Chains of Silver: Alchemy Empire, #1

By Meredith Rose

If all the world's a stage…then I am seriously screwn.

 

Even though she spends her time backstage creating fantastic steam-powered devices, Minx Mellor is great at acting—acting like everything is fine, that is. But when she learns the theater's lead actress is the next target of a notorious killer, Minx can't keep up the act anymore. She has no choice but to step into the spotlight to protect the woman she loves like a mother.

 

With only four weeks to outwit the killer and a Theatrical Guild who considers them expendable, Minx teams up with her sworn enemy, Delphine Birdwell, and the steam-hot director, Dietrich Wolff, who stirs both her desires and her deepest fears. 

 

When disaster strikes, Minx must trust Dietrich with the truth about the magic she swore to keep buried forever.  It's her only chance to survive the biggest role of her life—as bait to trap a murderer.

 

From the shadows of cobblestoned alleys and the glittering world of an aristocracy gone mad for theater comes the first book in a young adult fantasy romance series about the power of creativity and the resiliency of the human spirit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Coedwig Books
• Release date: Apr 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533742056

Meredith Rose

Meredith Rose has been a literary rebel since the age of nine when she began rewriting novel endings she didn’t like. Childhood peers mocked her for using words longer than two syllables, and adults told her that she would never be able to make it as a writer–because it’s, like, not a real career. Thoroughly undaunted, (well, maybe a little daunted at times, to be honest) over the next two decades she secretly pursued writing novels and finally sold her first book at age twenty-nine (under a different name). She went on to publish another three novels, in which the experience of rewriting stuff actually came in useful. Chains of Silver is her first young adult novel, and she wrote it for her two teenage daughters who are also talented rebels in their own ways. When she’s not writing, Meredith goes on bookstore dates with her husband, studies Welsh, dabbles in graphic design and altered art, and reads Tumblr way too much. Bucket list items include becoming a yarn bomber, Argentine tango dancer, and an opera singer. Meredith loves interacting with readers—well, all you normal, non-stalker type readers, anyway. She can be found mostly lurking, but occasionally stirring up trouble at the following locations: Tumblr: tumblr.com/blog/wildwoodgoddess Instagram: instagram.com/wildwoodgoddess Twitter: twitter.com/wildwoodgoddess Facebook: facebook.com/meredithrosebooks Pinterest: pinterest.com/wildwoodgoddess Wattpad: wattpad.com/user/wildwoodgoddess Her website: meredithrosebooks.com And for you old-fashioned types who like email: [e-mail] And for you even older-fashioned types, or you vintage-loving sentimental types, you can send her actual handwritten notes and letters on stationery here and she will enthusiastically respond in kind: Meredith Rose 2885 Sanford Ave SW #17598 Grandville, MI  49418

Book preview

Chapter One

If all the world’s a stage, then I am utterly screwn. Give me vampires, zombies, kracken any day—even wereducks. The worst monster in any novel is less scary than standing in the limelight under the invasive gaze of an audience. I’m not talking about stage fright. That’s just the snakes-in-your-stomach jitters that some actors get. I only wish my problem were as small as that.

No…when I look at the stage, all I remember is a prison. All I feel is the hunger and pain. All I know is the terror of a child treated like a beast. All I hear is the voice of the monster that invaded my mind, controlled my body, used my magic, and destroyed my innocence.

All I see is him.

They say you are a melancholy fellow. Delphine Birdwell’s piercing voice filled the theater, reciting Rosalind’s line from As You Like It.

The words pulled me from my own melancholy thoughts and brought my attention back to the rehearsal I was watching. Our student company’s fall production was As You Like It, and the way things were going at this point, I was just hoping the audience wouldn’t respond with "No, we hate it."

The first few rows of the small rehearsal studio at the Alchemy Empire Theater and Academy of Arcane and Theatrical Arts looked like we were having a cram session for exams. Textbooks, notebooks, and sketch pads slid out of threadbare canvas bags and lay scattered on the sloping marble floor between the oak theater seats. Tech and costume students sat in little groups throughout the theater, whispering and giggling, even though we were supposed to be taking notes on the rehearsal.

Boring. I was hoping everything would go well and we could be done early. I was a final-year technical theater student with a load of projects. I had a lot more important things to do than sit through a blocking rehearsal, even if I was the student company tech director.

