The faces were familiar, even those of the Aggillon merchants and entertainers. Traveling a circuit that also included visits to each of Rimlight’s thirteen sister training compounds, most had come through before as circus performers, and before that as a theater troupe.
Their arrival had surprised her the first time. Knowing the Aggillon’s power and intellect, she found it incredible that they stooped to the task of entertaining participants. Gradually, though, she’d perceived that their entertainment was anything but frivolous. Forbidden to speak to participants except in superficial business interaction, their stories communicated what their conversations could not. Their songs recounted their history. Even the magician’s show was instructive—a warning in disguise of what lay ahead. For the Tohvani were once Aggillon, sharing the same abilities and intellect. And while the Aggil-lon would never deceive participants beyond the benign illusions of a magician’s act, the Tohvani would.
Roving idly across the bright colors and moving figures, Callie’s gaze snagged on something out of place—a gray, spindly-limbed form, barely visible, like a wisp of shifting fog. It stood between a blue-cloaked Gerry Felder and LaTeisha, elegant in a red velvet dress. As Gerry watched the crowd, he had his back to the apparition, but La-Teisha should have seen it. Apparently she didn’t, even though the minute Callie focused on it, it sharpened into solidity. The black eyes bored into her own, and she felt a gust of fear. Then Gerry stepped in front of it, and when he moved again, it was gone.
She scanned the crowd, seeking another glimpse, wondering in the end if she’d imagined it. Tohvani Watchers supposedly couldn’t manifest in Rimlight, and in the nine months since their arrival, she’d seen not one—even outside the walls. And between her hiking and cross-country skiing, she’d seen a lot of the outside.
“Ah, Miss Hayes! So you did come down.”
She turned at the familiar voice, grinning as Mr. Chapman joined her. “Meg said you weren’t planning to attend.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Good. You and Mr. Andrews work far too hard.” He glanced around. “Where is he, anyway?”
“Why do you think I’d know?”
Mr. C grinned. “Where there’s one of you, the other’s usually not far.”
“Really.”
His brown eyes twinkled. “Am I wrong?”
“He’s in the bathroom.” She gestured toward the portable tucked between the armorer’s wagon and a cart serving fry bread.
“Ah.” He leaned closer. “How was it for you going over that cliff today? You looked strong.”
“Thanks. It was good.”
“Did you have to count?”
“No. I used the link, like you suggested. Or tried to.” Counting backward by threes from one hundred was the method Gerry had suggested to help her control her panic. At first it was the only thing that worked. Lately, though, she’d been focusing on her link with Elhanu instead. “Once I went over the edge, I forgot all that and just concentrated on my technique. The next thing I knew I was down. Do you suppose I’ve got this licked?”
He squeezed her shoulder affectionately. “If not, you’re very close. I’m proud of you, lass. It’s not easy to overcome deep fears. Speaking of which”—he turned as Pierce rejoined them—“I see you managed to ask her.”
Pierce grinned sheepishly under the broad brim of his hat. “She said yes, too, just like you said she would.”
Callie cocked a brow at Mr. C, bemused. “I almost didn’t.”
“ ‘Almost’ doesn’t count, lass.” He clapped a hand on Pierce’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you down here, son.”
Pierce regarded him quizzically. “Afraid I’ll start brooding again?”
“Or studying—searching for that tidbit you think will convince everyone you’re right.”
“Which, of course, is nonexistent,” Pierce added, laughing.
Mr. C tilted his head in acknowledgment.
Pierce hooked a thumb on the front pocket of his jeans. “You were sure right about Morgan. It’s a miracle half the group didn’t troop out after him tonight.”
“You’re still the Guide, though,” Callie said. “And contrary to what you may think, most of these people do respect you.”
“Yeah, but for how long?” Pierce gazed over the crowd. “Everyone’s getting restless. And let’s face it—I don’t have Morgan’s charisma.”
Callie frowned, wondering where he’d gotten this charisma business, and how he could think there was any comparison. Before she could reprove him, however, Mr. C was already doing so.
“Don’t sell yourself short, young man,” he said sternly. “These people don’t need charisma. They need hard work and the truth— exactly what you’ve given them. You’ve done very well here, and I believe you’ll do even better out there. Popularity isn’t everything. In fact, it isn’t anything when you get right down to it. The majority is rarely right.”
