Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
B y the time Mario finished his first week with Circo, he had learned that when it came to pushing people to give their best effort, Paul had nothing on Ilya Mirov.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Mario couldn’t remember when he’d last worked so hard. Part of it, undoubtedly, was the heat of Las Vegas, but the rest was purely being pushed to limits he hadn’t even realized he had. Apparently, Ilya wasn’t going to spare Mario if Patrick was having to bust his ass, so everything his partner did, Mario had to do as well. Ilya didn’t hesitate to make him repeat things again and again until he wasn’t just perfect, but had attained some standard beyond it that Patrick had said the rest of the aerialists called “Mirovic”. Either Mario wasn’t as good as he believed himself to be — despite certain advantages that no one else was aware of — or Ilya was a sadist who enjoyed driving people to their limits and then beyond them. But Mario wanted to impress Ilya, wanted Ilya to see him.
It was fine, though, since being so exhausted meant he fell into bed and slept and had little time to dwell on how much he missed his family and the Carnival. It was lonelier than he’d expected it to be, having a place all to himself, but he tried not to dwell on it too much. He was here, doing what he apparently was destined to do, so he would just have to roll with it for the moment, especially now that the Carnival was gone.
Before that had happened, however, his parents had thrown a big party for him on the evening of his second day with Circo, after Ilya had dismissed them and disappeared to wherever he went after work. Paul had called for him to return to the Carnival, and Mario had asked Patrick to come along to meet his family. Then they’d surprised him with a celebration, with singing and dancing and his favorite foods, and all his friends had hugged him and given him gifts and well wishes. He’d shed more than a few tears, but he was touched by the show of love and support.
Two things had eased his departure. The first was when Persephone drew him aside and gave him a tarot card. He glanced down at it, seeing it was the Hanged Man, who was suspended by one leg from a tree, his face strangely serene. He almost looked like he was suspended from a strap.
“What is this?” he asked, looking into her eyes.
“A message, and perhaps a warning,” she said. All around them the party continued, but Mario felt as though they were in a bubble of calm amidst the laughter and talk. “Don’t rush into anything, Mario, no matter how much it might feel like you want to.” She touched the card. “When you look at this, remind yourself of why you are stopping in this place and at this time. You won’t reach your objective by blundering past the warning signs or falling into traps you could have avoided. Look at things from a different perspective.” Raising her hand, she touched his cheek and smiled. “And remember that you will return to us when you are ready. This is only goodbye for a little while.”
“Thank you,” he said, feeling a pressure in his chest at the affection in her touch. “It’s good to know it’s not forever.”
“It’s definitely not.” Persephone stepped back, and her smile widened. “Now, let’s get back to your party.”
The second incident was near the end of the party, when many of the celebrants had bid him goodnight and farewell before wandering off toward their beds. Only a few people remained, and he spotted Patrick talking animatedly with Jamie, which made him smile. That was when Errante appeared next to him, with Rafe, who was both the Ringmaster and Errante’s husband, hovering just behind him as usual.
“We have a present for you,” Errante said quietly. He turned to Rafe, who placed something glittering and golden in Errante’s palm. “The world you’re visiting is low in magic, but that doesn’t mean it’s completely devoid of enchantments or of peril.” He held out the golden chain to Mario, who could see it held a charm, one that bore a sun on one side, and a moon on the other. “Keep this on you at all times for protection. It will help to hide you from prying eyes that may try to see more than you wish of what you truly are.”
“You think there will be danger?” he asked. He’d tried to put any thoughts of it out of his mind, but Errante and Rafe’s gift reminded him he wasn’t like the other people on this world, and there were those who would hate and fear him if they knew — or if they could even believe.
Errante laid his hands on Mario’s shoulders. “There is always the possibility, my friend, which is why it is best to do what you can to avoid it, yes? I can see that your Path returns you to us someday, but it isn’t given to me to see if the road will be rough or smooth along the way. Just remember that we are not the only creatures who Travel the multiverse. I cannot say if any like those from the world of your birth might be here or not. All I can say is to take care.”