My best friends, Thea and Raymond, weren’t here to entertain me either. Thea, who was training to be a stage manager, was in a meeting with the chief lighting technician. Raymond was a playwright student, so he didn’t really need to go to rehearsals.

Delphine waited impatiently on stage for Walter Edison, who played the sulky Jaques, to deliver his next line. She must have been staying up late a lot—her face looked more pinched than usual, and she had bluish shadows under her eyes.

Walter blinked, his chubby cheeks sagging as his mouth dropped open and then closed again like a large fish. I am so; I…I—Line, please?

For the love of the Empress, Delphine snapped, use your script already. It’s only a blocking rehearsal.

She definitely wasn’t getting enough sleep—cranky as a rusted gear shaft. I felt a little sorry for Walter. He wasn’t bad at acting; he just didn’t have a very good memory. But Delphine and her crowd were always so rough on him.

Walter pinched the bridge of his nose, squinting his eyes. No—no, I can do this. Let’s see…I am so; I…ugh, why can’t I remember?

I am so; I do love it better than laughing. Delphine snarled the line at him and shoved her script into his hands. If you’d use the script, you might actually learn your lines.

Her entourage of fellow acting students snickered from the front row. I shrank into my aisle seat, glad I was several rows back. Delphine’s friends could be really mean. Of course, they just followed her lead. Thea and I couldn’t understand how someone who was always so nasty managed to have so many friends. Delphine was the student rep for the company. And she’d been picked as Alchemy Empire Theater’s Spotlight Scholar three times in the last three years. How was that possible? Sure, she was beautiful and talented, and she could be nice when she wanted something.

But she could also be a bully—like now. It wasn’t right for her to always get away with it. The only reason she did was because she was the most magically talented actress in the academy, and our theater manager and academy headmaster, Master Fenrey, was hoping to talk her into staying after she finished her education.

Our director, Dietrich Wolff, whom we addressed by the title Presul because of his particular kind of magic, had been called out of the theater. I hoped he’d return soon. I couldn’t imagine even Delphine being this mean to Walter in front of a Theatrical Guild member.

I don’t need the script! Walter tried to hand it back, but she wouldn’t accept it. He flung it across the floor, his shirt pulling too tight across his belly. I had my lines earlier today.

You’ll still be asking for prompts at dress rehearsal. I can’t believe we let you into the student company. Delphine retrieved the script and slapped it against her other hand.

I heard the wooden theater door clatter open and then thud closed, but I was too caught by what was happening on stage to pay much attention to it.

Walter’s round face was so red now, it could almost rival the glow of a stage light. I keep telling you—I don’t want to use it. I need to practice without it.

Delphine stalked toward Walter. "You need to practice without your script the way you need triple servings at dinner and need to spend all your pocket money at Miss Tabitha’s Sweet Shop."

That’s enough, Miss Birdwell! Presul Wolff’s usually quiet voice boomed from the back of the theater. Even in anger, his words lilted in a melodic Cymric accent that had been making hearts race ever since he joined our theater four months ago. He strode down the aisle toward the stage. As he neared my seat, I shut my eyes and braced myself against the magic that crackled around him like a storm.

Walter looked like he might cry. He did overeat, it was true. I didn’t know him very well—I tended to avoid most of the boys. But it wasn’t hard to see that he was hurting inside. Maybe the food helped him feel better. All I knew is that it definitely wasn’t any of Delphine’s business.

Delphine whirled to look out across the house. She flung out her arm, pointing at Walter like the Queen of Hearts demanding a beheading. He’s the one that interrupted the rehearsal because he couldn’t remember his stupid line. I refuse to share the stage with someone so incompetent.

He’s doing just fine, and you don’t have a choice in the matter. Take it from the top of the scene. Presul Wolff’s eyes narrowed, sharp like chisels.

No. Not until Mr. Edison at least pretends he’s an actor and picks up his bloody script.

We gasped. Defying the director and swearing—she was begging to be assigned to clean the girls’ lavatory for the next month.

Presul Wolff’s face grew dark, his eyes blazing. You will apologize immediately to Mr. Edison.