Pierce snorted.
Mr. C squeezed his shoulder and released him. “But, hey, you two are supposed to be having fun.” He turned his head as a new burst of music erupted from the tent, glanced at Callie with a sly grin, and said, “Why don’t you take her dancing?”
Pierce caught the grin. “Good idea, sir.” He grabbed Callie’s hand and pulled her toward the tent.
“But, Pierce, I don’t know how to dance!”
“So I’ll teach you.”
She looked back helplessly at Mr. C, who grinned and waved and told her
this
would be a good time to count.
The tent held a varnished wooden dance floor made of interlocking plates. At its far end, a band of drum, pipe, and fiddle played, while couples twirled in complex patterns around the floor. Callie suggested they sit at the edge and watch, but Pierce would have none of it. “Best way to learn is jump in.”
“But—”
“You told me yourself you always wanted to do this,” he said, dragging her amongst the others. “You just lacked the nerve. Here, stand like this.”
“What makes you think I have the nerve now?”
“If you can throw yourself off the edge of a cliff, my dear, you can handle this.” He took her hands, smiled his wonderful smile, and she surrendered.
“Watch my feet,” he said. “Here we go. One, two, three—one, two—that’s it.”
Before long Callie had the hang of it. It didn’t matter that she’d never done it before. Pierce was good enough for both of them. He twirled her this way and that, her skirt and hair whirling around her. When she made a mistake, they just laughed and went on. It was exhilarating, intoxicating—she loved it!
But after the fourth song, she collapsed against him, breathless. “Enough! I’m so dizzy I can’t stand up, and I
have
to get a drink.” She staggered to one of the tables surrounding the dance floor, where an Aggillon waiter brought them water, then colas.
As they watched the others move in time to a slow song, she admitted it was fun. “Even if I did make an idiot of myself.”
“You did fine.”
“I had a masterful teacher.” She leaned her chin on her palm and regarded him bemusedly. Could this be the surly, filthy stranger she’d met that first day on the sucker path? “Where’d you learn to do that, anyway?”
He grinned. “I wasn’t born in the Outlands.”
“I suppose you play the violin, too.”
“Actually, the piano. I don’t do gymnastics, though.”
“Seriously?”
“I was too clumsy.”
She blinked. “I mean the piano.”
“Do I play the piano seriously? Sometimes.”
She was laughing now. “No—are you any good at it?” And when had he turned into a tease?
He fingered the brim of his hat, now lying on the table. “My mother wishes I was better, I’m sure, but I never liked competition. I play for myself mostly.”
He became pensive, lost in his past. She studied him, fascinated. Competition was an option? With those long fingers, it was easy to see why.
A pianist
, she thought.
Here I think I know him, and then another
door opens and I see a whole new side
.
“I was supposed to go to the state finals my junior year of high school,” he said after a few moments, “but I broke my hand a week before the competition.”
“Broke your hand?”
“Mountain lion jumped me, knocked me off my horse.”
She stared at him wide-eyed.
He shrugged. “He was half starved. I felt bad for shooting him. Anyway, that ended my musical career.”
“What about the next year?”
“By then the ranch was in a bad way. Dad had already let most of the hands go. I didn’t have time to practice, much less spend a week in Denver. I never wanted to be a professional musician, anyway. They’re inside too much.”
The slow dance ended and the band took a break.
Callie sighed. “I always wanted to play the piano, but we couldn’t afford it. And Mom said I lacked the discipline to practice.”
“Your mother said
that
? About
you
?”
She ran a finger around the rim of her glass. “I taught myself to play the guitar, but it wasn’t the same. Someday I’m going to get a piano and take lessons.” The intensity of Pierce’s gaze made her self-conscious. “Anyway, I’d love to hear
you
play.”
“Maybe that could be arranged sometime.”
He looked up as a couple squeezed by their table. Once again she was struck by the elegance of his profile, the lines burning into her memory with an insistence that made her itch to start drawing. She had long ago admitted to herself that his face and form fascinated her— almost embarrassingly so. She hated to think what Meg would say if she ever found the sketchbook hidden under Callie’s bed.
