The tray held fruit. Plump, pink strawberries and shiny apples and . . .
“Bananas!” Chandra shrieked. She grabbed a piece of fruit off a passing tray and began peeling, as though she expected to see something else beneath the thick, yellow peel.
Ash stared, his mouth watering. The closest things they had to fruit in New Seattle were the chalky vitamin bars sold in Center-sanctioned outposts. He hadn’t eaten a banana in over two years, but he could still remember the sweet, almost creamy taste.
“Quiet,” Zora said, dropping a hand on Chandra’s arm. “We’re supposed to be keeping a low profile, remember?”
“But, Zora, bananas.” Chandra took an enormous bite, her eyelids drooping in pleasure. “Oh my God . . .”
“Let’s keep moving,” Zora said.
The crowd was slowly making their way toward a wide doorway at the far end of the lobby, their chattering growing louder and more excited. Ash could feel the energy radiating off them as they inched across the room. It sent nerves prickling over his skin.
Something was on the other side of that doorway, and he had a feeling it was a bit bigger than fruit and electricity.
“What do you think is going on up there?” Zora asked.
Ash shook his head. He had no idea.
The lobby opened into a grand ballroom, with high ceilings and cocktail tables scattered about. There were more guests in ball gowns and masks, more waiters carrying silver trays. A full brass band had been set up near the front of the room. Ash caught the glint of light off their instruments from the corner of his eye. He heard a deep voice croon:
“Oh, the shark, babe, has such teeth, dear. And it shows them pearly white . . .”
The hair on the back of his neck went up. He knew that song. It had been one of his father’s favorites. He craned his neck, trying to catch a better glimpse of those instruments.
And then the crowd began to thin. Ash could make out the shapes of strange objects over the tops of people’s heads. The golden corner of a gilded frame. A propeller. A gleaming, black statue.
Something cold hit the back of his throat. He stopped walking.
It was as though time had folded over itself so that objects from all different periods, things that never should have been in the same room together, suddenly . . . were.
There was a row of pinball machines set up against the far wall, lights flashing. Between them stood black onyx statuettes of Egyptian gods. A massive, white tusk hung from the ceiling.
Mammoth? Ash thought, frowning. It looked too large to belong to an elephant. He glanced down and saw a man hunched over what looked like a small, leather box a few feet away, squinting. It appeared to be some sort of camera.
Another silver tray drifted past them. This one was covered in snack cakes—Twinkies, Ho Hos . . . Little Debbie fudge brownies covered in nuts.
“Those brownies,” Zora muttered, turning to follow the silver tray with her eyes.
Ash swallowed, his throat feeling suddenly tight. The Professor used to love them, but they’d stopped making them after the flood.
A bell clanged, quieting the crowd. Ash inched toward a gap in the people. Through it, he could see that the brass band had stopped playing. Someone else stood in front of the microphone. Ash felt a strange, cold anger move inside him.
Roman wore a tuxedo. His dark hair was slicked back from his face, and he had a white mask perched over one eye and cheek.
Ash’s hands curled into fists. Before he’d joined the Black Cirkus, Roman had been the Professor’s assistant and one of Ash’s best friends. And then he’d betrayed them all by stealing the Professor’s research and joining the Black Cirkus.
“What’s happening?” Chandra murmured, pushing up beside Ash. “I can’t see anything.”
“Quiet,” muttered Zora. “I want to hear what he has to say.”
Roman raised both hands. He grinned, but his eyes stayed cool. “Good evening,” he said.
Ash’s eyes passed over him and landed, instead, on the figure standing beside him on the stage. Quinn Fox.
For the first time that Ash could remember, she wasn’t hidden beneath her dark cloak or mask. Instead, she wore a floaty blue gown with loose skirts. She had her head tilted toward the back of the room, tangled white hair cascading over her bare face.
Look at me, Ash thought.
“. . . want to thank you for coming,” Roman was saying. “I hope you’re enjoying the