I shivered. If he ever spoke to me in that menacing, iron tone, I’d curl up and do whatever he said. But Delphine just glared back at him.

He took one step closer. Apologize to Mr. Edison or get off my stage. His voice was like the metallic whisper of a sword being slid from its sheath.

The theater was silent. I could barely breathe. He couldn’t back down. He couldn’t let her win.

She pursed her mouth and glared at Walter. "I apologize for telling you the truth, Mr. Edison."

A whoosh swept through the theater like everyone had been holding their breath and let it out at once.

Not acceptable, Presul Wolff growled.

It’s the best I can do. She shrugged like the whole thing was incredibly tedious.

I wanted to scream. She was obviously trying to get the new director sacked. She’d hated him ever since he’d been hired, and she and her clique were always trying to prove he couldn’t keep control of the student company.

He was supposedly one of the best new directors in the empire. And definitely the steamiest—all dark curls, forest green eyes that contrasted with a warm brown complexion, and the muscled body of a dancer or fighter. When he wasn’t dealing with defiant academy students, he seemed kind too. It wasn’t his fault Delphine hated him.

I didn’t like to draw attention to myself, but…fine. Somebody had to do something.

I grabbed a small box from my bag, flipped it open, and pulled out a life-sized dragonfly. I slid a control band onto my wrist and quickly flipped a tiny switch on the band to power on the numerous steam nano engines inside the bracelet. They sent electromagnetic waves through the aether and to the dragonfly. Its iridescent wings came to life and its copper-plated body shivered.

I tossed it high over my head, and it took flight.

The tiny robotic creature soared through the air, straight for Delphine.

She shrieked and ducked her head, batting her arms at the device. The theater filled with gasps and murmurs, punctuated by a few giggles.

It dived at her again.

She squealed.

I veered it away before she could score a direct hit. It had taken me months to get it working and I didn’t want it damaged.

I landed it on Walter’s arm. It balanced there, its wings whirring and flexing. He studied it a moment, then looked out across the house until he found me. I saw the gratitude in his eyes, and I gave him a tiny smile before looking away.

Millicent Walsh and a couple other students in Delphine’s front-row crowd scrambled on stage. They cooed over the dragonfly, but I didn’t want them coming too close. I guided it back to me, where it landed on my finger.

Everyone applauded—except Delphine, of course. When they quieted, I nodded to Presul Wolff but avoided looking at him directly. How do you like my latest project? Robotic insects. I thought we could use them in the forest scenes. My pulse pounded, and my voice was higher than usual. I hoped he didn’t notice. It was awful feeling so nervous around him.

Delphine’s hatred radiated out at me. It burned my heart a little, in one corner that I couldn’t harden enough not to feel.

She sneered. Who cares about robotic insects? The audience comes to see actors, not Minx’s stupid toys.

I almost snapped back at her, but Presul Wolff beat me to it.

The audience comes to see an entire production, including the set. His voice was calm, his accent nearly hypnotic, but I could tell he was working hard to keep his temper.

He turned to me then, and for a second, I really thought I might do something totally cogged. Like faint. Or vomit.

Or tell him his eyes are pretty.

Oh god.

I clamped my mouth shut and grabbed the back of the seat in front of me with my left hand.

His eyes followed the movement of my hand. They traveled back up to my face. He held my gaze, steady, the hint of a smile on his lips but a little bashful like he saw what I was feeling and was flattered by it.

This was exactly what I’d been afraid of—every time he looked at me, I felt like he didn’t just look. He saw. All of me. All my secrets. It was terrifying and thrilling, and…I just wanted to die.

Beautiful, he said, looking straight at me.

My mouth dropped open a little, and I struggled to grab a few shallow breaths.

He inhaled suddenly and blinked, looking away. The dragonfly, that is. He gestured to it with a wave of his fingers, glancing indirectly at me. We should…ah…use it. In the play. That would be…good, yeah.

I heard a few muffled giggles. Great.

He winced slightly at the spattering of laughter. Seeing him act so awkward made me feel a little better.

He made a show of consulting his copy of the script. Right, then. Let’s take it from Orlando’s entrance.

Smart move. Orlando was being played by Bennet Mason. Delphine wouldn’t yell insults at him. She liked to make a big deal of being in love with him. It always felt a bit fake to me, though. But Bennet seemed perfectly happy to go along with it, so who knew for sure?

