Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
B y the time six weeks passed after the crane accident, things at Circo seemed to return to normal. Life had taken on a rhythm to which Mario adapted, much as he’d once done to the routine of the Carnival. The show preparations had gone into high gear, Yet there was a tension beneath the surface that he could feel, even if he couldn’t determine its source. Not for the first time, he wished he had Persephone’s gift or even Amelia’s less reliable one, so he would know if this feeling he had — that something was lurking around every corner, ready to spring out when he least expected it — was real or all in his head.
It didn’t help that the weather in Vegas had been sweltering, with what Mario had learned was record highs even into October. The cooling system in the building labored valiantly with the load of hundreds of sweaty, exercising people, and when Mario flew high on the straps, it was definitely hotter up near the rigging than on the floor far below. Even people who were used to the heat were complaining about and wishing fervently for it to end.
“Mario! We need to work on that segment between the blackout and the finale again.”
“OOF, okay, okay,” Mario grumbled. He’d collapsed in a sweaty heap on one of the crash mats after their morning session, too hot to even care about food. He’d drunk plenty of an electrolyte-packed sports drink, however, because if he didn’t, he thought Ilya might force it down his throat.
Ilya walked over, prodding him with a toe against his leg, which Mario fended off with a half-hearted swat. Mario looked up at him through his lashes, admiring, as he always did, the strong lines of Ilya’s body. Mario had thought Ilya was in great shape even when he had been coaching, but he’d gotten leaner and buffer during the intense exertion required on the straps, until he rivaled Mario’s musculature. With Ilya being the base for their paired moves, he was supporting Mario’s weight in addition to his own, and that required not just raw muscle, but also control.
“We have less than two weeks to perfect this routine before we move into dress rehearsals,” Ilya reminded him.
Mario rolled to his feet, then stretched. “I need to warm up again.”
He felt Ilya’s eyes on him, so he extended the stretch, letting Ilya get a really good look. For the last month, the awareness between them had grown, and Mario felt like his attraction to Ilya might finally be reciprocated.
“What’s that?” Ilya asked, and Mario looked down to see the chain of the medallion Errante had given him had slipped a bit from the small pocket in the waistband of his practice tights. He pulled it out, holding it up so Ilya could see.
“It’s my lucky charm,” he said. “The sun and moon. The eternal dichotomy. Past and present, light and dark, what is seen, and what is hidden.” He smiled, thinking about how true those descriptions were for the men who had made it for him.
“I thought I recognized it. You were wearing it at that party.”
“I always have it on me,” he replied. He coiled the chain around the disk, then tucked it carefully back into its pocket. “I’d feel exposed without it.” In fact, he’d wondered more than once if there was more than obfuscation magic on it, perhaps something protective that had helped him to respond so quickly in both the situation with Patrick and the accident with the crane. His reflexes were inhumanly fast when he needed them to be, but even then, he felt like something might have been aiding his response. Whether or not it was true, he wasn’t going to take any risks by not having it with him at all times, even if he couldn’t wear it while practicing or performing for safety reasons.
“Well, back to warming up,” Ilya said. “We need to have the timing on this section absolutely perfect, since we won’t have the same visual cues as normal. Though I think I’m going to ask the costume department to put more lights on our headpieces and arm bands. It’ll make it easier and safer to determine our positions in the dark, and it shouldn’t detract from the mystique of the glowing paint.”
Mario didn’t mention that he could see Ilya even in complete darkness, but if Ilya wanted lights for his own peace of mind, then Ilya would have lights.
He went about his warm-up, stretching his legs into a split on the floor and holding it as he watched Ilya doing his own exercises nearby. Beyond Ilya, in another section of the vast warehouse, the silks performers were going through their routine. There was a group of four, one of whom was Angel, and Mario sighed quietly. Mario felt his life was going well, but the same couldn’t be said for one of his friends.
