Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
M ario hesitated outside the door to the hospital room before steeling himself and knocking. At Patrick’s invitation to enter, he opened it and stepped inside.
“Hey,” he said, summoning up a smile.
“Hey yourself,” Patrick said as he returned the smile. He was propped up against a mass of pillows, his face looking pale beneath his mop of red hair. “Come on, get in here. How are you doing?”
Mario waved his hand dismissively as he crossed to the bed. “I’m fine! I’m more worried about you. Does it hurt?”
“Not too much right now.” Patrick started to shrug, but then he grimaced. “Okay, that was dumb. But seriously, they have me on the good drugs, so it’s tolerable.”
Mario was at a loss in the face of injury or illness, since people in the Carnival were protected. Even if someone went out to explore a new world and got hurt, Errante’s magic always mended them quickly. He’d never seen anyone as badly hurt as Patrick, and this was the first time he’d ever been inside a hospital.
He’d even tried to find the Carnival since the accident, hoping perhaps they had returned to this world and he could ask Errante to heal Patrick. That would cause all kinds of questions, but Mario hated the thought of Patrick suffering when there might be something he could do about it. Unfortunately, he didn’t find a trace of the Carnival anywhere.
“I’m so sorry for what happened.” The words felt inadequate, but they were all he had. Well, that and the stack of magazines he’d brought to help Patrick pass the time. He knew Patrick had a passion for vintage cars, and Daphne had helped him pick out issues she thought Patrick might enjoy. He stepped closer, placing the stack on Patrick’s table. “Here, maybe these will help pass the time.”
“Thanks!” Patrick looked genuinely pleased. “It’ll be nice to have something to look at besides the stupid television.”
“Sure, it’s the least I could do.” Mario gestured to a chair next to the bed. “Mind if I sit?”
“Of course not.” Patrick waved his left hand. “My mother is getting something to eat and probably checking on my siblings as well. She flew out the minute Circo called her.”
Like Mario, Patrick had a large family, and Mario had been told many stories about them. But where Mario was the baby of his family, Patrick was the oldest, and they’d often compared their different experiences. “I’m not surprised. I’m sure my mother would do the same thing.”
Patrick shifted on the bed. “I wanted to thank you for acting so fast. Management gave the doctors a copy of the video so they could see exactly what happened. They said grabbing my other hand probably made the injury less severe.”
“It all happened so fast,” Mario replied. “But if it helped, I’m glad.”
“Well, the docs seem to think it did.” Patrick looked at him curiously. “They asked if I wanted to see the footage, and I’m too morbidly curious for my own good, so I did. Man… your dismount? What the fuck?”
Mario kept himself from wincing. He’d seen the video too, because Ilya had shown it to him. He hadn’t thought about the accident being recorded; Circo had disclosed their recording policies when they’d hired him, but he’d never imagined they’d capture him doing anything he couldn’t explain away.
Ilya had given him a far more searching look than the one Patrick subjected him to. Ilya had enough experience to know the maneuver Mario performed — rotating himself backward without ever touching the straps with his hands and then dropping from the top of the arc straight to the mat — was something no one should physically be able to do. The only saving grace was that the camera only caught a part of the move, since he’d been almost out of frame.
“I really can’t remember it,” Mario said. “I had to get off the straps to make sure you were okay, so I did.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t do it again for a million dollars, because I don’t know how I did it in the first place.”
Fortunately, Patrick seemed to accept Mario’s answer. Ilya had as well, but with a frown that told Mario he would have to be more careful to keep the sharp-eyed coach from suspecting anything. If Daphne hadn’t been there to witness the event, Ilya might have caught him without having an answer. She’d whisked him off and told him what she’d seen, reminding him about the cameras. She’d advised him to claim he didn’t know how he’d done it, so he couldn’t do it again.
“Too bad. You could make a fortune adding that to the act!” Patrick said, and then he grimaced. “God. If there’s an act, I won’t be in it, will I?”
This time, Mario’s reply was completely honest. “I don’t know. Ilya isn’t saying anything. He sent me home after you were injured, and when I went in today, everything was questions about what had happened and accident forms and paperwork. They went over the rigging with a fine-toothed comb, and everyone had to attend a safety briefing.” He shook his head. “I don’t know if I’ll have a job either or if I even want to stay.”
