Part 30 (2/2)

The tattered remnants of Bertie's restraint drifted away. Before she could stop herself, she threw her arms around Ariel's neck and kissed him, hearing the fairies' protest only as distant mosquito buzzing until one of them bit her on the back of the neck. With a half-m.u.f.fled yelp, she fell away from Ariel, giddy and stunned, but not the least bit sorry for her indiscretion.

”Pleased with the news?” he asked.

”As if you couldn't tell,” she said, a flush creeping up her neck. ”That leaves one flaming hoop left to jump through. I wish Mrs. Edith was here, so I could consult her bones about the chances for a standing ovation.”

”Speaking of costuming . . .” Ariel looked from her gloved hand clasped in his to her ringlets, the diamond earrings, the satin column of her dress. ”You look lovely this evening. I like what you've done with your hair.”

”Thank you, kind sir.” Bertie repeated the oft-practiced curtsy.

Down the hall, a door slammed. Gertrude had exited Dressing Room Ten and, even at this distance, Bertie could hear her muttering lines under her breath.

Gertrude spotted the group and bellowed, ”The moment I put on this wretched headdress, I forgot the end of my speech in the first act.”

”It's just nerves,” Bertie tried to rea.s.sure her. ”It will come back to you once you're onstage.”

”This was a terrible idea.” Gertrude shoved at the sleeves of her unfamiliar costume until Bertie heard the st.i.tches pop. ”Why are you even back here, making a nuisance of yourself?”

Distracted by the gentle pressure Ariel was applying to her hand, Bertie tried to remember exactly why she was backstage. ”It's almost time for the curtain to go up, and I wanted to wish you good luck-”

”Good luck?!” Gertrude screeched. ”You did not just say that to me! Oh! Oh!”

Bertie paled. ”I'm sorry! I meant 'break a leg'! Really, I did!”

”Overture and beginners, please.” The Call Boy shoved past them.

Gertrude chased after him. ”Tell me to break a leg, this instant! Tell me!”

Bertie shook her head at Ariel and extricated herself from his grip. ”Look what you made me do!”

”She'll be fine,” he countered. ”Perhaps she'll really break a leg, and we can send on the understudy in her place.”

The fairies dissolved into snickers as the door to Dressing Room Four opened. Ophelia glided into the hallway and lifted a hand to touch Bertie's curls.

”You look lovely,” she said. ”I do like to see you wearing something other than jeans.”

Bertie held very still and let Ophelia finish her ministrations. At such close proximity, Bertie was surprised to see tiny lines at the corners of the water-maiden's eyes, emphasized rather than obscured by the heavy application of eye shadow and mascara.

”Are you ready for the performance?” Bertie asked her.

Ophelia nodded. ”I find the restaging invigorating.”

”That's good to hear,” Ariel said. ”Gertrude just came through here, not the least bit invigorated.”

”Most of the Players are ill-equipped to deal with change,” Ophelia observed.

”You're not coming unglued,” Moth said.

”This isn't the first time I've improvised.” Even when Ophelia didn't move, the ends of her hair and gown swirled about her, as though caught in the ebb and flow of an unseen river. ”I've always walked the ragged edge.”

”That's a good line.” Ariel adjusted his cuff links, which seemed determined to flutter away.

”It is, isn't it? I'll have to remember to use it again.” Ophelia smiled at him with such brilliance that a never-before-seen dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth. ”I find my memory stirred by all the excitement tonight!”

With joyous steps, she started to walk, indicating that they should follow her. Her slippers skimmed the floor, and her robes billowed behind her in a silver stream, the flickering lining the same deep blue depths as the ocean.

The same deep blue of Cobalt Flame dye.

Bertie grasped the scrimshaw, wondering why she'd never before thought to use it to see into the heart of the water-maiden.

First Verena's skirts and now Ophelia's robes? What is Mrs. Edith hinting at?

Ophelia had all but disappeared into the red-lit gloom backstage, but she called from the darkness, ”Normally I wear white carnations. Those are for innocence. But I like the pink ones you sent to the Dressing Room even better.”

”I didn't send you the flowers,” Bertie said. ”Mrs. Edith went and fetched them.”

”Every flower has a meaning,” Ophelia sang out. ”I just have to remember what pink carnations are for.”

A dozen crew members shushed them, but Bertie chased the sound of the water-maiden's voice, which was the fading rush of water over stone. ”What do pink carnations mean?”

For an answer, there was only laughter that turned into a lullaby.

Still clutching the scrimshaw, Bertie followed her into the darkness. ”Ophelia! What do pink carnations mean?”

Pale blue light flared in the quick-change corner, illuminating Ophelia as she caught the silver fish of clarity. Her hands were unexpectedly warm, as was the kiss she pressed to Bertie's cheek. ”Not what they are for, Bertie, but who.”

”Who are pink carnations for, Ophelia?” Bertie asked a third time, her voice no more than the whisper of a lost child.

”Pink carnations,” Ophelia answered, ”are for mothers. I remember.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

Sweet and

Bitter Fancy

What do you remember?” Bertie whispered, fearing Ophelia's mind played tricks on them both.

The water-maiden held her close, as though afraid Bertie would slip away from her and be lost again to the memory currents. ”What happened when I left the Theatre. At least, I remember most of it. I remember . . .” She choked a bit before she finished. ”I remember you.”

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