Mario nodded and closed his hand around the golden amulet. “Thank you — both of you,” he said. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”
Rafe grinned at him. “Don’t make us have to turn this Carnival around just to rescue you.”
Laughing a little breathlessly, Mario crossed his heart. “We certainly don’t want that happening — my siblings would never let me live it down!”
After that, Mario had bid farewell to his family. It was emotional, of course, but they gave him nothing but love and support, as well as promises that they would visit when the Carnival returned.
“Take care of yourself, my son,” Tia Gallier had murmured, hugging him with far more strength than anyone would have suspected could be found in her small body. She looked up at him with tears in the clear green of her eyes, but she was smiling. “Find what you need, then come back to us. We will wait for you.”
Mario had hugged her back just as fiercely, feeling his throat growing tight. It was hard to leave her, but he knew she was safe in the Carnival.
Even his father, taciturn and remote, had bid him farewell. Marcel rarely mingled with the rest of the Carnival, and he had never been part of the act. But he had hugged Mario, admonished him to be careful, then slipped away once more into the shadows he preferred to inhabit.
Finally, he and Patrick were walking toward the gate as the lights of the Carnival winked out behind them.
“I like your family,” Patrick said, his tone wistful. “It’s cool that you all perform together.”
“None of your family are aerialists?” Mario asked, as they waited for the car he’d summoned to arrive.
“God, no.” Patrick grimaced, an expression Mario could see easily despite the darkness. “They wanted me to go into a STEM field of some kind, maybe into medicine like my dad. I was definitely the odd one out in my family. They couldn’t understand me why I’ve been climbing on things and swinging around all the time since I was a little kid.”
They had chatted some more on the way back to Vegas, and when Mario was alone in his apartment, he thought about how lucky he was to have the support of not just his family, but an entire group of friends who loved him. Given the wistfulness Patrick had shown, such love was not as common as Mario had believed.
But after the party, the week had become a blur of long hours of pushing his body to meet Ilya’s demands. Not even Paul had ever driven Mario so hard. He fancied he saw respect in Ilya’s gaze more than once, but, if so, the taciturn man never spoke of it.
Patrick, however, did. As they finished up their last exercises on Friday — sets of slow, controlled roll ups performed again and again, in unison — he looked at Mario in awe. “Dude, you’re a beast. I feel like I’m about to collapse, and you’re standing there dabbing at sweat like you just came out of a restful sauna.”
Mario laughed. “Trust me, I feel it. Maybe I’m just better at hiding it.”
They’d parted ways, and Mario had gone back to his apartment — he didn’t yet think of it as “home” — and found himself feeling restless. He had two days off, and he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. For the first time, he felt a stab of loneliness, an emotion he’d never had to deal with before.
He supposed he could wander around Vegas, but the thought didn’t appeal to him much. Being in a crowd of people didn’t change the fact that he’d still be alone. He couldn’t even call his family to talk, since the Carnival had moved on to another place in the multiverse, and he was truly by himself for the first time.
After fidgeting around the apartment, trying and failing to find something on the big television that he wanted to watch, Mario had tried to go to sleep in hopes that things would be better in the morning. But for the first time since his arrival, sleep wouldn’t come, and after an hour of tossing and turning, he’d gotten up and changed into practice clothes. There was no help for it. He needed to work off the restless energy that was unsettling him.
Within half an hour, he was back in the Circo warehouse. Even at this late hour on a Friday, there were a couple of other people around, but they were in the weight room. Mario had had enough of practice and training, though; what he really wanted, what he needed , was to fly.
The practice straps were still in place, but he opted to climb to the overhead rigging and move them to a more central location in the huge open space. He had plenty of experience with setting things up to his liking, and a few minutes later he was back on the ground, chalked up and taking the straps into his hands. The fabric felt good against his palms.