Patrick gaped at him, wide-eyed. “Dude, you have more skills than anyone I’ve ever seen, including Ilya. Circo needs you!”
Mario winced. “Don’t be so sure of that. Ilya barely spoke to me today.” In fact, other than the few minutes where Ilya had shown him the recording, he hadn’t seen Ilya all day, which stung. Was Ilya ready to wash his hands of him? Did Ilya blame him for what happened and for the potential loss of the act? Mario didn’t know where he stood.
He’d even decided if he’d found the Carnival and gotten Patrick healed, he’d return home to his family and mark this entire episode up to a learning experience, one never to be repeated. After all, both Errante and Amelia had told him he’d leave and return. They never said he would get what he wanted.
Patrick didn’t seem fazed. “He’s probably got management grilling him about his plans for the act. Don’t count him out, okay? I know his reputation with the straps duo who were in Phantasma. They respect him, and he’s always there for his people. He’s loyal to a fault.”
Mario didn’t doubt that was true. It was one reason he was sure Ilya would never move on from his love for Derek.
“Okay, okay, he’s not avoiding me. He’s occupied,” he said jokingly. “Enough of that. What are they saying about your recovery?”
Patrick seemed happy to discuss his worries about being able to perform again with someone who could understand his fear. Mario listened, learning more about shoulder injuries than he’d ever thought he would. He was also surprised to learn Patrick had suffered an injury in childhood that the doctors thought had contributed to the torn rotator cuff and dislocation of his shoulder. But it meant that his fears that he’d done something wrong were unfounded, just as Ilya had said.
They’d been talking for less than an hour when there was another knock on the door, and Mario’s heart beat faster when he saw Ilya standing there, as it always did whenever Ilya was near. But he didn’t like how tired and stressed Ilya looked.
“May I come in?” he asked, looking at Patrick. Then his gaze flicked briefly to Mario, and Mario wished he was better at reading people because he couldn’t pick up anything from Ilya’s expression.
“Of course!” Patrick shot Mario a told-you-so glance. “Thanks for coming to see me.”
“I’m sorry it took this long,” Ilya replied. He had a small golden box in his hand, which he placed on the bedside table next to the magazines Mario had brought.
“Circo fudge?” Patrick’s eyes widened. “Wow, thanks, Ilya. This stuff is harder to get than bars of gold!”
Mario’s incessant curiosity raised its head. “What is Circo fudge?”
Patrick pointed to the box. “It’s a semi-mythical chocolate rumored to be made by the gods themselves,” he said with a chuckle. “Seriously, though, Circo throws these parties before every premiere, and anyone who wants to pay like a thousand bucks can mingle with the artists and sometimes buy costume bits or props that don’t make it into the show. They cater in this epic banquet, then every guest gets a box of Circo fudge. The company orders it from some luxury chocolatier in Europe that they won’t name, and it’s a secret recipe made only for Circo premieres. I had a piece one time when I was in the cast of Doloroso and got tapped for party duty. A guest with diabetes kindly gave her box to those of us who worked that night, and there was enough that we each got a piece. Let me tell you, it’s worth the hype.” He looked like he was about to drool as he looked at the box. “It’s almost worth getting injured to be given such a treasure. Thank you, Ilya!”
Ilya snorted. “Don’t say that — nothing is worth this kind of injury. But if it makes you this happy, I won’t dampen your joy.”
“How did you get it?” Mario asked, still curious. It was fascinating to hear about a tradition that another group had. “Capriccio’s premiere is still months away. Do they keep it all that time?”
“Definitely not,” Ilya replied. “The manufacturer creates a test batch before the premiere because the flavors change from show to show. The higher-ups have to approve the test batch before the manufacturer can begin full scale production. I may or may not have committed Grand Theft Fudge to acquire that box, so hide it away, or the LVPD will come for me.” He winked solemnly, and even Mario had to smile.
“I won’t tell a soul,” Patrick promised. He picked up the box, opened it, and looked down at the contents with a smile before holding it out toward Mario and Ilya. “After hyping it up so much, I should share. After that, you’re on your own, Mario. Love you like a brother, but this is a matter of chocolate.”
Mario laughed at Patrick’s teasing. Patrick’s upbeat attitude and joy in life — even when it wasn’t going in his favor — had sustained Mario during his time at Circo. He thought about declining so Patrick could enjoy his windfall all for himself, but when Patrick insisted, he reached into the box for a piece.
