Revelle
: Chapter 15

Trys adjusted her black fringed gown one final time in the mirror. “Ready?”

“How do you manage to stuff so many dresses into a single suitcase?” I was wearing my only suit, the same one I’d worn my first night in Charmant. Roger had snuck our shirts into the Revelles’ laundry, so they were white and starched. But Trys seemed to have a dozen black gowns.

Using her pinkie, she scraped at the edges of her red lipstick. “I get them from other girls.”

Roger arched a brow. “You borrow? From my cousins?”

“I don’t borrow; I trade.” Trys kept her gaze trained on her reflection as she fixed her dark bob. “At the end of the night, when another girl compliments my gown, I offer to trade. We go into the bathroom and—voilà. New dresses for us both.”

“So complete strangers just—take their clothes off for you?”

“Don’t be jealous. We’ve been in Charmant so long, it’s either that or repeat outfits. Speaking of which, are we ever going to leave?”

Ah, our eventual departure. We’d avoided talking about it for two weeks. Given Roger’s broken ribs, it’d made sense to stay put, but now that he was back on his feet, we had no excuse.

“You want to leave, Trys?” Roger asked.

“I’m not quite done with this place,” she said evenly. “I like being around Dewey.”

“Dewey?” He wiggled his brows. “Or my sister?”

Trys ran a comb through her hair, pointedly ignoring his question. “How about you? Ready to leave your family already?”

“Being back hasn’t been terrible,” he said carefully. “I’ve successfully avoided Wolffe.”

“And Margaret,” I pointed out.

He flicked a piece of hay at me. “I could be convinced to stay a little longer. I forgot how fun it is to be a local celebrity. And it’s been nice not dealing with the bigots.”

His smile didn’t falter, but Trys and I exchanged a glance. Even though we were careful about our destinations, the three of us had gotten plenty of strange looks as we traveled together. Roger, with his golden-brown skin, had borne the brunt of it. “We’ll stay in Charmant as long as you’d like,” I said.

Roger sighed. “The longer we stay, the harder it is to leave.”

“How about we stay until the election?” Trys suggested. “That way, we’re here to support Dewey, but if we leave the day after, we’ll get to Michigan in time for the apple harvest.”

For the past two summers, the seasonal work at the orchards had been one of our best-paying jobs. Last year, we’d made enough to fund months of traveling.

Roger shrugged. “Works for me. How about you, Jame-o?”

That gave me and Luxe two weeks to replace out everything we could about my parents. “We leave after the election,” I agreed.

Trys checked her diamond-encrusted watch. “The Big Tent’s waiting. C’mon, boys.”

After sleeping in the barn for more than two weeks, the thunderous Revelle drums had become my nightly lullaby, and Wolffe’s taunting voice infiltrated my dreams. Still, nothing could prepare me for the thrill of entering the Big Tent on a Saturday night.

The curtains parted, releasing silvery wisps that curled like fingers around our waists, luring us deeper into the darkness. Colorful lights cut through the black, their flashes capturing the gorgeous faces that surrounded me before they disappeared again. Under the haze of cigar smoke and flashing lights, I couldn’t recognize a single Revelle in costume—though I could tell that Luxe wasn’t among them. Wolffe liked to keep the crowd starving for glimpses of the Radiant Ruby.

Magic wove its way into every sip. Each moment felt wonderfully exaggerated. I could hardly keep my wits about me as Roger waltzed us around the pit, laughing with his family. He could recognize them, at least. And his family treated us like royalty. More than once, I found myself caressed by amused dancers, Trys and Roger egging them on as I grew more flustered. When we finally made our way to Dewey’s seats, my cheeks already ached from laughing.

On the stage below, the flamethrowers caught torches while marching to a feverish drumbeat. With each fire hurtling toward them, I gasped, but their sultry smiles never faltered.

“Enjoying yourself, Jamison?” Dewey signaled for Trevor to bring us another round. Before I could refuse, the Edwardian slipped behind the row of personal guards Dewey had brought with him.

I nodded toward the pit. “They’re hardly paying attention down there.”

He chuckled. “They’re here for a different sort of entertainment.”

The flamethrowers caught their torches in unison and the crowd erupted in applause. “Is the show at the winter theater going to be this risqué every night?” I asked. “With a few tweaks, there could be a family-friendly version.”

“My great-grandfather tried that.” Roger hopped onto the railing. “He was murdered.”

