Chapter 8 #2
A diaphanous man appeared beside her. There was something familiar about him, stretched a little too tall with thin limbs.
He looked like Benson. Gigi blushed and grinned.
She changed her illusion into a dancer. Not quite as tall, strong with dark skin, and a sophisticated face.
This was the entrée. The two of them moved closer and closer together, circling the space.
The music was simple, with variations on the illusion to allow Gigi her breath without a secondary element.
The dancing was the portion the audience wouldn’t expect.
There had been previous attempts by magicians to dance while singing, but none of them held a candle to Gigi.
Her strength and control was unparalleled.
And her voice—clear and resonant as a bell—folded into the piano as if she were striking the keys.
Finally, they were close enough to touch. Gigi took his hand.
Gigi stepped through the adagio slowly, each movement graceful and elegant, showing her strength and control.
Her partner held his poise, offering her support as she needed it.
It was strange, knowing that he was not real and that his offered hand was nothing more than air. When Gigi balanced, she did it alone.
The music picked up. Gigi and her illusion went through a series of leaps and turns, each more powerful than the next.
Gigi had put work into her partner. He was close enough to flesh that his muscles bunched and released, sweat beading between his shoulders.
Gigi had poured everything into this illusion.
They moved into the coda. There was a second element subtly written in. Gigi had written the motif for air in the bass, tucked neatly away. Selene played the music, but her heart beat at a different tempo. If Gigi pulled this off, she wouldn’t just be dancing.
Gigi leapt.
There was a brief moment when her partner held her in the overhead lift and Selene was sure Gigi had done it.
But the wind wasn’t powerful enough to sustain her, and Gigi quickly lost hold of the illusion.
She was alone on the stage. Falling with a ballerina’s grace.
She landed, quickly picking up the melody for the man, and the two of them bowed.
Selene was drawn back to the man in the mirror and his dark wings. He’d stayed in the air like a dark angel waiting to pass judgment on her soul. Selene let the final notes resonate from the piano.
“Say it.” Gigi sat hard against the floor. She dropped her face into her hands. “I can see it all over your face.”
Selene did her best to still her features. “It is pretty.”
“I thought we promised not to lie to one another.”
Selene wasn’t technically out of the competition yet. There was a chance she would make it into L’Opéra du Magician. A mediocre audition from Gigi would be the best thing for her. All Selene had to do was say nothing and smile and let Gigi believe that her piece was good enough.
But if she did that, she’d be like Priya. And Selene was so, so much better.
“If the audience wants to see a pas de deux, they will go to the ballet.” Selene was already deconstructing the melody, thinking of ways to make it soar. “You are giving them something they already have. Where is the magic?”
Gigi’s dark eyes rippled like the water beneath the opera house. There it was: acceptance. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
Selene rolled her eyes. “This is your work. I’m just helping you make it better.”
Selene inverted that first chord, changing the sound. Gigi closed her eyes, no doubt envisioning the stage spreading before her. Her smile went wide with delight.
Selene played the second chord, adding a minor seventh. Gigi’s movements synched easily. Selene reshaped the music, pausing briefly to make notations on the page. Gigi danced through it, not adding the magic yet.
“No partner illusion.” Selene tapped the page. “Any ballerina can dance with a man. Who can you dance with?”
“Ballet is about uniformity and conformity.” Gigi went onto her toes and then back down again. “A perfect performance would be identical versions of myself.”
Selene struck a chord. “Excellent. And what else?”
Gigi sang the illusion of herself and moved through a few steps.
She brought her leg up over her head; the duplicate Gigi did the same.
Selene sustained the melody for illusion in the contralto.
The two dancers moved across the floor. Gigi took a deep breath and caught the overlap, singing the second motif to bring in the wind.
It was tricky to hold the magic like this—willing the illusion while singing another motif, tracking the combination of both in the piano.
Made more impressive by the movement of the dance.
But the audience didn’t know that. To them, it was all just performance.
Only a trained magician would know just how technical and impressive Gigi was.
Selene’s fingers moved through the chords, her mind racing to translate just how incredible this all was.
Gigi needed wings. Not terrible and black and made of blood and shadow.
She looked down at the keys, something beginning to take shape.
She wrote down a few notes, a line. Selene saw it like it was the first time.
They were almost to the coda now. Selene moved the illusion into the bass and the wind motif up to the voice.
She sang the line, hoping that Gigi would catch on. Of course Gigi did.
All at once, Gigi was not just a girl. She was winged and wild and poised in the air. Arms extended; toes pointed. She was an angel of music, made of perfect angles and bathed in light. She was the opposite of a ghost. Her wings trembled as she descended.
Selene was on her feet, rapt with applause. “That was amazing.”
“I’ve been trying to nail the lift for months. I thought I was going to have to cut it.” Gigi was giddy. “Can we run it again?”
“This time, drop the illusion of yourself a measure earlier, to build up the tension.”
“Brilliant.” Gigi was already in position to start again.
They ran the whole thing, and then the coda. Again and again. The air lifted Gigi and held her there like a human fermata. There was magic in her form, the extension of her arm all the way down to the smallest finger.
She landed perfectly and soundlessly.
Selene notated music and Gigi danced.
“This is it.” Gigi held on to the sheets of music like they were the last good thing in her life. “It has to be one of us.”
Selene lifted her hands from the piano keys, trying to absorb the shock of the blow. Because what Gigi meant was: it has to be me. Selene had her chance.
The sun cast colors of gold and burgundy, stretching the shadows until they took the room, inch by inch. Selene smiled fieramente. She wouldn’t fight harder; she’d fight smarter. The rules no longer applied.
Selene would have everything she wanted, even if that meant begging magic from a ghost.