Chapter 24 Merde #2
Cygnus always looks magical, but tonight, it looks otherworldly.
It’s never been clearer that they are no longer in the earthly realm Claudia once knew.
It’s like everyone here is a creature; so is she.
The halls are decorated with violet silk draped across the stone.
Grand, enormous floral arrangements top every table and flank every doorway.
Stars press themselves to the windows for a glimpse at the evening ahead.
Undying candles glow with gold light and lavender hearts at the center of every flame.
Talk and laughter bounce off the warm stone walls.
Cassius leads her through the crowd, but instead of following the masses up the red velvet stairs when they reach the auditorium, they slip past them, turning down a corridor hidden behind a black curtain. It’s quieter, darker, and more intimate here.
“Watch your step,” Cassius says as they walk down worn stone steps that slope in the middle.
“Where are we going?”
He steadies her by the waist as she descends the last few stairs. “To wish our muse good luck.”
Coming out of the dark staircase, Claudia sees the beginnings of a crammed dressing room. Powdery stage makeup clouds the air, and half-dressed performers shoot across the room like arrows. Alistair is already there with Angel, and when he sees them, he rushes over.
“Cas and Claud, my, my, don’t you two clean up nice?”
“Thank you, dear Bones. You two look dashing,” Cassius says. He offers his hand to Angel. “Always nice to see you, friend.”
“Likewise,” Angel says with a warm smile. He adjusts the satin lapels on his red jacket and tucks his long black hair behind his ears. Then he reaches for Claudia’s hand and kisses the back of it. “And a pleasure to see you, my favorite matchmaker.” He winks and puts his other arm around Alistair.
Marcherie rounds the corner in an undone white dress with green laurels in her hair.
She looks like an embodiment of natural majesty, like someone found the most beautiful slab of earth and cut a perfect woman from it.
Her thick black hair is fixed in countless intricate plaits that twist at her crown.
Several five-strand plaits fall down her back, all the way down to the sharp indent of her waist. Her fingers tangle at her shoulders where she fidgets with a broken strap. “Can someone please fix this?”
As the only girl within earshot, Claudia comes to her aid and fastens the white strap to the back of the dress with an expert hand. “How does that feel? Good, or too tight?”
Scowling, Marcherie says, “It’s fine.” She takes a step away from Claudia and tugs on Cassius’s sleeve, bringing his ear to her mouth. “Why is she here?”
“Because she’s with me.”
Marcherie’s jaw drops and her eyes narrow. “But she’s—”
“March,” Cassius says as a warning. “We came to wish you well in your performance.”
Through gritted teeth, she says, “Thank you.”
“Yes, good luck,” Claudia says.
Marcherie invades her space and gets far too close to her face. She looks like she’s about to slap her. “Take that back.”
Claudia’s eyes go wide. “Take… back… what?”
Marcherie groans. “You can’t wish someone good luck in a theater. Are you daft? Dolericym loves to cause mischief by denying your wishes. Wishing a performer good luck is like wishing them to die. You’re supposed to tell me to break a leg.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” she says sincerely. “I hope you break every bone in your body.”
Marcherie gives a tight, sardonic smile. “Don’t be melodramatic.” She turns sharply and sits before a vanity. With a quick wave of her hand, she says, “Just go back to your seats. And don’t taunt the opera ghosts, don’t whistle, and do not say the Scottish play.”
Head tilted, Claudia says, “Do you mean Mac—”
“STOP.” Marcherie’s glare flits between Alistair and Cassius. “Please get her and her big mouth out of here.”
“Merde, ma chérie,” Angel says, taking Alistair’s hand and motioning for Cassius and Claudia to follow.
“Oui,” Marcherie tosses over her shoulder while swiping a bloodred stain across her lips.
When they’re back in the dark stairwell, Claudia says, “Does she still think I’m a murderer?”
Cassius says no at the same time that Alistair says yes. They glare at each other.
Cassius sighs. “I’m working on it. And I’ll keep working on it. Don’t worry.”
She nods. If anyone can convince Marcherie to leave her be, it’s Cassius. After all, he’s won all the arguments he’s ever had.