Angel had moved in to keep an eye on Daphne, who had quit Circo, unable to return to the place where she’d met Cole, who still hadn’t been found. Daphne wasn’t recovering, her grief turning her into a wan shadow of herself. Mario was going to suggest that she return to the Carnival when it came back again — perhaps a fresh start somewhere completely different would help her. But until then, all he, Angel, and the others could do was to be there to listen and hold her when she cried and make sure she took basic care of herself.
“Are you ready?” Ilya’s voice once more broke into his wandering thoughts, and Mario grimaced. He needed to focus, not let problems he couldn’t solve make his attention wander from the task at hand.
“Ready,” he agreed, rising to his feet and moving to the straps.
He watched as Ilya went through a sort of ritual he’d adopted in the last few weeks. He’d begun setting up two recorders to catch their movements from two different angles, one of which was pointed such that it caught mostly the rigging and their highest moves. Ilya had also become almost obsessive about checking the straps and chains, not only his own but Mario’s as well. He supposed it was just leftover anxiety about the crane disaster, so Mario didn’t try to dissuade him. If it made Ilya more confident in their flight, it was fine with him.
Once Ilya seemed satisfied, he nodded to the young assistant rigger, Dale, who had been assigned to run the crane. The new model was computerized, the movements programmed to be exactly the same way every time, but there still needed to be human oversight to get them down safely in the event of an accident or injury.
The sequence they were practicing was the most difficult of the entire act, which was why they had to practice it so much. The first three minutes, as well as the last two and a half of the finale, were relatively simple in comparison. The middle section, however, was difficult not only in the movements, but in the lack of light. Their body paint would glow brightly to the audience, but it was dangerous as performers for them not to see with complete clarity, especially since the straps would be black to further the illusion that they were flying.
“Lead in from section forty,” Ilya told both Mario and Dale.
Mario took his position, his right hand gripping both straps, while Ilya rolled up on his own set, twining it around his waist as he rose up the apparatus to where he was suspended several feet above Mario. The music was cued, and Dale started the computerized sequence, where the crane lifted them from the ground and rotated the rigging so they spun slowly around a common center. When the music reached its mark, Mario started his sequence, looping high and somersaulting around his center, then holding a position somewhat inelegantly called a meat hook, his body bent in a side vee around the hand which gripped the straps. He arched out of the position, flinging his free arm out as he turned.
Ilya had not been just hanging here — at his own cue, he rolled out of his position, tumbling down the straps in a breathtaking spin that would make the audience feel as though he was going to crash into the ground. But as he reached the bottom, he halted, and a few moments later, he caught hold of Mario’s wrist as he passed on his swing by. Mario gripped Ilya’s wrist as he released his own straps, so he soared above the floor held only by Ilya’s grip. It was a daring move, but they executed it perfectly. It had taken them a lot of practice to get there, but Mario was confident they had the movements down pat.
They went through the rest of the segment, then Dale lowered them back down, only for Ilya to order them to do it again, and then again. He finally called a halt so they could review the recordings, but it didn’t escape Mario’s notice that Ilya made them stand to one side rather than beneath the crane.
“That’s enough for today,” Ilya told him. “We need to cool down and shower, because we’re due for a makeup test at three.”
It was something Mario hadn’t been looking forward to. Cole had been one of the primary makeup artists for the aerialists and had even done one of the first makeup tests Mario had gone through. But he got through it by watching while Ilya was being made up. Ilya was so relaxed during the entire thing that Mario even thought he might have dozed off at one point.
When their respective artists were done, Mario and Ilya were placed side by side. Their makeup was identical in pattern, though Ilya’s was done in slightly darker shades, since his costume would be black as opposed to Mario’s matte silver. Their act was even called “Nero e Argento,” which meant “Black and Silver.”
Mario stared into the mirror, mesmerized by the transformation. They both looked like ethereal, other-worldly creatures.
“This is amazing,” he said, daring to touch his cheek. The makeup didn’t smudge, and he grinned, pleased. They hadn’t used much other than kohl for their eyes in the Carnival, but he liked the full makeup look even better.
