“No, no, no, no.” Erasmus shook a finger in the mayor’s face. “The show hall doesn’t have to be perfect, only passable.”
“Impatience breeds mistakes, Rayne.”
“And reluctance breeds nothing, Eilin,” Erasmus spat back. “I’ll be damned if I have to wait another day. Your people have had nothing to look forward to. What do you imagine they’ll think if you get behind schedule?”
Erasmus had a point. The people had practically nothing except the day to wake them. Nothing to fill their nights. The show, no matter how untraditional, would ignite interest. The first night was always one of hope and anticipation, for both the audience and contestants.
Not that anyone here took it all that seriously. The magicians milling about the stage levitated a stray scrap of paper over their heads like a game of toss and catch, unbeknownst to the stage manager. Each time the paper fell a little too close, they smothered their laughter, pretending to listen.
Daron looked away, a strange sense of loss pushing in like a blade. It was so easy for them. The level of camaraderie already surprised him. He supposed when they all had one common enemy, alliances would naturally form.
The common enemy in question, however, was late. And no one waited, with all manner of details left to finalize and run through. Most importantly, the order of performances.
Unsurprisingly, everyone wanted to go first.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, please!” Erasmus held his hands up, flustered by the match he’d lit amongst the group. The first performance always jump-started the night, the second would be held in direct comparison. And so on. One thing was for certain: nobody wanted that last slot—when the audience had grown so fatigued by the spectacle and ready for their beds.
The decisions were finalized right as the doors of the Alastor Place flew open. As if she’d timed it, Kallia strutted through, arm in arm with her assistant. The playful clicks of her heels stopped all chatter as she entered.
“I say,” Mayor Eilin declared, his face reddening. “We have a real show to put on. If you’re not going to take this competition seriously with a bit of punctuality, miss, you might as well turn in your keys and leave.”
“Admirable effort, Mister Mayor, but I’m quite all right with where I am,” Kallia called back as she and her partner continued down the aisle. A lioness stalking forward, meeting her prey more than her pride. “Besides, this rehearsal seemed more like a bit of hand-holding across the stage. It wasn’t even required, yet I came anyway.”
“At the expense of being placed in the last time slot.”
Kallia arrived at the foot of the stage, beaming. “Excellent.”
The corners of Daron’s lips tugged up a bit. Nothing would throw her. The men who had anticipated her disappointment appeared more agitated. Nobody more frustrated than Mayor Eilin, and nobody more delighted than Erasmus, who all but shoved past Daron.
“Oh darling, I’m so thrilled you’ve made it!” He clapped his hands eagerly. “Would you like a quick run of the—”
“No.” The mayor was the one wagging his finger now. “Showtime is upon us, and there’s simply no time. We can’t just favor a contestant with exceptions.”
“But we can sure single them out with insults, apparently.” Erasmus sniffed, straightening his shoulders. “Sorry, darling, I’m still fighting the stodgy old dogs for you.”
“No need.” Kallia gave a casual glance around. “A stage is a stage. I’ll manage.”
She was lying. She’d examined that stage this morning with all the intensity of an artist watching his muse before striking the canvas. She was far more focused than she let on. Maybe it was all part of her strategy: look the fool others expected, only to be three steps ahead.
When her eyes flitted over Daron, they paused.
“You be careful acting cocky so close to the show, miss,” one of the magicians on stage warned, in no way genuine. “It’s bad luck.”
“At least I’m here at all.” She threw her hands up. “I’m not the one who was so cocky he decided not to show up to rehearsal altogether.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We’re down a buffoon,” Kallia said flatly, nodding to the stage as if counting. “Where is Josev?”
The mayor glowered. “Impossible.” He studied his clipboard before him. “I could’ve sworn all our contestants were accounted for.”
“Then count again, Mister Mayor. Because I think the one who favors too much drink must’ve gotten himself lost onstage.”
Daron’s eyes swung back to the group, counting and recounting as everyone searched amongst themselves for Josev. But Kallia was