Dewey winced. “That does seem like the sort of thing my family would have arranged. If I’m elected—”

“When you’re elected,” Trys interrupted.

“When I’m elected, I’ll put a Revelle in charge of the police. Want the job, Roger?”

“Handouts for your unqualified friends?” Roger tipped his hat to Dewey. “You’re going to make an excellent politician.”

“What are friends for, if not to spoil you with their riches?”

“If that’s the case, then I’m a crap friend.” I lifted my empty glass to the three of them.

As Roger and Dewey laughed, Trys positively beamed. For the last two weeks, she’d been trying to bring us all together.

Trevor returned with our drinks as the flamethrowers took their bow. Hopping off the railing, Roger slung an arm over his shoulder. “Would you like to have one with us?”

Trevor winced. “No, thank you.”

“You really mean that.” Roger pretended to look wounded.

“Why can’t Edwardians ignore questions?” I asked, careful not to direct my question at Trevor. It didn’t seem fair that he couldn’t choose not to answer.

“Why does Revelle magic only work with precious gemstones and not common rocks?” Dewey countered. “Why do Effigens have horns?”

“That, I’ve always wondered.” Roger leaned against the railing and swirled his drink. “Nana says it’s because their ancestors were European farmers who needed to look fierce so they could keep peasants from burning down their magical crops.”

“What did the friars teach you again, Jame-o?” Trys nudged Dewey. “You’ll love this.”

“They said Effigens were descendants of the devil himself. They said that about all of you, actually.”

“Amen to that.” Trys lifted her glass to her lips.

Roger smacked her arm, nearly knocking her drink to the ground. “That’s not a proper toast! In all this time, have you learned nothing from me?”

Trys groaned. “To Roger, for finally shaving that pathetic attempt at a beard.”

“No snarky toasts, Trysta dear. You know the rules.”

“Fine. To family.” Trys paused to look at each of us. “Blood and otherwise.”

I clinked my glass to hers. “To family.” And to replaceing mine.

Bourbon again. I’d consumed more bourbon in the last two weeks than I had before Prohibition.

The band switched to a fast-paced crowd favorite. In the pit, Revelles paired off with tourists, leading them in a furious dance of sorts, like a less ruthless Swap Trot.

Dewey set his glass down on the cocktail table. “I’m serious, though. If any of you decide to stay, you have a position in my new government. Even you, Jamison.”

Even magic-less, mainlander me. Except I wasn’t exactly a mainlander. Trys and Roger knew about the orphanage, but I doubted Trys had told her brother. He had far more important things to worry about than my lineage.

Trys pushed her bangs out of her eyes. “Any update on your investigation?”

His face darkened. “If Trevor’s magic is to be believed, no one had a damn thing to do with my attack. At least not yet. But tonight’s about letting loose, not worrying about our family. I even booked Wolffe’s nicest Fun House room after the show, for Luxe and me.”

For a long second, his words were just syllables. Pseudowords.

Roger looked impressed. “Finally, a Chronos who’s willing to try Revelle magic. I’ve been trying to get Trys to give it a shot all summer.”

“You’re going to give her a jewel, Dewey?” Trys asked.

Dewey shrugged, the diamond-shaped clock on his jacket rising and falling. “I’m thinking about it. It’s probably a good idea to get the customer’s experience.”

The customer’s experience. Of Luxe. In the Fun House, wielding that smoldering smile like a shield.

I took a long swig of bourbon, relishing its bite.

“See, Trys? You should have Colette give you the ‘customer’s experience.’”

“Will you shut up already?”

As they bickered, Dewey leaned closer to me. “As if I need to pay Luxe. We both know she owes me.”

Stunned, I stared at him, which only made him laugh harder. “You should have seen your face!” He patted me on the back as he tried—and failed—to stop laughing.

There weren’t many guys like Dewey at St. Douglas’s. For better or for worse, the friars beat any bravado out of us. But I’d met plenty of his type after the orphanage. Guys with big pockets and even bigger egos. Trys loved him all the same, and Roger didn’t seem to mind his constant bragging, but I was getting sick of the bootlegger and his “generosity.”

A dozen barbed retorts flew to my mouth—as if I had any right to defend Luxe. She was perfectly capable of refusing him.

Wasn’t she?

Dewey’s liquor filled the glass of every patron here. That’s what she’d been after that first night, when she’d pressed against me, asking me for what her family needed most.

And he’d given it to her. All the liquor in the world.