As they began the new scene, Walter slipped out of the theater. I hoped he would be all right. I would have gone after him to make sure, but I didn’t like to be alone with most boys. Plus, I never knew what to say to people when they were upset. He’d be better off without my clumsy attempts at comforting him.

I sank back into my seat, breathing slowly and deeply to calm the panic surging in me. It was a huge relief to have Presul Wolff’s attention elsewhere and not on me anymore.

Well-played, Miss Mellor. Jasper Flannery plopped into the seat next to me hard enough to rock the whole end of the row. Chester Lawler was close behind.

Unreasonable terror exploded inside me at their sudden appearance, and I bit back a scream. Forcing my heartbeat to steady, I nodded at them. Mr. Flannery. Mr. Lawler. They were both seventh-year lighting students, and you rarely saw one without the other.

Thou art a wily wench and hast crossed the swords of wit most impressively against thy bitchy opponent, Jasper said in a low voice.

Even though my blood was still pounding a bit too hard, I couldn’t resist grinning at him. You are so cogged.

This is what I’ve been telling him, Chester said, peeking around Jasper at me.

Jasper put his hands to his chest, crossing his prosthetic right hand with his left. You wound me, both of you.

Drama queen, I muttered.

Presul Wolff vaulted up onto the low stage to show Delphine and Bennet the blocking he wanted for the scene. Hopping onto a stage in a full morning suit—complete with tails and a cravat around his neck—should have looked ridiculous, but he made it look athletic and graceful. Watching him made me want things I didn’t want to want. Especially not from someone like him.

I swallowed down the ache in my throat and glanced at Jasper. Think he’ll last? I nodded toward Presul Wolff, who was now glaring at Delphine for arguing with him over the blocking.

There’re bets on that, you know, whispered Chester. Most of the seventh-years have placed wagers.

Seriously? I smothered my laugh. How are the odds?

Three to one, in favor of the presul, Jasper replied.

Really? I eyed our director. God, he was steam-hot. Sure that’s not just wishful thinking?

Chester shrugged. Could be. You know we’re throwing a huge party when your lot leaves.

Hey! I reached around Jasper and gave Chester a playful slap on the shoulder. I lowered my voice. What have you got against eighth-years? We’re not so bad.

Jasper leaned toward me. You, we love. He flicked the fingers of his left hand toward Delphine. It’s she and her friends we’ll be glad to get rid of. He grinned and put his arm around my shoulder.

I froze. Trying to keep my smile on my face, I scooted forward until he wasn’t touching me anymore. Sitting on the edge of my seat, I fought back the sickening panic that was never far away. To make it look natural, I leaned my elbows on the chair back in front of me and set my chin in my hand, watching the director.

He was pretty young, about twenty from what I’d heard. But everything about him was so elegant and confident, he seemed way more grown up than the rest of us, even if he was only a bit more than a year older than me.

He was some kind of genius too. We’d heard he graduated from a theater academy in Caerdydd, in the province of Cymru, when he was only sixteen. He stayed on after that to direct their student company until he was eighteen when they promoted him to an assistant director. When Master Fenrey announced that he’d hired Dietrich Wolff to be our student company director, you’d have thought he’d hired the Crown Prince himself. He was that proud.

I wasn’t sure what was in it for Presul Wolff, though. Why would he go back to directing a student company when he could have looked for an assistant director position? Maybe it was the increased prestige of working in Aldwych. He didn’t seem to be the ambitious sort, though.

Smart, elegant, almost-famous. And those amazing eyes that were warm and mysterious all at once. If it weren’t for his directing magic and the terror it woke in me, I’d be just as in love with Presul Wolff as at least half the other students, and a good amount of Guild members, were.

Here. A handkerchief flopped over my shoulder. You need this.

I twisted around to see Jasper smirking at me. What for? I batted the handkerchief away. Who knew where that thing had been?

To wipe away the drool.

Ew. What are you talking about?

Chester smiled sweetly. The drool over the presul. He looked at Presul Wolff and then back at me, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Not that I blame you.

Jasper snorted. Should I be jealous?

Oh, please. You’ve studied his arse so much, you could pass an exam on it. Chester scowled at Jasper but softened it with a fond wink.

