Chapter 12 Res and Expectations
REUNIONS AND EXPECTATIONS
In the morning, Ciaran led me back through the dark staircase, across the endless chasm of the Cistern, and up, up, up the spiral stairs, back to the opera house.
When we got to the backside of the mirror, he placed his hand over mine, palm flat against the cool surface of the mirror.
That same creeping sensation down my spine landed me back in Carlotta’s dressing room, as if everything I had discovered beyond the mirror was a fever dream.
The evidence of the men who had trashed it proved in the light of day that it actually happened—that it wasn’t a figment of my imagination but a real threat.
“You know where to find me if you need me, Seraphina.” Ciaran’s dark eyes locked on mine, stern, serious and true. Even so, I didn’t foresee myself going back down into those tunnels of my own volition any time soon.
“Thank you for bringing me back.” I turned and walked away without looking back at him.
Morning rehearsals had begun, and I could already hear Madame Giselle’s throaty voice hollering corrections from down the hall.
The light in the opera house burned my eyes; I had spent so long travelling through those tunnels.
I had no idea what time it was, only that I was about to be knee deep in shit for missing rehearsal.
I tried to sneak quietly into the practice studio but Maren spotted me immediately, her eyes wide in shock.
“Seraphina! What the fuck!” Maren broke out of the line of dancers, ran over and threw her sweaty arms around my neck.
“Maren. What are you doing? I’m fine,” I mumbled into her bony shoulder.
“Where were you?” she demanded, breaking her embrace and shoving me, hard. “We were going out of our minds! After what happened to Carlotta, and no one could find you after the show last night.” She punched my arm. “You scared me.”
Madame Giselle stalked over, her greying hair in its usual severe bun, her face pinched and angry.
“We were all very worried. But now we must get back to rehearsing for the new opera.” She looked me up and down, noting that I was not remotely ready to dance, sneering at the men’s clothes that clearly did not fit me, drawing her own conclusions.
“I… I… it won’t happen again, I’m sorry,” I stammered. I hated disappointing Madame Giselle, and her wrath would be felt for the rest of the week.
“No. No, Madame Giselle, I need to speak with Seraphina. I’m sorry.” Maren held up her hand, not satisfied with letting me off the hook so easily. To my surprise, Madame Giselle nodded curtly and allowed Maren to accompany me down the hall to the ballerinas’ dressing room. My stomach turned.
“What happened? I waited for you in the atrium for an hour and then when you didn’t come out, I checked the dressing room, and it was trashed.
No sign of you. I thought you’d been attacked.
We went to the gendarmes, and they said they couldn’t do anything until you’d been missing for twenty-four hours.
” Maren sounded furious. She’d gone to the gendarmes.
No wonder she had stood up to Madame Giselle to get an explanation out of me.
“Wait. You said ‘we’ went to the gendarmes. Who do you mean?” My stomach clenched. I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer.
“Me and… uh… Seff.” Maren chewed her lip. “I panicked. When I saw the trashed dressing room, I was so worried that something terrible happened. I thought he could help.”
“It’s okay. It’s good that he knows.” I felt a pang of dread. I was going to have to explain my mysterious disappearance to Seff somehow. He would be furious, if his reaction to me meeting Ciaran on the rooftop was any indication.
I tried to explain everything that had happened, since Maren wouldn’t stop pestering me…
Well… almost everything. I left out the part about the magic, and that the men who broke in were from the Church.
I left out the part about the witch burnings and the extremely vulnerable conversation I had had with the person who kidnapped me.
I left out the inexplicable thrall that he had over me—the pull I felt toward him—how attractive I found him…
Maren was understandably confused.
“Why would anyone want to kidnap you? Are you sure this Ciaran person wasn’t messing with you? He’s wanted for terrorism, he sounds dangerous.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “He was a major pain in the ass,” I added, not ready to admit what I really felt: that Ciaran had genuinely saved me last night, and that maybe he wasn’t a villain at all.
I wasn’t ready to admit that perhaps the Church of Scion were the villains…
so I kept it to myself and pretended that everything was fine.
That is, until I heard a scuffle of boots stalking down the hall.
“Oh my God, you’re here!” It was Seff. He stomped down the hall, his face twisted in anger. My stomach clenched again. I didn’t know how I was going to explain any of this to him.