Even the inside of the box was fancy, lined in gold foil with scarlet tissue, which were Circo’s colors. The fudge wasn’t in hand-cut squares like what Mario was used to from the Carnival. Instead, the pieces were in elegant shapes, including a big top, a stylized tightrope, a clown hat, and even a Montgolfier style balloon with a basket. Mario took a big top, and as he pulled the piece from the box, he felt a distinctive tingle in his fingers. Startled, he almost dropped it.
Magic.
Mario had lived his entire life around magic and was attuned enough to it to recognize it when he came across it. The Carnival was bathed in it — people, items, and the very air they breathed — so it had become part of the background noise that he rarely noticed. After living in a magical desert for several months, he had grown sensitive to it once more. He’d been able to feel it from Daphne and the other Travelers when they’d gotten together. He constantly sensed the tingle in the amulet Errante had given him and a few of the items he’d brought with him from the Carnival, like his posters and the big-top striped bowl where he liked to keep his fruit because it stayed fresh.
Aware that he was being watched, Mario didn’t let himself show his confusion, but his mind was racing. Did Circo management have a Traveler among their members? Or was it simply a coincidence that they’d ordered from a chocolatier who used magic to make the treats? He’d been told the world was low in magic, but not completely dead. But why the chocolate? Was it charmed to be irresistible? Or was there some other magic at work? It was so unexpected that Mario felt almost paranoid about eating it. Magic could be dangerous, and while he could identify its existence, he was no mage or sorcerer to know exactly what the magic would do.
“Are you going to eat it or just stare at it?” Patrick asked, laughing.
“Well, it’s a work of art,” Mario said. “You’ve built it up so much, I think savoring the moment is in order, don’t you?”
Even Ilya smiled at that, and Mario felt he had little choice but to eat the chocolate and hope the magic was benign. He remembered a book about a girl named Alice and what happened to her when eating or drinking things she didn’t understand, which didn’t help one bit. Not that he thought he’d suddenly shrink or grow — that would be too obvious.
“Come on,” Patrick said. “Now I have to know what you think.”
Hoping he wasn’t about to make a horrible mistake, Mario ate the fudge, and flavor burst over his tongue: dark, almost sensual, with an undertone of caramel and a touch of salt. It reminded him of the magical food at the Carnival, where everything always tasted just like someone wanted it to.
He almost sagged in relief. A similar enchantment had probably been put on the fudge when it was made, so Circo management might not have a clue. They thought they were paying for the best, and indeed they were.
He chewed and swallowed with less trepidation. “That’s definitely the best chocolate I’ve ever had!”
Patrick’s smile was smug, but Mario focused on Ilya, who had taken his piece and eaten it with enjoyment, if less drama than Mario had. Mario couldn’t help but catch his breath at the sensual look of pleasure on Ilya’s face. If he could look like that over chocolate, Mario wondered how he’d look when indulging in far more intimate pleasures.
Perhaps he stared too long, because he saw Ilya raise an eyebrow at him, so Mario immediately switched his attention back to Patrick. “I’m going to get out of here and let you talk to Ilya. Call me if you need anything, okay?”
“I will. And thanks, Mario. I really appreciate you coming by.”
Mario gave Patrick a fist bump, then headed for the door. “Bye, Ilya,” he said, but when he moved past Ilya to leave the room, Ilya stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“If you have a moment, please wait. I need to talk to you.”
Mario couldn’t have moved if he’d tried, not with Ilya’s warm hand making his skin tingle. But this wasn’t the same sensation as magic. It was the pure chemistry he felt in Ilya’s presence.
He waited while Ilya said his own farewells-and-take-cares to Patrick, then Ilya released him. Mario was almost bereft at the loss of the touch, but with a final smile for Patrick, he stepped into the hall.
Once they heading toward the elevator, Mario spoke up. “What did you want to talk about?”
Anxiety weighed heavily on his stomach, as it occurred to him that Ilya might tell him the act had been struck from the show, and Mario no longer had a job. The thought of being unemployed wasn’t what bothered him, however. Despite his thoughts about leaving Circo, he wasn’t ready to leave behind all hope of Ilya seeing him as more than just a promising aerialist too young to know his own mind.
“Not here,” Ilya replied. “There’s a coffee shop near the hospital. Let’s go there.”