I groaned. Enough! I was not drooling. Over Presul Wolff or anyone else.

Chester gave me an overly-polite nod of his head. I hate to argue with a lady, Miss Mellor, but the lust energy from this part of the theater could have powered a small brothel.

Jasper nodded. It would be a definite ten on a lust-o-scope.

You cog. I jabbed his arm with my elbow. It would be a lust-o-meter, not a lust-o-scope.

I leave the gadgets and devices to you. I was merely doing my duty as a gentleman, aiding you in your time of need—

If I was lusting after Dietrich Wolff, I murmured, leaning close to them to keep my voice low and a little wicked, which I certainly was not, it would not be your handkerchief that I would need.

Unless you were planning to polish his telescope.

Clean his pistons, Chester added.

Tighten his nuts. I plucked the hanky from Jasper with my thumb and forefinger.

He snatched it back. You can’t do that with a handkerchief.

I grinned. Watch me.

Chester swallowed a laugh. It burst out his nose instead, and both boys sniggered even harder.

I giggled with them, hating myself a little for having to always play this part with the boys. I had them all convinced I was a carefree flirt with a dirty mind.

They didn’t know how afraid of them I actually was. It wasn’t so bad with Jasper and Chester since they really did have eyes only for each other. But it still wasn’t easy to sit here with them without panicking.

Presul Wolff! Delphine’s insistent voice sliced through our muffled snickers. How am I supposed to concentrate over all this noise?

He turned those expressive eyes toward us. My laughter faded.

Weary lines creased his face. Keep it down, please. It didn’t seem his heart was in the scolding. He turned back to Delphine, the tails of his morning coat swishing over that lovely arse. Miss Birdwell, your line.

Not wanting to get in trouble, I reached down into my bag and pulled out my sketch pad even though I had finished my set design and a sketch for a mechanical lion a week ago.

Jasper leaned down to peer at my bag. "Is that a Gazette?"

I pulled out the copy of the Illustrated Daily Gazette and handed it to him. Latest issue. Miss Harrison and Miss Forge bought it and gave it to me after they finished reading it. I haven’t had time to look at it.

The Gazette was a gossip tabloid full of lurid stories about celebrities, fashion, disasters, crimes, and intrigues. Occasionally, some of it was even true. Jasper and Chester huddled over it, snickering quietly.

Anything good? I whispered, keeping my eyes on my sketchbook.

Radicals got into it with Empire soldiers out in the Celvak wilds. Again, Chester replied.

Lady Kidley chartered eight airships for her thirty-second birthday party, Jasper added.

I wrinkled my nose. Who celebrates thirty-second birthdays?

Ooh, kracken attack. Jasper tilted the newspaper so I could see. Took down another kracken-proof ship.

I peered at the illustration of a giant squid in the side box labeled, How To Protect Yourself In a Kracken Attack.

Chester pointed to the side box. Maybe number one should be ‘Don’t sail the ship through kracken-infested water.’

I smothered a giggle. You’d both better get your light designs done.

They acted like they hadn’t heard me. Jasper nudged me. Says here Dame Fairchild has another secret lover. What’s that now, like fifteen?

Chester sniggered, but I couldn’t laugh at that one. They should leave her alone. She’d never cheat on Lord Deverey. She can’t afford it.

Jasper snorted. Neither can the theater.

True.

Nadine Fairchild was our lead actress at the theater and one of the biggest celebrities in the empire. I loved her with everything in me. She had saved my life three years ago—risking her fortune and her career to rescue me. I never understood why she had bothered, but the love she had poured out on me over the years made me wonder: who would do that for me but my own mother? It wasn’t something we could really talk about. I didn’t know how to ask—it would be humiliating if I were wrong.

And she was the mistress to the powerful Lord Deverey. Even if I was her child, she couldn’t acknowledge me without embarrassing her patron. He didn’t just pay her for being with him, he contributed loads of money to the theater too. Admitting to an illegitimate child was a scandal she couldn’t afford.

But she loved me. I knew that much. And I couldn’t help loving her in return. So I hated seeing her gossiped about in the papers. Those kinds of stories made her face turn white and her mouth pinch in fine lines. She would sigh and shake her head, looking worn. You’d think she’d be used to it by now, but it always seemed to bother her anyway.

