Chapter 25
CHAPTER 25
T he premiere party for Capriccio was held in the grand ballroom of the Elysium Casino, the venue which also contained the auditorium of Circo. But Mario wasn’t there to admire the lavish room, which had been modeled after a Grecian temple, all marble ionic columns and statues of naked goddesses and virile gods. The ceiling was at least forty feet tall, and enough Circo parties had been held in it that there were permanent rigging points in the ceiling. The designers for the party had leaned into the Capriccio theme, so strands of elaborate greenery twined around columns and statues and were draped from the crystal chandeliers that ran down the center of the space. Some of the same fantastical flowers were set in the middle of the tables, where a buffet that resembled a Bacchanalian feast was spread out. Another flower served as a champagne fountain, surrounded by crystal flutes that were each engraved with a butterfly.
Dressed in his “Argento” costume and makeup, Mario stood in one corner with Ilya, who appeared broodingly appropriate as “Nero” — though in truth, they looked so much alike in the low light it felt eerily like looking into a mirror. Two sets of golden straps were suspended behind them from the camouflaged rigging, and Ilya had explained they were to do simple tricks every once in a while, but not demonstrate too much. The culmination of the events of the evening for the guests was a private VIP showing of Capriccio, which was really just the final dress rehearsal before opening night. They’d be performing with or without an audience, so Circo management was just capitalizing on something that they’d already paid for, anyway. There were several other performers scattered around the room, from clowns whose costumes mimicked brightly plumed parrots, to tumblers who were dressed as ladybugs and grasshoppers. Having seen all the costumes once dress rehearsals had started in earnest weeks before, Mario knew that he and Ilya stood out by their stark colors and relatively simple costumes. It was only when the house lights went down and the special black light paints on their skin were illuminated that they became the most fantastical creatures of all, appearing to soar above an enchanted night-struck forest.
“People will want to touch you, especially once the drinking gets going,” Ilya warned him as they waited for the doors to open to admit the guests. “There will be pictures, of course, but you need to watch out for hands. I swear the older women are the worst ones for trying to grab your ass.”
Mario knew he looked shocked, but he couldn’t help it. “What do I do if that happens? I can’t smack them, can I?”
“Unfortunately, no.” There was a flash of heat in Ilya’s eyes, reminding Mario quite clearly of who had been grabbing his ass only that morning. “Just sidestep, smile, and excuse yourself. We can stand back to back for much of the time. If someone becomes obnoxious, I can signal for security.”
Mario had never been unwillingly manhandled, and he hoped he could avoid having it happen this evening. All he wanted was to identify who might be responsible for taking his friends, so they could formulate a plan to get them back.
He knew Ilya thought it was foolish to hang on to the hope they were still alive. This world was far more violent than Mario had imagined it would be, and Ilya had pointed him to statistics about the chances of survival in abduction cases. He knew Ilya was just trying to prepare him in case the worst came to pass, but Mario had a feeling there was much more going on. Daphne and the others had been targeted because they were special; he was certain someone who would go to the lengths to take them had a use in mind for them other than death.
Once the doors were open and the people streamed in, Mario had no more time for ruminations. He was too busy smiling, posing, and explaining the act to the seemingly endless parade of people. The crowds thinned a bit once the buffet line opened, and Ilya took his arm, pulling him away behind one of the marble columns, where he pressed on what seemed to be a wall panel, but it turned out to be a cleverly hidden door.
“We get to take a break for a few minutes.”
The room they were in was barely large enough for a sofa and a low table, but there was a cube fridge with bottles of water, and a door to a restroom on one end, opposite one labeled as the exit. Mario was grateful for the respite, and grabbed two bottles of water, passing one to Ilya; having no watch or phone to track the time made the event seem endless.
“Is this room here just for the performers?” he asked. Despite its size, it was nicely appointed.
“These rooms are where big wheels can go to shoot up or hook up,” Ilya replied, gesturing toward the sofa. “I’ve worked enough of these things over the years and gotten friendly enough with the casino staff that they clued me in.”
“Tell the truth — there aren’t that many little old ladies out to pinch my ass, are there?” He raised a brow at Ilya. “Was that just a trick to make me stick close?”
“Perhaps,” Ilya answered, sipping his own bottle and looking completely unrepentant. “But you have to admit, it kept you close to me. Have you felt anyone magical near you?”
“Actually, no one.” Mario was disappointed. He’d been so certain that this event would be the key to finding out who their hidden enemy was, but the complete lack of clues was disheartening. He may have been wrong about why they were selected for the party, but that left him unsure about what to do next.
After a few minutes rest, Ilya stood up, holding out a hand to Mario. “We need to get back. As soon as they put out the desserts, we’re on for our little demonstration.”
“Too bad we can’t make out,” Mario grumbled, and he was rewarded by Ilya’s heated smile. Apparently Ilya had the same thought, but their makeup, while waterproof, wasn’t up to the rigors they’d put it through. Ever since Mario had marked him, they’d barely been able to keep their hands off one another, and more than one of their fellow performers had commented that their routine was so sensual in the way that they touched and gazed at and twined around one another, it ought to be classified as erotica.
Ilya had great timing. They’d only just returned to their places when an announcer directed attention to their corner, and they took positions for their short routine.
“Presenting the pride of Capriccio, Nero and Argento, masters of strength and daring on the aerial straps!”