It wasn’t quite possible to die of curiosity and dread, but it wasn’t a combination of feelings Mario enjoyed. The few minutes it took to get to the coffee shop, order a drink he didn’t want, and find a place to sit seemed interminable. But finally they were at a table in a back corner, relatively secluded since it was getting near closing. There were a few people on their laptops on the other side of the shop, but no one seemed to pay them any attention. Even then Ilya hesitated, until he finally let out a growl of irritation.
“You know Patrick isn’t coming back, at least not for a long while, right?” Ilya asked.
“Yeah, I thought as much,” Mario said. He felt on edge as he waited for the other shoe to drop, and he couldn’t stand not knowing for another second. “Look, if the act has been cut, just tell me. I can take it.”
Ilya snorted. “No, it hasn’t been cut. Not yet, at least.” He gave Mario a searching look, but Mario had no idea what Ilya was looking for. “I need you to be honest. Are you angry with me, or did I do something to make you keep your distance?”
Of all the questions in the world, Mario hadn’t been expecting anything like that. “No, I’m not mad at you.” How could he explain the jumble of emotions Ilya made him feel? “Why do you ask?”
Ilya’s lips twisted slightly. “Everything seemed to change after that damned party. You didn’t want me to spot you any longer. You won’t open up about what’s bugging you — and I’m not stupid, Mario. Something made you take a step back. It’s fine. We’re both professionals, and I can function as a coach without having to be your friend. But I thought we had built a rapport. I thought perhaps you were embarrassed about falling on your face, but I hoped you’d come out of it. It’s gotten better, and obviously you and Patrick had developed a good partner bond. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry to see that end. You were bringing out the best in him, and for that alone, I felt like the act would be a good one.”
Mario was struck dumb. How could he respond to any of that? Certainly not with the truth, right? He was positive Ilya didn’t want to hear it, and yet there was an uncertain note in Ilya’s voice that Mario had never heard before, and Mario felt like he was navigating a minefield. There was something hovering in the air, some potential Mario didn’t understand, but he knew if he got this wrong, any chance with Ilya, no matter how slim, was gone.
“I was embarrassed at first,” he said. “I mean, I’d just had you chew me out, and I’d assured you I was a professional and an adult, and then there I was with the ground hitting me in the face because I was too dumb to come in out of the sun.”
“I told you, it can happen to anyone.” Ilya’s voice was firm. “But everyone assured me you weren’t drunk, eager to defend your honor. I don’t know if they were worried I’d fire you or just rip a strip off your hide.”
“Oh!” Mario hadn’t known that, but he appreciated it.
“So.” Ilya opened his hands. “If it wasn’t embarrassment, what was it?”
What could Mario say that wouldn’t sound stupid? What did he even want to say? Maybe if he framed the truth in a self-deprecating way? No, it was going to sound ridiculous no matter how he said it, but he might as well get it over with, and then he could slink back to the Carnival.
He drew in a deep breath, then blurted out the truth before he could die right there in the damned Starbucks. “I found out that you and Derek were married. It’s stupid, okay? I get that. But I had a crush on you when I was a kid, so it kind of destroyed an immature daydream.” His face was on fire from sheer embarrassment, and he looked away. “I felt stupid for not figuring it out on my own, especially given that you stopped performing when he died. I felt like an idiot. I still do. I didn’t want you to think I’m some weirdo stalking you when you’re still grieving the man you love.”
Ilya was silent, and Mario felt like sinking into the floor. Seconds ticked past, and Ilya still said nothing. Mario peeked at him through the curtain of hair that had fallen over his face, hoping he wouldn’t find Ilya looking back with disgust written all over his features.
Fortunately, Ilya looked more thoughtful than anything, although Mario didn’t know what to read into that. When he couldn’t stand it anymore, he pushed back his chair.
“I’m sorry. I know it’s dumb. Since I’ve made the biggest fool of myself in the history of Circo, I’ll go type up a resignation letter.”
Mario rose to his feet, unable to bear Ilya’s continued silence. But before he could do more than get his butt up off the chair, Ilya’s hand flashed out to grab Mario’s arm and hold him in place. Mario could easily have freed himself from the warm grasp, but he didn’t really want to.
Ilya gazed at him searchingly, and then he spoke the words Mario had never dreamed he’d hear.
“I don’t want you to resign.” He paused, his hazel eyes intent. “I want you to be my straps partner.”