Jasper nudged me again. When I glanced at him, his face was somber. Extending a gleaming brass and wooden finger, he pointed to another article, on the opposite page from the kracken attack story.

Celebrated Actor Becomes Third Peacock Victim

Ice sludged through me. I scanned the article about the latest Guild member we’d lost to the serial killer the press had nicknamed The Peacock.

I looked up at the boys’ grim faces. I heard some Guild members talking about it last night. My throat tightened. I never met Sir Alexander, but Dame Fairchild always said he was one of the nicest men she’d ever met.

What if the Peacock comes here? Jasper whispered.

That was the fear, creeping like a slow fog into every theater in Aldwych. What if we’re next? The murderer seemed to be going after our top actors and actresses, and from the rumors, the police had zero leads to go on so far. Guild members like Dame Fairchild and Sir Alexander, and our own Sir Harrington, were more than just celebrities to us students—they were our mentors, teachers, and the closest thing to family most of us would ever have. And now they were being murdered one by one, and no one had figured out a way to stop it.

Jasper and Chester suddenly looked so young, almost lost. They’d never experienced real terror before. But I had. I’d lived it. Seeing their fear made me feel years older, instead of only two.

I gnawed on my bottom lip and glanced back down at the article. On the opposite page was the illustration of the kracken, and this gave me an idea.

Hey, I whispered to the boys, watch this. I picked up my pencil and opened my sketchbook to a new page. While Delphine continued to flounce through her scene and argue with Presul Wolff, I quickly sketched a cartoon of her as a giant kracken, tentacles wrapping around a ship’s hull.

The boys snickered, and the pale worry gradually eased from their faces. My distraction was working.

I added a few bodies, dressed in our student uniforms, sticking out of Delphine-Kracken’s mouth.

Jasper and Chester laughed a little louder and started giving me suggestions for additions. I sketched more little students and audience members on the ship’s deck, their faces wearing expressions of adoration, even as the Delphine-Kracken devoured their friends. By the time I was finished, the boys’ faces were both flushed and they were shaking, trying to hold in their laughter.

I penciled in her name along one curling tentacle: Delphine the…

No, wait. I erased the De from her name and added Hel. Now it read Hellphine. Hellphine…the Harpy. Yes, I’d drawn her as a kracken and not a harpy, but the alliteration was too funny to resist. Jasper hooted softly, and Chester elbowed him to hush.

Smirking, I added in a few more details.

By the time I was done, all three of us were giggling out loud. The sound ricocheted into a sudden silence.

Damn.

Minx! Delphine bellowed, Is something amusing?

There was nothing to do but brazen my way through it. I raised an eyebrow. Yes.

I went back to my drawing, letting a few more giggles escape on purpose. Now that I was center of attention again, I might as well give a good show.

Perhaps you should share it with us so we can all be entertained.

Mmm. Tempting. But…no.

She huffed and stomped in front of Presul Wolff. This is ridiculous. Are you going to let her get away with being so rude?

Wearily, he stepped down off the stage. He walked toward me, and I could feel his magic pressing into my personal space before he reached me. I stood because that’s what you do when there’s someone of higher rank walking toward you. My pulse raced, and I focused hard on fighting back the panic.

Miss Mellor, he said, all trace of his previous awkwardness gone, do you have the mechanical lion sketch for Act Four?

Of course. I had it finished last week. I was surprised my voice sounded as steady as it did. Hastily, I grabbed my sketchbook from the arm of the seat and pulled out the page the lion sketch was drawn on. I handed it over, trying to ignore my sudden dizziness and the black spots in my vision.

Breathe. Don’t faint.

A flare of amusement lit his eyes as he studied the sketch. Huh. I expected approval—it was a good sketch—but it wasn’t funny. Then he clamped his lips tight, forcing away any threat of a smile, and turned a stern gaze on me.

I leaned closer to peer over the page, trying to figure out what displeased him.

Bloody hell—I hadn’t given him the lion sketch. I’d given him the Hellphine sketch.

I was a cog. I reeked of cogocity.

I braced myself for his response. I could feel the curiosity from the others in the theater as they watched us.

