Chapter 18 Drag
DRAG
The show, it turned out, was much later in the evening.
Ciaran took it upon himself to cook dinner.
As someone who could barely boil water, I was fascinated by his abilities.
I shouldn’t have been surprised by his culinary prowess.
I had first met him in his chef whites at a brutally exclusive kitchen, after all.
But nonetheless, I was impressed. And flattered.
Ever since finding out his position of authority in this underground city, I couldn’t help but wonder why he was helping me so much.
Surely he could have just shuffled me off to someone else—made me into their problem.
But here he was. Sharing his space, his time, his resources.
I stood in the cramped kitchen and chatted with Ciaran while he cooked, trying to get him to tell me about his techniques and recipes.
He was pleasant to talk to. What I had initially interpreted as annoying had transformed into a playful banter between the two of us, and I found myself wanting to spend time sparring with him.
“Tell me what you’re making,” I needled him from the sidelines.
“I don’t really have a plan, I’m just cooking. It’ll be delicious, don’t worry. I won’t poison you.” His low voice and lilting accent were, as always, so pleasing to my ear.
“How do you even know how to do this? I don’t know the first thing about cooking.” I peered over his broad shoulders as he deftly chopped a shallot into perfectly even eighth inch pieces. He handled the knife with precision and speed.
“My mother was an excellent cook. She taught me a lot before she died. When I came to Lutesse after being forced out of Erinn, I didn’t have any money, and working in kitchens was one of the only things I found I could do without being too conspicuous.
It’s kind of the perfect place to hide. Cooking kept me busy, employed, and it has given me a creative outlet. ”
“Do you miss it now that you’re a wanted fugitive in Lutesse?” I asked, wondering the same thing about myself and the creative outlet that dancing in the opera had provided.
“Sometimes. I could always cook somewhere down here, of course. But I have so many other duties.”
“Like what?” I wondered out loud.
“Well…” he began tentatively, sliding the shallots off the cutting board into a pot that was heating on one of the gas burners, his shoulders flexing under his shirt as he did.
“As I am one of the elected officials of our city council…” He said it offhanded, like his title didn’t mean anything, glancing sideways at me, sighing.
“I oversee the entire council, alright?”
I made a little “pfft” sound. I still couldn’t believe he hadn’t told me who he really was. That I had to find out about it from Elena.
“Because it is a skill I possess, I was also tasked with searching for magic wielders within the city proper. Until I became a wanted criminal above, that is. Now I’m stuck down here.
” He shrugged, slinging a white towel over his shoulder in a smooth motion.
“I enjoy what I do for the council, though. It’s rewarding.
This place is important. Our people have all come from a place of fear and persecution.
It’s important to me that we ensure they are cared for.
That we continue to foster an environment where we care for each other. ”
“What is the council?” I asked, genuinely curious how things operated down here. It was so different from the farce that was the government above. There were elections, but everyone knew that it was the Church of Scion who was truly in charge. Everything else was just for show.
“There are seven other council members, in addition to myself. Elena is another, as are a few of my other friends. I will introduce you to them soon. Each councillor oversees a specific district in the city. Under them we have departments that are in charge of different things. Arts, finance, water, waste management, recreation. It’s all the usual bureaucratic stuff.
” He waved a hand, pausing between chopping vegetables and scraping them into the pot.
“I’m the head of state, so they technically answer to me.
But I only have one vote when it comes down to it. I’m more or less equal to them.”
It shouldn’t have been so jarring. But I couldn’t get over Ciaran’s humility.
He never acted like he was above anyone here.
Even though he was the head of state for this city.
Even though these people had chosen him to lead them.
It was wildly different from the way things were done in Lutesse—in all of Ereba actually, where those in charge were divinely appointed.
“Was that why you were on the rooftop that night? Were you looking for more magic wielders? Did you suspect I had magic?” I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear the answer.
Ciaran’s dark eyes glimmered. “No. That was a complete shock to me as well. I was just working in the kitchen, as I told you then.” He began grating a knobbly looking root with some kind of sharp instrument.