“Revelles don’t actually touch their customers,” I said carefully.

“I’m not exactly a customer, am I?” He picked up his crystal lowball glass and took a sip. “Luxe and I might have started courting as a way to drum up publicity, but the chemistry between us is real. To be perfectly frank, I think I’m falling in love with her.”

I nearly choked on the bourbon.

Such monumental words, yet he spoke them as if he were ordering a meal. He studied my reaction, his eyes not leaving my face, even as he took another sip.

I glanced back at Trys and Roger, who were laughing with Trevor by the executive suite curtains. “Do you think she feels the same?”

“I’m sure of it.”

I was going to rip that self-aggrandizing smirk right off his face. “But with the liquor and the winter theater—”

“Luxe and I understand each other.” Dewey smoothed the diamond-shaped clock on his lapel. “I can provide for her. I can keep her family safe and their coffers overflowing with jewels. With me, Luxe will become a truly respectable woman in Charmant.”

My jaws gnashed together. Her family meant more to her than anything. With their success in Dewey’s hands, there was no way to know how she truly felt about him.

Better that she did love him. Because if she didn’t, she’d fake it for the rest of her life. And with that pristine smile of hers, no one would know, especially not Dewey.

“I appreciate your candor, Jamison.” He sipped his drink, then patted his mouth with a folded handkerchief. “You know, until I made a name for myself bootlegging, girls practically knocked me over as they pushed me aside to chase after the jerks. Hell, my own parents want nothing to do with me, but they worshipped my brother, George, because he was as healthy as an ox. You see, I had fainting spells, which my father saw as a sign of weakness. But Luxe makes me feel like a million bucks.” He exhaled slowly, the sharp bite of gin lingering in the air. “She takes care of so many people, but I want to be the one who takes care of her.”

He really did care for her. And he needed to believe her feelings were real, not just part of the strange arrangement they’d made. Maybe I was wrong, and they were deeply in love. Maybe my judgment was clouded by my magical hangover, by that lingering pull to be near her.

But her smiles were as cryptic as ancient texts, and I was becoming a scholar. She was pretending with him, at least in part. I could feel it in my bones. He was going to test the limits of how far she was willing to take her act.

And there was nothing I could do about it.

The lights winked out. In the cloak of blackness, the crowd roared to life, my ears ringing as they reached a fever pitch.

Trys draped her arms around both of us. “C’mon, boys. Get on your feet.”

I tried to shake away the lingering sense of wrongness as Wolffe sauntered onto the stage. My second time at Luxe’s show. Once again in the executive box. In the exact same company.

In Charmant, history loved to repeat itself.

“Ladies and gentleman, monsters and misfits!” Wolffe bellowed. “We have a Revelle birthday tonight.”

A sizable chunk of the crowd cheered.

“She’s one in a milli-on,” he drawled. The crowd stomped their feet.

“You’ll only see a beauty like hers once a millennium.”

Terrible puns, even for Wolffe, but I could almost picture Millie beaming in the rafters.

“Call to her, you monsters of the night! She’s milling around backstage, waiting for you.”

“Mill-ie! Mill-ie!”

“Please wish a very happy birthday to the luscious, the irresistible, the one and only Miss Mildred Revelle!”

Millie swung over the crowd, her buxom figure dangling over the pit. We were on our feet, calling her name with the rest of them. The Revelle band somehow made “Happy Birthday” sound like a striptease. Millie swung from one side to the next, twisting upside down as she shimmied at her adoring fans. My ears rang as men and women alike screamed for her. There was going to be stiff competition for Millie in the Fun House tonight.

The thunderous applause rattled on until Wolffe silenced the crowd with a swing of his arm. “And you know who is with Millie tonight,” Wolffe drawled into the mic. “Coquettish Colette, and . . . Her Radiance Herself.”

The crowd’s response shook the ground beneath us, and my heart thundered along with it. Fools, all of us.

“It’s showtime!”

The band sprang into action, fighting to be heard over the Luxe-addicted audience.

By now I knew where to look.

She swooped from the sky, a single spotlight tracking her arc over the audience. Her costume was the most elaborate, of course: a snakeskin leotard of midnight black, hugging her lean muscles. And those lips, a tantalizing crimson, relaxed into a smile that drove the crowd wild. She was so beautiful it hurt to see her, knowing I’d never touch her again. But Dewey would.

Damnit. My magical hangover was particularly potent tonight.