Slowly, he handed the page back to me, his expression carefully neutral.

Juvenile, he said, drawing out each syllable in a drawl that sent shivers through me. Then he lowered his head, turning slightly toward the back of the house, and spoke so softly that even Jasper and Chester wouldn’t be able to hear. And you mixed your metaphors. The low tone was laced with laughter. He flicked the word harpy with his fingers.

My face felt hot, and my mind flooded with visions of his lips on my cheek and sliding along my neck, chiding me in soft whispers for mixing my metaphors. At the same time, his magic wound around me like a chain around my neck, and I wanted to scramble over the rows of seats to get away from him.

I stared at the sketch, willing myself not to react—no shiver, no increased breathing, no looking at anyone. No cringing. No whimpers.

I stood tall and silently retrieved the correct sketch. He took it, and I could feel his gaze on me, assessing, wondering, trying to figure me out. Once more, he leaned slightly closer. A word after rehearsal, please.

Nodding, I stared at my clasped hands until he returned to the front of the house. As I returned to my seat, I saw the smug expression on Delphine’s face and the curious stares of everyone else. She had no way of knowing exactly what I’d drawn, but it was obvious that I’d gotten in trouble for it.

The room tilted around me, and I put my head down between my knees, sucking in air and hoping it looked like I was just putting books into my bag.

Rehearsal was dismissed, and soon, everyone else had gone. I raised my head and saw that Presul Wolff was leaning against the stage, waiting for me.

I gathered my bag and the remains of my courage and went to join him.

Chapter Two

When I reached the front of the house, I stopped, hefting my bag higher over my shoulder and running a sweaty palm over the striped fabric of my student uniform skirt. I am so sorry about the sketch. She and I have never gotten along, I explained in a rush. I shouldn’t antagonize her. It’s—

He shook his head, waving aside my explanations with his hand. I waited for him to speak, but he didn’t. He just studied me with those fathomless eyes. I knew he sensed my magic—directors and performers with magic always recognized each other’s powers. I saw his confusion—the technomancy that allowed me to create robotic insects didn’t match the other, much rarer magic he surely sensed in me. But I wasn’t about to explain it to him.

Again, he shook his head. That’s not why you’re here.

I startled. Wait…what? If he was also a psychic like my friend Thea, then I was seriously screwn.

The sketch. You don’t need to apologize for it.

I exhaled, blood pulsing through my head. Oh. All right. Then why—

She’s trying to get me sacked, isn’t she? He turned to face the stage and leaned his forearms on the edge of the platform.

I hesitated. This was a Guild member, a director. A man whose magic terrified me. And it seemed like he wanted to talk to me like I was someone important.

Like a friend.

And that didn’t make sense because he should know better than to befriend me. And not because he was older or a Guild member. Student were allowed, and even encouraged, to socialize with younger Theatrical Guild members, as long as the Guild member was not a teacher and was not more than two years older than the student. The policy was meant to protect younger students while allowing the oldest students to transition smoothly from the academy to the larger theater community. Our art depended on excellent teamwork and good relationships with each other, so it made sense.

Since I was about a year older than the other eighth years, Presul Wolff was well within that two year range from me, and he wasn’t actually a teacher. Sure, directors often provided some level of instruction to the cast and crew as needed, and he might serve as a mentor for some of the academy’s directing students. But he was not considered faculty, and he had no influence over our marks in class or our ability to be inducted into the Theatrical Guild. So there was nothing wrong with him treating me as a peer.

But he knew what I was. He had to know, just as any presul would. And because he knew what I was, he should know we couldn’t be friends.

This was weird. He was up to something.

But I couldn’t just stand here refusing to talk, either. He and I could be peers, but he was also a director. Our theater functioned on a principle of mutual respect among directors, actors, and crew. As long as he wasn’t being inappropriate or threatening, I was expected to communicate politely with him. It was a perfectly reasonable expectation. But it didn’t mean I had to trust him.

So I took a breath and answered his question honestly. Sacked? I think she is, sir.

He dropped his head and ran his hands through his hair. Why?

I don’t know, sir.

He angled a piercing glance at me. And are the rest of you hoping she’ll succeed?

I shrugged. I don’t think ‘hoping’ is the right word, sir.