“We look good,” Ilya agreed. They were made to stand up against a white background and then a black one while a member of the crew took photos.
“Too bad we can’t wear it out,” Mario said. “We never did stuff like this in the Carnival. It’s a shame to wash it all off after they worked so hard.”
Ilya chuckled. “Trust me, you’ll be thoroughly sick of it by the time we get through dress rehearsals. It might not bother you now, but having it on for hours takes some getting used to.”
The makeup artists agreed with Ilya, so Mario let them go about removing what they’d so painstakingly applied. It was Friday, and he was meeting up with Angel, Terry, Otir, and Frer for dinner. Angel was determined to get Daphne to come along, even though she’d turned down the invitation when they’d made the plans. While his castmates wouldn’t blink if Mario had showed up in full costume, he knew it would attract far too much attention out in public.
His artist finished cleaning him up before Ilya’s was done, and Mario had an impulse.
“Several of us are going out for dinner at Constanza. If you’re not busy, would you like to come along? It’s all Circo people, and they know you, so you’d be welcome.”
He hoped Ilya would accept. He’d confided in his friends that he was attracted to Ilya, and they’d understand if Mario brought him along. Besides, maybe having a non-Traveler there would help pull Daphne out of the shell she was building around herself. And Ilya knew about Cole, so there wouldn’t be awkward questions as there might be if he’d brought someone not connected to Circo.
Ilya hesitated, then he shrugged. “Sure. I’ve not eaten there in a long time.”
Mario internally winced. The restaurant was popular with the Circo crowd, being lively and having excellent food. He should have realized Ilya had probably last eaten there with Derek. But maybe it was a good sign that Ilya had accepted. They’d had several “working lunches” and even stopped to eat dinner together when they’d been practicing at Maxime’s. Mario had been waiting to see if Ilya would suggest dinner since their return to the Circo warehouse, but he never had. So that left it up to Mario to make the overture, and at least this one wouldn’t seem too pushy, since it was with a group.
“Great! We’re meeting in about forty-five minutes. Do you want to meet there?”
Ilya shook his head. “I have my SUV. Why don’t I drive us over?”
Mario had been hoping Ilya might suggest that. Ilya had started giving him a ride home after work sometimes, especially since the heat had been so bad. Mario’s bike, which he still rode to work in the mornings, fit easily into the back of Ilya’s vehicle.
After they had changed back into street clothes, Mario retrieved his bike and they went out to the covered parking area to Ilya. Soon they were on their way to Constanza’s, and Mario found himself cheerful despite the heat.
They had almost reached the restaurant when Mario’s phone rang. He saw Angel’s name on the caller id and immediately answered.
“Hey, Angel. What’s up? I’m nearly there, and I’m bringing Ilya.”
Angel’s frantic voice came over the line. “Daphne’s gone! I just got home from work, and her car isn’t here. I texted her, and she said she was going away for a while. But she never said a word to me about leaving!”
“That doesn’t sound like her,” Mario replied with a frown. Daphne had been almost obsessively linked to the home she’d shared with Cole and the memories they’d made in it, to the point of having to be almost dragged out to do anything with the group.
“I’m worried about her. It doesn’t feel right. This morning she was even talking about coming to dinner with us, as though she was looking forward to it. Where would she go, anyway? I can’t see her leaving without knowing what happened to Cole.”
“Hang on, Angel.” Mario looked over at Ilya, who quickly glanced away from the road. “Angel said Daphne just up and left, but she’s also been calling LVPD almost every day to see if they learned anything about Cole.”
“Grief can make people do strange things,” Ilya said, a shadow crossing his face. “She may have felt she couldn’t stay in the house any longer.”
Mario frowned, then lifted the phone again. “Angel? Do you think she just wanted to get away for a couple of days?”
Angel hesitated. “Let me check the doorbell camera.”
Ilya turned into the parking lot of the restaurant and parked, though he kept the SUV running. “What’s happening?”
