On the table sat a handkerchief, a book, and a knife. Zezolla picked them up one at a time, slowly comprehending what it all meant. When she turned around she had tears in her eyes. “Oh Madrina, can I really?”
The old woman sat on her three-legged stool. The basement was dark except for one candle. Somewhere in the dark there was a hissing sound, and unseen things scurried around both women’s feet, but neither minded. “It's a fool idea and I'll live to regret it, but I did promise,” said Madrina. “You know the rules, though: only until the first stroke of midnight. After that there'll be hell to pay.”
Zezolla nodded, practically jumping up and down. She picked up the knife. It was a little paring knife from right out of the drawer in the kitchen. Madrina said only idiots insisted on special tools for magic. Anything with an edge works just as well. “You remember how?” Madrina said. Zezolla nodded again. She pricked her wrist and let the blood dribble onto the book's last blank page. Then she used the knife's point like a pen, scribbling bloody words as best she could, careful not to tear the paper. When she finished she tied the handkerchief around her arm and let the blood soak into it too.
When she turned around her clothes had changed into a dazzling gown, and her hair was coiled up on her head, and delicate, glass-blue shoes sat on her dainty feet. She giggled and practiced a few steps in them. Seeing Madrina's expression she stuck out her lower lip. “Now Madrina, don't be disapproving. Please?”
The old woman sighed and patted the girl on the shoulder. “Don't mind your Madrina. It's my job to worry about you Just go and have fun. Make it worth it.”
Zezolla’s eyes gleamed. “I will.”
A car waited for her outside. In the shadows, something hissed.
***
Raj needed another drink. He'd just finished his last one. He was halfway back to the bar when Joseph pulled him aside. “Slow down before you embarrass yourself.”
“I'm already embarrassed,” Raj said.
He wiped his sweaty face with the sleeve of his tux. The interior of the Opera House was hot from too many bodies crammed too close together. Everywhere he looked there were gray-haired men in tuxedos, middle-aged women in spangled dresses, and young people in waiter's uniforms. The lights throbbed and the room spun and his stomach twisted. Joseph frowned. “You’re a mess.”
Raj let Joseph push him out onto the balcony. The night air felt good. He gripped the handrail and sucked in oxygen. The sound of the party became a dull drone when the door closed behind him. Joseph brushed lint and dandruff off Raj’s shoulders. “Your mother would kill us stone dead if she saw you like this. How many have you had?”
“It's not the drinks, it's the party. I get nauseous around crowds.”
“Stand up straight,” Joseph said, fixing Raj's tie. Raj tugged it back out of shape again a moment later and then regretted it. Of all his mother's PA's he disliked Joseph the least and he shouldn't go out of his way to make the man's job any harder. If Joseph's disapproving looks just didn't remind Raj so much of his mother's own...
“There, you look almost respectable,” Joseph said. “I'm going to give you five minutes out here and then you're going to come back in and do your job: smile, shake hands, and collect checks. Think about the season.”
“No one in there cares about the season.”
“I care and you care, so that's two. This will all be worth it when you see it on the stage.” Joseph patted him on the shoulder in an almost fatherly way and left. Raj drooped over the railing again. He could feel a migraine coming on. It wasn't here yet, but as soon as he went back through those doors...
More people were coming. He saw cars stretched around the block and a line of cummerbunds and sequins out the door beneath him. He took so many deep breaths that his lungs ached. Smile, shake hands, collect checks, he told himself. He went back inside. The party swallowed him.
Rather than go back to the bar like he wanted he headed to the main stairwell. I'll greet the new arrivals as they come in, he thought. It'll seem gracious but I won't have to talk to anyone for very long. He parked himself underneath the banner of Kochetkova in her “Cinderella” costume and conjured the best smile he could. He probably looked like a jack-o-lantern but no one seemed to mind. He hailed most of the guests by name and exchanged a few words with each. Most stopped to make small talk about his mother's company or about the ballet (he responded to both with the same polite noises) and then moved on.