He flipped around again, his back against the stage, his arms crossed. The curls on top of his head were sticking up a bit, and his cravat was coming untucked. Would you stop calling me ‘sir’?

He looked frustrated. And sweet. Maybe not so scary.

Maybe all right to chat with.

My lips tilted in a tiny smirk. Yes, sir.

Some spark flared in his eyes. His face grew dusky rose, and he gave me a brief smile before looking away. Any idea why she’s trying to be rid of me?

I really didn’t want to answer that question. Chatting with him was one thing. But tattling to a Guild member about student conflicts tended to cause nothing but trouble. I’d already done that before but only because it had been essential. Explaining it to Dietrich Wolff was not essential.

Please, Miss Mellor. He faced me now, his moss-colored eyes deep and pleading. I’m not asking you to rat on Miss Birdwell. I’m just trying to understand what I’m dealing with.

How do you do that?

Do what?

Know what I’m thinking.

He shrugged, looking self-conscious. It was right there, he said, on your face. And besides, I remember how students are.

I had to steer this conversation off me. Immediately. I set my bag on the floor and joined him leaning against the stage. Our previous student company director was a zerk.

His eyes widened. Oh. He drew the word out. What kind of payments?

Oh the usual—one or two months of our allowance to get into the student company and then either more allowance or gifts to get roles or to be introduced to her Guild friends from other theaters.

Her? Most zerks are men.

Maybe so, but it didn’t seem to matter to her. These weren’t just the usual bribes, though. She liked to humiliate us, just because. Especially the younger ones. She’d walk right up to them and do things like smelling their armpits and mock them for having body odor. She also liked to write on us. If someone had pimples, she’d outline them in ink or write insults on our foreheads and make us guess what they said.

Director Wolff’s jaw clenched. His eyes had gone stormy. Master Fenrey let her get away with it?

He didn’t know. She was very careful.

He nodded grimly. So what happened?

She started pressuring some of the fourth and fifth years for sexual favors in order to get into the student company. When I heard about it, I confronted her. She said that she’d leave them alone if I’d make their ‘payments’ instead.

He looked horrified. What did you do?

We happened to be in the paint studio, so I dumped a bucket of paint over her head and went to tell Master Fenrey.

He laughed. Good for you. She was sacked?

Yes. Of course. Master Fenrey doesn’t put up with that kind of shit—to speak plainly.

I’m glad to know that. Then he frowned. How does Miss Birdwell fit into this?

She was a favorite. I don’t know what she did to get there, and I don’t want to know, but when our director was sacked, Miss Birdwell was furious. That woman was her idol, and I think she hates you simply because you took her place.

He let out a low whistle. And she hates you because you were the one that went to Master Fenrey.

Among other things, yes.

He lifted an eyebrow at that, but I didn’t want to tell him anything else.

He hoisted himself to sit on the stage. Do you think your former director is still making demands on her?

I doubt it. Master Fenrey tried to have her kicked out of the Guild, but she must have some powerful friends. I heard she took a directorship in Sardinia. And Master Fenrey wants to keep Miss Birdwell here after her graduation, so I can’t think of any hold Director Hyll would still have over her.

He was quiet for a moment. Then, I’m not like that, you know.

I know. I swallowed and clasped my hands tightly together in front of me. I stared out across the empty house of the practice theater.

Another pause. But you still don’t trust me.

My breath hitched. How had I let this get personal again? I don’t trust hardly anyone, Presul Wolff.

I see. He sounded regretful. I’m concerned about Miss Birdwell.

My head jerked toward him. Why?

She’s exhausted and worried sick about something.

But she hates you! She’s trying to ruin your career.

She’s hurting.

I snorted. You sound like Nadine.

Dame Fairchild?

I nodded. She’s always telling me, ‘Have more compassion for that poor girl, my dear.’ My lips curled in a scowl.

I take it you don’t agree?

Dark images flashed through my mind to the haunting melody of a calliope organ. I shuddered and forced the memories away. Lots of us are hurting, sir. But we’re not treating everyone else like dirt because of it. She still has a choice in how she acts, and I don’t think her nastiness should be excused just because her life is tough.

He studied me, his lips pressing into a respectful line. Well put, Miss Mellor.

I smiled tightly. "You’re not going