“Angel’s checking the doorbell camera,” he said, and then he heard Angel speaking again.
“Mario? She left a couple of hours ago. She was looking at something on her phone, and she wasn’t carrying a suitcase or anything. If she was planning to go somewhere, wouldn’t she have packed clothes?”
Mario’s heart sank. “Yeah, you’d think,” he replied. “Look, Angel, I’ll be right there, okay? We can all try texting her, and maybe she’ll come back.”
After ending the call, Mario turned to Ilya. “I’m so sorry, but it looks like I need to skip dinner. Angel is freaking out. I think she’s afraid Daphne will do something—” He swallowed hard as the reality of what he was thinking hit him. “Unfortunate.”
“Don’t apologize,” Ilya replied. He tapped the GPS screen on the dashboard. “What’s the address?”
“I can get an Uber. You don’t have to drive me,” Mario said.
“If someone from Circo is in trouble, I want to help.” He looked at Mario somberly. “I may not know Daphne other than to say hello, but she’s your friend, and you’re my friend, right? Isn’t that what friends do for each other?”
Mario felt his throat tighten; it was hardly a declaration, but it meant Ilya cared about him. “Yeah, it is,” he said, then drew in a breath and gave Ilya the address.
It took a while to get across town, and by the time they arrived, there were other cars in front of the house. Angel opened the door, her eyes widening as she saw Ilya behind Mario. “Um, come in. Terry, Otir and Frer are here already.”
Mario stepped inside, heading into the living room where the others were seated. They all looked as worried as he felt, but they greeted Ilya, and Otir went to get more chairs from the dining room.
“What do we do?” Terry asked, wringing his hands. “Do you think she’s okay?”
“I can’t tell,” Angel said with a pointed glance at Ilya, and Mario caught the implication that she’d tried magic and hadn’t been successful. “All I have is a text and that brief camera clip. I looked all over, but she didn’t leave a note.”
“Can you play the camera clip for us?” Ilya asked. “Maybe on the television screen?” At Mario’s raised brow, Ilya shrugged, but there was a flash of something in his eyes Mario couldn’t read. “Sometimes viewing video on a larger screen shows things you can’t even see on a smaller one.”
It took a few minutes for Angel to get it to work, but eventually the doorbell camera’s images were up on the television.The clip was only about thirty seconds long, but they all saw Daphne step out of the front door, her phone in her hand. She turned around, locked the door, then went to her SUV that was on the edge of the camera’s field of view. The last bit of the clip showed her backing out of the driveway and heading off down the street.
“See?” Angel said. “No suitcase.”
Ilya was frowning at the screen. “Did anyone notice she was smiling?”
Mario blinked in surprise. He’d read Daphne’s expression as more of a grimace. “Angel, play it again, please?”
“And please turn up the sound high,” Ilya requested. “I think she was mumbling something.”
When the clip started again, Mario paid more attention to Daphne’s entire face. The image wasn’t of the highest quality, but he thought Ilya was right. It was an almost frantic sort of smile. Then there were three soft words Daphne whispered before turning away, as if she were talking to herself.
“Hurry, hurry, hurry….”
“Maybe there was news from the police about Cole?” Terry suggested. “Maybe it was good, if that really was a smile.” He shrugged. “I’m not convinced.”
“There’s one way to find out,” Otir said. “Angel, do you have that detective’s card? We can call them.”
Angel made the call herself, since she was known to the detective as Daphne’s new roommate. Not only had the detective not called her, since there wasn’t any new information, he was concerned for Daphne’s well-being. He requested that the video be forwarded to him so he could have it checked out and see if it yielded any further clues.
“They’re going to put out an alert to watch for her vehicle,” Angel said.
“She hasn’t answered any of your texts?” Ilya asked, looking around the group. All of them shook their heads. “And you don’t know anywhere she might have gone?”
“She doesn’t have any family, and neither does Cole,” Angel explained. “We were her closest friends. She’s never hinted about leaving. In fact, she’s said she didn’t even know what to do other than to stay here and hope Cole comes back. She’s been a wreck.”