She let go of the swing and I white-knuckled the railing—

She made it safely to Colette’s waiting arms, and air filled my lungs once more.

My God, this was more dangerous than I remembered. The urge to scream each time any of them let go of their bars . . .

“You okay, Jame-o?” Roger shouted in my ear.

I pressed my palm over my erratically beating heart. “Why isn’t there a safety net?”

“People spend more money when we perform without one. Here.” He pushed a drink into my hand. “Never watch sober.”

The crowd was ravenous as Luxe flipped through the air, landing on the stage. After spending time with her outside the Big Tent, I’d forgotten she could move like that.

Millie landed by Luxe’s side, and Luxe began to sing, accompanying the band as Colette twisted and twirled in a solo of sorts, contorting herself with mind-boggling grace.

There was something different about Luxe tonight. Her back was still straight with the star’s perfect posture, but her shoulders were less stiff. As she sang a particularly naughty lyric, she peeked at Millie, whose suggestive smile grew as if they’d just exchanged a joke.

Luxe was having fun.

I leaned forward. The possibility, however slight, that our conversation had somehow inspired her to try to enjoy herself tonight—it was intoxicating.

From the seat beside me, Dewey threw his hands in front of him, as if trying to steady himself. “I have to go.” He burst from his seat and disappeared through the curtains, a shocked Trevor trailing in his wake.

“Is he all right?” I shouted over the music. With any luck, he’d drunk too much and was vomiting on the curb, and Luxe would be all by herself in the Fun House.

Who was I kidding? He was handsome, rich, and possibly the future mayor. Luxe knew what she was doing. She probably wanted a night with him.

Before Trys could answer, the center of the stage rumbled and shook. From beneath Luxe and her cousins’ feet, a diamond-shaped platform broke free.

The crowd went wild as the three acrobats were lifted into the air. Luxe stood in the center, shoulder to shoulder with her cousins. There were still slight creases at the corners of her eyes, a nearly imperceptible strain—her magic, though she’d deny it.

The platform carried them right to Dewey’s seats, stopping so close, I could see the sweat glistening on their foreheads. Millie grinned at me, her cheeks shiny in the flashing silver lights. Colette winked at Trys, who tilted her head back and laughed uproariously.

And there was Luxe, a mere arm’s length away. She swung her legs over the ledge as if she were relaxing poolside, not floating above a sea of colorful, overeager top hats. Her siren’s song was the only thing I heard, each sweet note landing in my chest.

As those whiskey eyes met mine, the Big Tent faded away, until it was just the two of us again. Her smile softened, and if I didn’t know better, I could have sworn she felt it, too.

The crowd roared, snapping me out of my reverie.

Millie and Colette had leaped from the platform and grabbed Roger, to his utter delight. Luxe steadied his hands as Millie and Colette dragged him onto the floating stage. Roger tipped his hat and bowed to the pit, and the audience went wild. They remembered him, all right.

The band broke into a dazzling, dizzying tune and the cousins linked their arms, Roger included. Their feet kicked and twisted in a dance that was half kick line, half tap. It wasn’t particularly sexy, but their audience ate it up. Was this spontaneous, or had Wolffe approved?

With her arms entwined with her cousins’, Luxe glanced down at their feet and laughed—truly laughed. Colette said something in her ear, and Luxe’s face stretched into a pure, open-mouthed grin.

It was a genuine Luxe Revelle smile. No kaleidoscope. No mask.

I couldn’t breathe.

Spotting me staring at her, her eyes sparked. She stuck out her tongue, as if saying, See? A smile you’ve never seen.

A bark of laughter escaped me, and she held my gaze a heartbeat longer.

And another.

This was worse than the first time. I wasn’t leaping over the railing to touch her, but my insides were as warm and mushy as ice cream on a hot summer day.

The song ended in a flurry, and Roger did a forward flip onto the railing of our box seats. Balancing there, to the thrill of the crowd, he bowed again, tossing his hat to his admirers below. The diamond stage carried the acrobats back to the trapeze swings, where their performance continued.

Still I stood there, my melted ice cream of a rib cage rendering me useless. Motionless.

I’d do a hundred idiotic things if it meant seeing her smile like that again.

Magical hangover be damned. I was never going to get over her. But it didn’t matter how I felt about her; Luxe was with Dewey. No matter how many times she stole my heart, once the curtain closed, the ending would always be the same.

She’d always choose him.