“Seff.” My voice broke as he approached. He looked disheveled in a way that I had never seen him. He grabbed my upper arms, squeezing painfully as he looked me up and down.
“I’m fine. I’m okay,” I assured him. My voice trembled as I tried to think of the best way to tell Seff what had happened.
But before I could think of a diplomatic way to say it, Maren launched into an explanation of what had happened to me, the abridged version I had given her. She went on and on, re-telling everything I had told her, missing my pointed glares. Seff’s grip on my shoulders tightened.
“What?” He growled. “You were with Ciaran Fahy?” His face had gone from pure relief to rage in a split second.
“No. I mean, yes, I was with him but… but I’m not hurt. He saved me—”
“And you went with him willingly?” Seff was spitting with anger. “Seraphina, do you have any idea how stupid that was? Do you have any idea what could have happened to you? What he is capable of?”
“I… he didn’t… nothing happened,” I tried to explain.
“Nothing happened? Nothing happened? A wanted criminal kidnapped you. He is a dangerous terrorist. Is there something wrong with you? Do you have a head injury? You think that’s nothing?
” Seff’s pale face was millimetres from mine, his fury palpable as his chest heaved, his breaths sawing in and out rapidly.
“He didn’t exactly give me a choice in the matter. This is not my fault,” I spat back at him. I had expected him to be upset, but I was not prepared for this level of rage.
As suddenly as it had come, the rage vanished, and Seff’s face softened. He pulled me into his chest. “Of course it’s not your fault,” he murmured into my hair. “I was so worried. What could have happened to you…”
“It could have been worse. Those people trashed my dressing room. He… Ciaran… just took me with him to hide until morning. They said they were going to hurt me.” It felt so stupid, admitting all of this, in the light of day.
I was here now, with my friends, with the man I loved.
I didn’t have any magical powers—I couldn’t.
And an evil, super powerful conglomerate of a Church was not “after me.” It was all ridiculous.
Seff insisted that he take me home to rest after such an ordeal. He would not take no for an answer. And so, we left. Madame Giselle glared at me the whole time he explained that he would be taking me home.
Seff called a private car to drive us back to my apartment, paid for by his father no doubt. As we drove home, he interrogated me about Ciaran.
“Where did he take you?”
“His apartment in the Artists’ District,” I lied. I had no idea where his apartment was, but I found myself unable to tell Seff about the underground tunnels, the Cistern or the tiny apartment miles and miles beneath the city.
“Why?”
“Because those men broke into my dressing room. They said they were there to ‘find the bitch.’” At least I told the truth about that part.
“How did he get into your dressing room?”
“He was already in there when I got back after the gala.” Another lie. There was no way I was bringing up the magic Ciaran had performed to get us through the mirror. No way in hell.
“Why did he want to help you?”
“He snuck into a box in the theatre to watch the gala. He’s a fan of the opera, I guess?” I lied quickly. “He said he overheard them talking about how they were going to hurt me, and he intercepted.” All lies. It should have worried me, how fast I was able to make up answers to these questions.
“Why didn’t you come home or go to the gendarmes?” Seff asked one final question as we pulled up to my building: his question was answered for him.
The front door of the walk-up that I shared with Carlotta was wide open, the windows of the pretty little white door smashed. Ciaran hadn’t lied. Those men had not stopped after my dressing room last night. They had been determined to find me.
The inside of my apartment was ransacked.
They had torn apart my room, Carlotta’s bedroom, the bathroom, the closets, even the tiny kitchen.
I sent up a silent prayer of thanks that Carlotta hadn’t been home.
Her injury may have in fact saved her life.
Though I supposed that none of this would have happened if she hadn’t been injured and I hadn’t had to step up to sing in the gala in the first place.
Seff walked around, toeing the debris with his boot, clicking his tongue at the destruction wreaked upon my home.
We assessed the damage, standing in the cramped foyer.
The gendarmes were on their way to file a report, and I was at a loss for words.
Nothing made sense. And all I could hear was Ciaran’s deep voice resonating in my mind.
I am not the enemy, Seraphina and Let’s just say Scion and I have a sordid history.
Was Ciaran telling the truth? Was anything as it seemed?