“I can imagine,” Ilya said softly. He frowned thoughtfully, and Mario wondered if he was thinking about his own experiences after Derek had died. “Does she have any favorite place that she and Cole liked to go to? Maybe she could have gone there?”
Angel seemed lost in thought. “They both liked Red Rocks, but I can’t imagine she would have gone to where Cole disappeared, though it might be worth checking?”
“Otir and I will drive out there and check the parking lots,” Frer said, standing up. “We’ll let you know.”
“Anywhere else?” Mario asked. “Did they ever go anywhere for vacation or just for a weekend away?”
Angel considered. “I think the last time they took a trip it was for their anniversary,” she said. “They went out near Goodsprings to camp. They both loved the desert.”
Being that they were both sand-loving shape shifters, Mario wasn’t surprised. “Should we go up there to check? How far is it?”
“About an hour from here,” Ilya said. “It would be full dark by the time we could get there — if she went off into the desert, we’d never find her.”
“I don’t think she would have gone there,” Angel said. “But I’ve been up there myself. The place only has like a hundred people and one bar, but we’ve been there so often over the years that we actually know Noel, the owner. Let me call and see if she’s there or if anyone has seen her.”
Unfortunately, Angel’s inquiry didn’t yield any results. There wasn’t anything else they could do other than wait on Frer and Otir’s call, so Terry ordered pizza for all of them.
When the call came, however, it was only to report that the brothers hadn’t found anything. Angel looked like she wanted to cry, and Terry sat next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders.
“I wish we had a way to contact Madam Persephone,” Angel said, then turned her head into Terry’s chest and wept.
“Me too,” Terry replied. “Me too.”
Ilya looked at Mario, obviously puzzled, and Mario decided it was safe enough to make an admission to satisfy Ilya’s curiosity.
“Madame Persephone is the Seer for the Carnival of Mysteries. One reason we’re all friends — me, the brothers, Terry and Angel and Daphne and Cole — is that we all worked for the Carnival at, um, various points in time.”
Ilya looked intrigued, as though he hadn’t realized people would know one another from places other than Circo. “Surely you don’t really think a fortune teller could help?”
“Well, Persephone has a genuine gift,” Mario explained. “You’d have to meet her to understand it. Like, she told me I was going to get the job with Circo before I even auditioned. Before I even knew I wanted to do it.” It wasn’t the most convincing argument, but it was the best he could do, given he couldn’t tell Ilya that she was really one aspect of the Fates. He’d think they’d all lost their minds.
Ilya still looked skeptical, but Mario wasn’t going to try to convince him. “The Carnival is off somewhere out of touch, so it doesn’t matter, anyway,” Mario said.
Since there was nothing more they could do that night, the group broke up. Terry offered to stay with Angel, so Ilya said he would take Mario home.
They were both quiet during the ride until Ilya spoke up. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” Mario said, turning to look at Ilya in the darkness.
“Was Gina also from the Carnival?”
“Actually, yes.” Mario thought he knew where Ilya might be going with this. “Before you ask, yes, we’ve all wondered about that, but how likely would that really be? Everyone else has been here for years and no one has bothered them. Why now? Who would even know we’re from the Carnival?”
Ilya’s mouth was a grim line. “Obviously, someone at Circo knows,” he said, his voice harsh. “You know the old saying, don’t you? Once is chance, twice is coincidence, but three times is enemy action.”
“But Daphne isn’t really missing, not yet!” Mario protested, not wanting to have his own paranoid thoughts shared by Ilya. He’d been able to convince himself that it was just a run of bad luck at Circo not anything to do with the Carnival at all. “She went somewhere on her own, and we’ll find her. She answered Angel’s text, so she doesn’t seem to be in any danger.”
Ilya’s hands clenched on the steering wheel. “I’m not talking about Daphne, Mario,” he replied. “I’m talking about you.”