“But when you sang, I knew I’d accidentally found someone worth looking into.
I snuck into the theatre to see you perform in the gala.
You intrigued me.” He added the grated aromatic pile to the pot.
I didn’t know what to make of that. So, I went back to my old faithful… changing the subject.
“Okay… so what are you making?” Whatever it was, it smelled delicious. The aroma of shallots, garlic and ginger filled the apartment.
A low chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. “You’ll just have to wait and find out.” Ciaran’s eyes danced with mischief.
Ciaran’s cooking was the most delicious food I’d ever tasted.
He had made a fragrant and savoury broth, to which he added long slurpy noodles, tender greens and a marinated soy protein I’d never tried before.
Ciaran explained that he didn’t cook with animal products.
He promised I wouldn’t miss them. After tasting his cooking, I believed him.
He even convinced me to add some spicy red chili oil to the top—it danced on my tongue and lips, not unpleasantly, for a long while after we finished eating.
“Okay, time to get ready for the show. You might want to step up the outfit.” He gestured to the simple black pants and shirt I was currently wearing. So I figured it was as good a time as any to show off the new dress.
Climbing down the ladder into the catacombs was a bit of a struggle in the dress.
I made Ciaran go first and promise not to look up.
The onyx-black beaded fringe clinked against the ladder as I descended.
I hopped down, adjusted the top, shoving my breasts back from where they had cascaded out, gave my loose curls a shake and told Ciaran I was ready to go.
I couldn’t help but notice how his gaze lingered on me as I stepped away from the ladder into the flickering light of the catacombs, halting briefly at my neck, my exposed décolletage, the ample cleavage that swelled over the deep neckline of the glittering black dress.
“After you.” He gestured. I swore I could feel his gaze burning a red-hot line on my backside as I stepped in front of him. I couldn’t help the smug bounce in my step as I swung my handbag and hips a little more than necessary.
“I don’t know where we’re going,” I said as we walked toward the Crossroads of the Dead.
Ciaran caught up. I smirked at the blush creeping over the lapels of his crisp white dress shirt.
Ciaran had dressed up for the occasion as well, swapping his usual plain black shirt for a white dress shirt with a fitted black and grey pinstripe vest and slacks.
“Just keep walking. It’s the speakeasy we passed by the crossroads earlier,” he explained.
“What exactly is a drag show?” I asked tentatively.
Ciaran sighed. “I sometimes forget how repressed everything is up there.” He sounded exasperated by the prudishness of it all.
“How do I describe a drag show… So drag loosely stands for ‘dressed as a girl’ and comes from an old theatre term, I think... I’m no expert, so please don’t quote me.
A drag performer is usually a man dressed over-the-top feminine.
They stand about seven feet tall by the time you factor in the heels and the hair.
They do everything: emcee, dance, sing, comedy, all of it.
Drag is a celebration of queer excellence. Like a cabaret, but… more.”
Queer excellence. I had to admit that was the first time I had heard those words in a sentence together.
The Church of Scion forbade same-sex relationships as vehemently as it did magic.
Both were punishable by death. Of course, this didn’t get rid of queer people, but it did force them to hide and repress who they truly were.
Several of the male ballet dancers in the opera I knew were hiding their true selves for fear of Scion repercussions.
It always seemed extremely wrong—actually evil—that they had to hide themselves away like that.
Elena had expressed earlier that she was only attracted to women; perhaps drag was yet another reason she was so at home here.
“The emcee of this show is a good friend of mine. I’ll introduce you to her before the show starts,” Ciaran explained. “She’s going to get a kick out of you.” I didn’t know what he meant by that. I soon found out.
Ciaran’s friend was indeed seven feet tall.
She went by the stage name Carol Ruby, though Ciaran told me that out of drag, she usually went by Carl.
We walked to the back of the speakeasy and found her there.
She grabbed Ciaran and kissed him on both cheeks, leaving a large smudge of red lipstick.
Ciaran returned the embrace, not seeming to mind at all.
As tall as Ciaran was, Carol Ruby, in her heels and hair, towered over him.