But the line was never-ending. His hand was soon damp from shaking so many others and his elbow grew sore from the pumping motion. How long had he been here? Surely it was almost time to leave? Surely Mother would show up soon and he could—
“Oh my, you look nice. Would you like to dance?”
Raj blinked. It took a second for the meaning of the question to register and another for him to figure out who said it. She was a very young woman, probably only college-age, and on the short side. Her gown was satiny and fine, and she seemed to float as she walked in little glass-blue slippers. She wore a strangely colored handkerchief tied around one arm.
“Um, hello,” Raj said, with some difficulty. “Have we met?”
“Never once. I'm Zezolla. Would you like to dance?” she said again.
“I don't really know...” People were walking by and a few looked as if they wanted to talk to him, but he ignored them. He couldn't take his eyes off the strange woman “Would you like a drink?” he found himself saying.
“That sounds fun,” she said, and without warning she slipped her tiny hand into his and pulled him to the bar. The crowd parted around them. The feeling of her delicate fingers made Raj's heart leap. Soon they were looking at each other over the rims of fizzy champagne glasses. The crowd meant they had to stand very close together. “The bubbles tickle,” Zezolla said, sounding surprised. There was a little edge to her voice that suggested that the drink went straight to her head. Her cheeks even flushed.
“I don't think I've ever seen you at one of these things before,” Raj said, wishing he could think of something more interesting to open with.
“I've never been. In fact, this is my very first party ever. I'm not usually allowed.”
Raj frowned for a second. What did that mean? She was obviously too old for strict parents. But that thought reminded him why he was here, and a dark cloud dimmed his mood. “I'm at these things constantly. My mother is on the ballet's artistic board. My stepmother, technically. That means she does a lot of fundraising, and I usually help.”
“That's very sweet,” Zezolla said. Raj wanted to say that, in fact, it was anything but sweet, that it was close to emotional blackmail and that one of these days it was going to push him right off the deep end, assuming he wasn’t in the deepest end already.
On the table sat a handkerchief, a book, and a knife. Zezolla picked them up one at a time, slowly comprehending what it all meant. When she turned around she had tears in her eyes. “Oh Madrina, can I really?”
The old woman sat on her three-legged stool. The basement was dark except for one candle. Somewhere in the dark there was a hissing sound, and unseen things scurried around both women’s feet, but neither minded. “It's a fool idea and I'll live to regret it, but I did promise,” said Madrina. “You know the rules, though: only until the first stroke of midnight. After that there'll be hell to pay.”
Zezolla nodded, practically jumping up and down. She picked up the knife. It was a little paring knife from right out of the drawer in the kitchen. Madrina said only idiots insisted on special tools for magic. Anything with an edge works just as well. “You remember how?” Madrina said. Zezolla nodded again. She pricked her wrist and let the blood dribble onto the book's last blank page. Then she used the knife's point like a pen, scribbling bloody words as best she could, careful not to tear the paper. When she finished she tied the handkerchief around her arm and let the blood soak into it too.
When she turned around her clothes had changed into a dazzling gown, and her hair was coiled up on her head, and delicate, glass-blue shoes sat on her dainty feet. She giggled and practiced a few steps in them. Seeing Madrina's expression she stuck out her lower lip. “Now Madrina, don't be disapproving. Please?”
The old woman sighed and patted the girl on the shoulder. “Don't mind your Madrina. It's my job to worry about you Just go and have fun. Make it worth it.”
Zezolla’s eyes gleamed. “I will.”
A car waited for her outside. In the shadows, something hissed.
***
Raj needed another drink. He'd just finished his last one. He was halfway back to the bar when Joseph pulled him aside. “Slow down before you embarrass yourself.”
“I'm already embarrassed,” Raj said.
He wiped his sweaty face with the sleeve of his tux. The interior of the Opera House was hot from too many bodies crammed too close together. Everywhere he looked there were gray-haired men in tuxedos, middle-aged women in spangled dresses, and young people in waiter's uniforms. The lights throbbed and the room spun and his stomach twisted. Joseph frowned. “You’re a mess.”