“Hullo.” As if conjured by the thought, her friend’s voice interrupted their silence. They looked up to find Meg and Brody Jaramillo standing beside their table.
“I’m Meg Riley,” Meg announced. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” Immediately her mock seriousness dissolved. “Was that you I saw out there
dancing?
” She turned to Pierce. “And your date here—surely not our serious and stoic Guide to the Inner Realm?”
Pierce cocked a brow.
“It’s an amazing feat you’ve accomplished, Mr. Andrews,” she added. “To my knowledge no one has gotten this girl onto a dance floor in her entire life.”
“Harvey Bellum,” Callie said dryly. “Sixth grade.”
“That was square dancing, and Mrs. Wareheiser assigned him to you. Hardly the same thing.”
“Harvey Bellum?” Pierce asked.
“A cute little blonde with big brown eyes,” Meg said. “Callie had a crush on him.”
“
Meg
,” Callie said between clenched teeth.
Meg grinned. “Am I embarrassing you? Sorry. Pierce, have you met Brody?” She tugged her date forward and made the introductions.
“I understand we’re about to start for the final portal,” Brody said without preamble.
Pierce’s expression became guarded. “Could be.”
“Good, ’cause I’ve got a lot of things cooking back home, and I wanna finish this as soon as possible.”
Callie snorted. “Like the rest of us don’t?”
He regarded her with half-lidded eyes. “Some of you’ve been in this place for years. I’d never have hung around that long.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Pierce said. He leaned back and folded his arms.
“Hey, I’m committed to those prime directives you explained the other night.” Brody waved a hand. “Forward momentum, never look back and all.”
“Forward momentum isn’t always physical,” Pierce said.
Brody looked blank.
“You’ve seen the Leyton record?”
The young man shook his head, shooting a questioning glance at Meg.
She blushed. “That one’s awfully gross.”
“Calvin Leyton’s group moved out too soon,” Callie explained. “Most were captured. They tortured Calvin for six hours, and in the end, he pleaded for the curtain. They’re probably all Trogs now.”
Brody swelled before them. “I’m not afraid.”
“Good thing,” said Pierce, “because your armor won’t work if you are.”
The other man’s eyes widened, and again he looked to Meg.
“The belt’s sensitive to fear,” she explained. “The minute you’re afraid, off it goes, and without the field it generates, the breastplate and helmet are useless.”
He looked surprised, and Callie wondered how he could have been here even the three weeks he had—having been issued his own set of armor besides—and missed that information.
“You know, you might consider waiting for the next Guide to come through,” Pierce said after a moment. “’Cause if you’re not ready, you could spend a good deal longer than a year here.”
Brody stared at him, nonplussed.
Pierce shrugged. “It’s your call.” He glanced toward the dance floor. “Ah, here’s the band coming back.” He put on his hat, stood, and held out a hand to Callie. “You ready to try again?”
She let him lead her onto the floor and, as he faced her, said, “Goodness, Pierce. You were kinda rude, don’t you think?”
“Is that the guy Meg’s all in a tizzy over?”
“Yes.”
He glanced over her shoulder at them. “Can’t say I’m impressed.”
“Well, no . . .”
“Poor guy’s gonna have a tough row to hoe.”
Callie couldn’t argue with that, and she quickly forgot about Brody as the band warbled a sultry, languorous selection. “Oh no, this is a slow one.”
“I think we can handle it.”
He slid his hand around her waist and suddenly she was in his arms. Her mouth went dry, and the blood hammered in her ears and throat. She fixed her eyes downward. “What do I do with my feet?”
It took her a few minutes to get the pattern down, and then she had nothing to think about except how close Pierce was, and how awkward and jittery she felt. She stared over his shoulder and tried to relax, searching for something to say.
Then Morgan and Rowena stepped through the tent’s entrance. They sat at a floor-side table to watch the dancers, and Rowena quickly spotted Pierce. She touched Morgan’s arm, and when he turned, Callie knew she’d told him everything.
“What’s going on back there?” Pierce asked.
“Rowena and Morgan just came in.” She risked a glance at him. “I think Rowena—”
“Spilled her guts?” He grimaced. “You knew she would eventually.”
“What’re you going to do?”
“Swallow whatever they dish out, I guess.”
When the song ended, she immediately stepped away from him. “Let’s go.”