage. It shows.”
“I’m a professional above all else.” I glanced at Vale, my eyes pleading, and he shrugged as if to say, You’re on your own now . “This is my dream, Madame Sylvie. I’ve been traveling Sangland in a caravan for six years, and I’ve always wanted to be a star. I’m a hard worker, no bad habits, no vices, no biting, and I’m willing to do anything.”
One sharp
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