Well, all except one.
Just before they exit the stairwell, Claudia hears the entire cast in unison say, “Dolericym, we are your voice. Take our bodies, minds, and souls, and in turn, give us a show.”
They find their way to their seats, but not before helping themselves to the sparkling red wine at the door of the theater. It’s warm and tingly in her mouth.
In their private box, Cassius and Claudia’s seats are plush violet velvet. There are no armrests, so there is nothing between them. They keep their distance, for now, while the lights are still up.
“I need to warn you of something,” Cassius says.
Claudia sips her wine. “Yes?”
“The recital is going to be quite intense. The Musices students, see, they are very close with their god. Dolericym is the most involved out of all the gods. Much to the chagrin of the Musices professors, Dolericym disregards the rule about first-years not being allowed to engage in theurgic communication with her. She aids in every production, channeling powerful, evocative magic into their compositions.” He leans closer with every word.
Claudia can smell the wine on his lips. “Dolericym grants the gift of feeling, and her songs are deeply compelling. Whatever she wants you to feel, you will feel more intensely than you’ve ever experienced in your life.
It’s most potent as the music plays, but that intensity will linger through the night.
It’s what makes the afterparties so fun and wild. ”
“Is it safe?”
“As long as you stay with me.”
“I have no intentions of doing anything else.”
His mouth twitches. “Good.”
At that, the lights go down, and a single spotlight illuminates Professor Darden in the center of the stage.
“Students, welcome to tonight’s recital, The Deer and the Daughter.
The story is this: In the early whispers of the Trojan War, Agamemnon, king of Mycenae, commander of the Achaeans, slaughtered a sacred stag—one under the protection of Artemis.
As punishment, Artemis did the unthinkable; when Agamemnon’s ship set sail for Troy, she seized the wind and sea, bringing them both to absolute stillness.
The king and his men were stranded for days.
Their meat spoiled, and their clean water ran out.
He knew of only one way to sate the wrath of Artemis: sacrifice his daughter Iphigenia.
He summoned her under the false pretenses of a proposal from Achilles.
Iphigenia arrived steadfast, dressed in a white gown, eager to descend the aisle upon her father’s arm.
But the truth was laid bare upon her arrival: Her father had sold her fate to absolve himself. ”
Claudia can’t help but feel connected to Iphigenia, down to the white of her gown.
“There she stood at the altar, the sword of death shimmering at her neck. Artemis, though, was touched by Iphigenia’s striking innocence, and thus rescinded her wrathful bargain.
The goddess spared her, but Agamemnon would never escape the knowledge that he designed the death of his daughter.
Even without the sacrifice of Iphigenia, Artemis exacted her price—Agamemnon’s soul would be stained forevermore. ”
This is where Claudia’s story differs—in the myth, the father is stained by the daughter’s death, but in Claudia’s world, the daughter is stained by the father’s blood.
And she wasn’t spared by a goddess—she was spared by a devil.
“Tonight,” Professor Darden boasts, “we have prepared for you an opera of the myth. But before we begin, I wanted to share an anecdote about the composition. Originally, when we were writing the libretto, we had every intention of arranging it in the Phrygian mode. But when it came time to score the pieces, it simply didn’t work.
The sound would not obey. And the strangest thing—we all heard this odd, pervasive, percussive sound bouncing off the walls of every music room.
It plagued our ears, even in our sleep. And it was merely days ago that we realized the sound was Dolericym, and she was repeating one word, over and over, so fast it sounded like the thrum of wings. The word was Dorian.”
Claudia gasps so hard she chokes.
“That was the answer all along! Once we changed the opera from Phrygian mode to Dorian mode, everything felt right. So when you hear that twinkling promise of the major sixth humming above the darkness, know that is Dolericym herself answering your call.” He gestures to the stage. “Please, enjoy.”
He bows as the crowd claps, and the spotlight is snuffed out, leaving the entire theater in total, chilling darkness. The scent of magic wafts in the air, and already, Claudia feels a heightened sense of excitement, of wonder, of deep red passion burning in her veins.
Here is where the show begins.