Since no one was around, Mario got a running start, allowing himself a burst of speed that would have astonished anyone who might have been looking. The rigging swung with him, launching him in a wide arc over the space, and he smiled as he lifted with the air rushing past his ears. He couldn’t get as much height as he would if there was someone to raise and lower the rigging, but it was good enough.
Rather than the basic strength moves Ilya had drilled him and Patrick, Mario opted to do the moves he’d been performing at the Carnival. He swung high and wide, first on two straps, then on one, reveling in the speed of his flight. He changed position, wrapping the strap around his arm, then twisting and spinning even as the swing carried him rapidly across the gym. When his speed slowed, he would boost himself by running once more, letting his momentum pull him up and out again and again.
For the first time in a week, he felt at home.
He wasn’t sure how long he kept going, and he didn’t really care. But finally his exertions caught up with him, and he let the straps spiral him down toward the ground. Before he lost all speed, however, he released the strap, twisting and tucking his body into a complicated combination of somersaults and twists, before he landed lightly on the mats, breathless but finally feeling at peace.
Then there was something at one side of the gym that drew his attention; a noise, perhaps, or maybe just the sensation of eyes on him. He peered into the shadows, tensing for a moment before he recognized the tall, broad form who stood watching Mario with hooded eyes. His gaze was so direct, Mario could almost feel it.
“Hello, Ilya.”
Ilya crossed his arms over his chest, disapproval apparent in his rigid stance. A normal person wouldn’t have been able to see his glower, but the forbidding expression was clear to Mario. It appeared he was in trouble.
“Let us assume you are aware how dangerous it is to practice solo, without either a spotter or crash mats,” Ilya said, his voice a low growl. “Which makes me wonder why you did it anyway, risking yourself, your contract, liability for Circo and the future of the show. You have a responsibility to them and to me! Here I thought you were mature enough to be a performer in my show, and I find you doing stupid, childish things behind my back.”
Mario gazed at him, surprised and also mesmerized by the dangerous look on Ilya’s face. How could a glare be so sexy?
Realizing Ilya was waiting for a response, Mario hesitated. It hadn’t occurred to him at all that flying alone was a problem; he’d done it hundreds, if not thousands, of times. “I was perfectly safe,” he replied. The words were true, of course, but how could he possibly explain why they were to someone who wouldn’t believe him even if he did?
“Safe?” Ilya scoffed, stalking out of the shadows. “What if you’d slipped? What if a strap had snapped? What if something had broken your concentration and caused you to let go of the strap? The only reason I didn’t put a stop to it the moment I saw what you were doing is I was worried you’d fall and break your neck if I distracted you!”
Mario’s mouth went dry at the way Ilya moved toward him, prowling and predatory. The attraction that had taken a back seat to training all week came back in full force, and Mario swallowed hard, holding himself in check.
“But I didn’t,” he said, his voice husky. “I never fall.”
If anything, that seemed to make Ilya angrier. He drew close to Mario and gripped him by the shoulders, shaking him harshly. “There is always a first time! Never do it again!”
Mario didn’t protest the roughness; if anything, it made his knees feel suddenly weak. He wondered what Ilya would do if Mario suddenly leaned forward and blotted out his frown with a kiss. Would he welcome it, or would he punch Mario in the face?
He was almost tempted to find out.
Persephone’s words of caution came back to him, and he forced himself to pause, to look at it from Ilya’s point of view. As he stared into Ilya’s hazel eyes, he read something unexpected in them, and when he drew in a breath, the scent from Ilya’s skin only confirmed what Mario could already see: Ilya was afraid.
That brought him up short, and he realized with a flash of regret that Ilya’s anger was born from anxiety. Because, in his eyes, Mario really had done something stupid. Ilya had no way of knowing that, even if Mario had fallen, he would have been fine. That little short of removing his head or ripping out his heart could actually kill him. Which only emphasized the gulf between them — a gulf Mario couldn’t cross.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right. It was stupid and risky. I won’t do it again.”
Now that Mario had acknowledged his misdeed, Ilya relaxed slightly. He gave Mario another slight shake before releasing him and stepping back. He ran a hand through his dark hair, and slowly the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease.
