Part 28 (2/2)
The Stage Manager made a startled noise, his mouth falling open in an unbecoming gape. ”He didn't say anything to me.”
Bertie clutched the scrimshaw, but there was no artifice to strip away from him this time, no foul trace of trickery to his words. ”He must have forgotten.”
”Of course,” the Stage Manager said. ”So many things going on, the commotion, the chaos . . . it must have slipped his mind.”
”It couldn't have been sabotage.” Bertie shook her head. ”The Theater Manager wouldn't do that to me.”
Just as he wouldn't have put live asps in the basket?
She looked at the half-finished sets, the open cans of paint, and the characters in various stages of costuming. ”No one will come. No audience, no performance, no chance to stay.”
”As much as it pains me to say this, fixing The Book might be considered an invaluable contribution.” The words were tiny stones, caught in his throat and forced past his lips grudgingly.
Startled, Bertie could barely manage, ”Thank you. But I didn't even do that right. There's still a page missing.” She eyed the announcements with a fresh burst of incredulity. ”I have been thwarted at every turn by bits of paper.”
Ariel appeared and took the parchment-and-gold-ink burden from the Stage Manager. ”I'll deliver them.”
”Absolutely not. It's out of the question.” Bertie tried to take the announcements away from him, but he only turned to the side and blocked her with his shoulder.
”Why?”
Bertie shook her head until she was dizzy. ”You're the one who wanted freedom so badly that you nearly destroyed everything.”
”You imprisoned me because you feared for The Book and the Theatre,” he countered. ”You don't need my page to safeguard this place any longer.”
Bertie turned her back on him and his insane suggestions. ”It's over, Ariel. The Theater Manager got his way. I might as well start packing.”
Ariel's voice reached around her; cool and seductive, it was just the sort of voice that would convince reluctant patrons of the arts to venture to her performance on so little notice. ”Trust in me.”
”I'd rather stick a hot poker somewhere vital.”
”As delightful as that sounds, you know that I'm the only one who can travel on the wind, the only one who can reach every house in time.”
”I don't question that you can do it, Ariel. I question that you'll come back.” Bertie's real fear slipped out before she could stop it.
”Why would you worry about that?”
She turned around and searched his eyes for some hint he was lying, any excuse to deny him, but the scrimshaw showed her the truth: The collar had restrained his winds but not killed them. They uncoiled from behind the shadows, ready to surround her, to lift her up, to carry her away with only Ariel's silk-clad arms wrapped about her to keep her from falling.
Spirare, they whispered to her like an incantation. Breathe us in.
Bertie didn't mean to, but she inhaled, and everything inside her was a spring morning, a rose opening its petals to the sun, the light coming through the wavering gla.s.s of an old, diamond-paned window.
Tendrils of wind reached for Bertie with a coaxing hand. Release him, and he will love you.
”Bertie,” he said.
If Ariel says he loves me, I might just die. Right here, right now . . .
”I told you it would come to this.”
Her relief almost matched her disappointment, and she swallowed. ”I know.”
Ariel tilted his head. His hair, stirred by a hint of wind, fell to one side so she could see the collar, smooth and cold against his skin.
Bertie reached out before she could change her mind. She touched the circlet, and the two halves of the collar hit the stage with hollow, metallic pings that echoed in the silence. She stepped over them to reach The Book and turned to the page where Ariel made his first entrance. Looking at him as she did so, she ripped the page out.
Ariel's winds returned full force to gust around her, carrying the thousands of envelopes he'd promised to deliver. Caught in the eye of the storm, she thought for certain that he'd leave without so much as saying good-bye, but then Ariel's lips were on hers.
”Thank you,” he said against her mouth.
She pulled back to look into his eyes, and there it was: the unspoken promise that he would be back.
”Thank you,” Ariel said again before he leapt into the winds and rode the storm away from her. The two b.u.t.ter-flies deserted Bertie's hair to give chase, the announcements swooping after them like so many fallen leaves.
When he returns, it will be for me.
Despite her misgivings, she felt a dark thrill that it was she who'd been his savior at last.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.
I Could a
Tale Unfold
Exhausted, Bertie curled up in an auditorium chair only to have Ophelia appear like a genie, bearing a dome-covered silver platter big enough to hold a Christmas goose.
”What on earth do you have in there?” Bertie asked, startled.
”Food,” Ophelia said. ”The Green Room's repaired itself, and you haven't had a proper meal in days.”
Bertie's stomach rumbled in antic.i.p.ation.
”Proper?” Moth asked, appearing as though summoned.
”Meal?” Mustardseed joined them.
Ophelia took the cover off the tray. ”Turkey, cranberries, mashed potatoes . . .”
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