Raj let Joseph push him out onto the balcony. The night air felt good. He gripped the handrail and sucked in oxygen. The sound of the party became a dull drone when the door closed behind him. Joseph brushed lint and dandruff off Raj’s shoulders. “Your mother would kill us stone dead if she saw you like this. How many have you had?”
“It's not the drinks, it's the party. I get nauseous around crowds.”
“Stand up straight,” Joseph said, fixing Raj's tie. Raj tugged it back out of shape again a moment later and then regretted it. Of all his mother's PA's he disliked Joseph the least and he shouldn't go out of his way to make the man's job any harder. If Joseph's disapproving looks just didn't remind Raj so much of his mother's own...
“There, you look almost respectable,” Joseph said. “I'm going to give you five minutes out here and then you're going to come back in and do your job: smile, shake hands, and collect checks. Think about the season.”
“No one in there cares about the season.”
“I care and you care, so that's two. This will all be worth it when you see it on the stage.” Joseph patted him on the shoulder in an almost fatherly way and left. Raj drooped over the railing again. He could feel a migraine coming on. It wasn't here yet, but as soon as he went back through those doors...
More people were coming. He saw cars stretched around the block and a line of cummerbunds and sequins out the door beneath him. He took so many deep breaths that his lungs ached. Smile, shake hands, collect checks, he told himself. He went back inside. The party swallowed him.
Rather than go back to the bar like he wanted he headed to the main stairwell. I'll greet the new arrivals as they come in, he thought. It'll seem gracious but I won't have to talk to anyone for very long. He parked himself underneath the banner of Kochetkova in her “Cinderella” costume and conjured the best smile he could. He probably looked like a jack-o-lantern but no one seemed to mind. He hailed most of the guests by name and exchanged a few words with each. Most stopped to make small talk about his mother's company or about the ballet (he responded to both with the same polite noises) and then moved on.
But the line was never-ending. His hand was soon damp from shaking so many others and his elbow grew sore from the pumping motion. How long had he been here? Surely it was almost time to leave? Surely Mother would show up soon and he could—
“Oh my, you look nice. Would you like to dance?”
Raj blinked. It took a second for the meaning of the question to register and another for him to figure out who said it. She was a very young woman, probably only college-age, and on the short side. Her gown was satiny and fine, and she seemed to float as she walked in little glass-blue slippers. She wore a strangely colored handkerchief tied around one arm.
“Um, hello,” Raj said, with some difficulty. “Have we met?”
“Never once. I'm Zezolla. Would you like to dance?” she said again.
“I don't really know...” People were walking by and a few looked as if they wanted to talk to him, but he ignored them. He couldn't take his eyes off the strange woman “Would you like a drink?” he found himself saying.
“That sounds fun,” she said, and without warning she slipped her tiny hand into his and pulled him to the bar. The crowd parted around them. The feeling of her delicate fingers made Raj's heart leap. Soon they were looking at each other over the rims of fizzy champagne glasses. The crowd meant they had to stand very close together. “The bubbles tickle,” Zezolla said, sounding surprised. There was a little edge to her voice that suggested that the drink went straight to her head. Her cheeks even flushed.
“I don't think I've ever seen you at one of these things before,” Raj said, wishing he could think of something more interesting to open with.
“I've never been. In fact, this is my very first party ever. I'm not usually allowed.”
Raj frowned for a second. What did that mean? She was obviously too old for strict parents. But that thought reminded him why he was here, and a dark cloud dimmed his mood. “I'm at these things constantly. My mother is on the ballet's artistic board. My stepmother, technically. That means she does a lot of fundraising, and I usually help.”
“That's very sweet,” Zezolla said. Raj wanted to say that, in fact, it was anything but sweet, that it was close to emotional blackmail and that one of these days it was going to push him right off the deep end, assuming he wasn’t in the deepest end already.
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