“Why?”
The question surprised Mario; he’d expected more scolding. He gestured to the apparatus. “Because I needed to fly. I have done what you wanted me to do all week, haven’t I? But the straps aren’t just about work, not to me. I suppose if I’d thought about it, I could have used the trapeze, but I didn’t. Aerials have been my life for a cen — for a long time.”
Ilya frowned at him, but it seemed more thoughtful than angry. “You really mean that.”
Mario raised a brow. “Of course I do. Don’t you ever need it, Ilya? Don’t you ever dream of soaring, even if you’ve already spent hours on the straps?”
For the first time, Ilya looked uncertain. An expression of naked pain crossed his face, but then it was gone so quickly, Mario wasn’t certain if he’d imagined it. “No,” he replied harshly. “That part of my life is over now.”
Mario stared at him, unable to believe it. Ilya had seemed so much at home on the straps, performing on them as naturally as he drew breath. What could make a man like Ilya give up on something that had obviously been — and in some ways, still was — so much a part of his life?
Derek. Ilya had told him Derek had passed away. No doubt the loss of his aerial partner had hit him hard, and that explained the pain Mario had seen. If Mario had lost one of his siblings, he probably wouldn’t feel like flying either, at least for a while. Maybe Derek had even died from a fall, which would explain Ilya’s anger.
He was curious, but the closed expression on Ilya’s face didn’t suggest it would be good to ask what had happened. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
Ilya waved the sentiment away. “The important thing right now is that you don’t do anything like this again. If you do, I’ll consider it a violation of the safety clauses in your contract.”
Mario winced. He’d read the contract, but he had discounted the clauses where it was stated he needed to exercise reasonable care to prevent injury. He knew it didn’t apply in his case, but he hadn’t factored in that Ilya would have no way of knowing.
“All right,” he replied, shoulders slumping, feeling at a loss. He supposed he’d have to find something else to do to work off the times when loneliness got to be too much or the restless part of his nature refused to be contained. Flying had always been what he loved, his way of dealing with anything that bothered him. To have it taken away felt almost like losing a part of himself. “Warning heard and understood. Goodnight, Ilya.”
With that, he turned away, only to be halted by Ilya touching him again on the shoulder. “You really need to do it. Don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
Mario turned and met Ilya’s gaze again, and then he shrugged. “Does it matter?”
Ilya sighed. “Perhaps I don’t fly any longer, but I remember a time when it mattered to me. Enough that I may have taken the occasional risk.” He paused, his eyes searching Mario’s face. “I’ll make a deal with you. When you need it, you call me. I’ll meet you here, and I’ll be your spotter. And you will observe all due safety precautions.”
Mario’s eyes widened. “You would do that for me?”
This time, Ilya was the one who looked away. “It’s the least I can do. I get it. You’re in a new place, and you left behind your family and friends to be part of Circo. I’ve been running you and Patrick both ragged, so you need an outlet. If this is the one you’re used to, I’m not enough of a monster to take it from you.”
The relief Mario felt was like a weight being taken off his chest. “Thank you. I’ll call you, I promise.”
Ilya nodded. “Go home and get some rest. On Monday, I’m going to work you and Patrick both even harder.”
“Harder than what you’ve already been doing?” Mario snorted in amusement. “Thanks for the warning.”
Ilya inclined his head in acknowledgment, but he didn’t smile. “Good night,” Ilya said, and then he headed back toward his office.
Mario watched him until the door opened and shut behind him. There was a lot of pain in Ilya, something he’d not noticed before, chalking up his distance and no-nonsense attitude to his job. But then he hadn’t known that Ilya had given up flying for pleasure as well as having retired from performing. It was something Mario couldn’t imagine doing. Perhaps there was more than he knew going on, and while he was wildly curious about what it was, Ilya also had a right to privacy. He was lost in thought as he returned to his apartment, but when he laid down on his bed, he was able to fall asleep at last.
He dreamed of flying again, but this time, it was with Ilya by his side.