It was nothing special, just a few basic strength moves to show off their muscles, nothing that would tax them for their performance later that evening. They had practiced it until they could do it in their sleep, keeping perfectly in sync as they rolled up the straps, then held a planche, the straps barely moving. They dangled there, almost at the ceiling, then at Ilya’s subtle signal, they rolled down together. The illusion was that they were going to crash into the floor, but both arrested the plunge abruptly, again hanging motionless, before making one slow, final roll to the ground. The applause was thunderous as they took their brief bows. Then the lights shifted away from them to the opposite side of the room, where the brightly garbed clowns started their antics.
Several people came over, seeming more enchanted with the buff aerialists than the gamboling parrots, and Mario smiled in welcome even as he looked them over carefully, straining his senses for any hint of magic.
Once the various exhibition performances finished, there was another surge of people, and Ilya’s words about people being more handsy after drinking turned out to be truer than Mario liked. He stuck close to Ilya, and they posed together for so many pictures that Mario’s eyes were hurting from the glare of the flashes. The drawback to having superb dark vision was being a bit more sensitive to the incessant flicker of the lights.
There was an unexpected lull, and Mario had closed his eyes to give them a rest when he finally felt it. The cool tingle of magic flowed over his skin as someone approached him, and he quickly opened his eyes, searching around him to see who it was. There were so many people milling about, but then he caught sight of someone who stood out to him. Even though she was dressed in nondescript clothing that blended in with the crowd and her hair was a common, unremarkable brown, there was no mistaking the delicacy of her features or the cat-like slant to her cheekbones and ethereal blue eyes. Her pale, perfect complexion didn’t match her hair, and Mario realized it must be a wig. He couldn’t see her ears, but he knew her at once for what she was. An elf.
And she was vampire-marked.
Mario froze as their eyes met, but what he saw on her face gave him pause. She looked at him imploringly, and he noticed there were two men with her, one on either side as though herding her along. He’d never seen her before, but he suddenly knew who she was.
Alia. Angel’s friend, who was believed to have gone to California to seek fame and stardom. Unfortunately, it seemed she had never made it out of Vegas and had spent all this time in captivity as the blood doll of a vampire.
Was she here to ask for his help, as her wide-eyed look implied, or was she the tool of the undead who was feeding on her? How had she even arranged to be in a position for Mario to see her in the first place?
Mario felt even more in the dark than he had before, mind whirling as he tried to figure out what was going on, what he might have missed. How could there be a vampire on the board of Circo del Artes?
He kept his gaze on her as the men she was with moved her toward the door, as if seeing him directly was all she required to learn what she needed to know. Or maybe for her to lure him away to his doom, since his first instinct was to follow in her wake and find out where she went.
He felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and he jumped, heart pounding as he turned. Then he realized it was Ilya, and he knew what he had to do.
“We have to get out of here right now,” Mario said. He felt as if danger was pressing in on all sides. He wasn’t afraid of vampires; hell, his own father was one. He was afraid of what a vampire would do if they knew what he was. And worse, what one would do to Ilya if they found out he was marked.
As he spoke, the announcer called for everyone to make their way out of the ballroom and toward the performance area, drowning out Mario’s words.
“What?” Ilya frowned, leaning closer to hear over the clamor of people who were now headed toward the doors and the show that awaited them. Mario shook his head, then pulled Ilya away, back behind the columns and into the hidden room. He closed the door and turned to Ilya.
“I just saw that missing elf, Alia, in the crowd,” he explained hurriedly. He reached into the hidden pocket of his costume and pulled out his amulet. “Here, put this on.”
But Ilya pushed Mario’s hand away. “Won’t you be exposed without that?”
“I’m probably already exposed. She was vampire-marked, Ilya! That means that somewhere around here, an undead is pulling a lot of strings and making all of us dance to its tune.” He put the chain over Ilya’s head, ignoring his protests. “Be thankful people who are marked can’t see the mark on others, or she would have spotted you. If they see that you’re marked, you’re a target. I’m so stupid. It never occurred to me that a vampire could be behind all this, but now it makes sense.”
“Why?” Ilya looked tense and confused.
“A normal human can sustain a vampire for a while, if the vampire has learned to control their thirst. But the blood of a paranormal is magical. It can sustain them longer. I think whoever this bloodsucker is has gotten greedy, collecting the paranormals it knows about to sate its appetite.”
Ilya’s jaw dropped, and he gave a visible shudder. “But what are we going to do? Should we skip the performance?”
Mario considered. His first instinct was that they should, but he wasn’t sure that would be the right move. “If we do, they may realize we’ve been spooked by something and come after us at once. But if we don’t, it’s a risk. Angel said Alia is a seer, but with the amulet, she shouldn’t have been able to tell, even if she touched me. And even if she did, she looked desperate, like she wanted me to help her. I just don’t know if it’s a trap.”
“You saw her, I didn’t,” Ilya said slowly. “What does your gut say?”
“That she’s a victim.” Mario was sure of the words as soon as he spoke them. A vampire had been using her, and his instincts — as well as the desperation in her eyes — were telling him it was against her will.
“So if we skip out on the performance, she might pay the price?” Ilya asked quietly.
“They might realize she tipped us off.” He clenched his jaw for a moment, feeling anger building. “I doubt they’d kill her since they need her. But there are ways to make someone suffer until death feels like a mercy.”
Ilya put a hand on Mario’s shoulder. His smile was grim, but determined. “Then the show must go on.”
Mario nodded. “That should help keep her, and hopefully the others, safe, at least for the moment. They’ve probably been bitten too, but with so many of them, the vampire shouldn’t have to take much from any single one. Or at least I hope that’s the case, because the alternative is worse.”
Ilya stared at him in disbelief. “What’s worse than being a captive meal for an undead?”
Mario growled, hoping he was wrong, but fearing he knew what was really going on. “Being sacrificed to make another one.”