Entertainment is key when everything has come so easily for me. Therefore, boredom must be avoided at all costs. I like to play the role of a benevolent god with my followers. My wrath is just as grandiose. I paw at the citizens of Pravitia like a cat playing with a dying mouse.
The man greets me with a respectful nod. “Mr. Foley,” he says while opening the door for me. “Welcome back.”
A code word is required to enter. But I breeze past without it, and evenifI wasn’t the owner of Animus, no one would ever dare ask me for one.
I give the man a soft tap on his cheek as I pass him. “Mr. Foley was my father, love. He was a bore — I’m not. Best remember that next time.”
“Of course, sir — I mean, Gemini. I — I apologize for the slip,” I hear him stutter behind me.
I give him a curt wave of the hand, dismissing him without looking back as I walk down another corridor. This one isn’t as run-down, the walls painted plain black with dim golden sconces lighting a path to the red velvet curtains at the very end.
When I push them to the side, the circus finally appears in all its glory. There’s an irony to my casino resembling a circus tent on the outside while Animus is hidden in an abandoned factory near the harbor. It’s all part of the charmed illusion attached to the Foley name.
No one should ever trust what’s right in front of them—especially if it’s me.
The sweet and salty aroma of popcorn and cotton candy is the first thing to tickle my senses. I’ve arrived in the middle of an act. My eyes slide up to the performer, walking steadily acrossa tightrope near the high ceiling. Large swaths of gold, red, and black gossamer are pinned to the center of the ceiling, hanging loosely and connecting to the edges of the walls, re-creating the peaked interior of a circus tent.
The crowd, who has gathered on the metal stands surrounding the circular stage, seems to be holding their breaths, waiting to see if the funambulist will fall or if they will traverse the tightrope successfully.
I don’t care either way.
I head backstage, knowing I’ll find Zazel in their dressing room. Their sword-swallowing skills are a crowd favorite. Entering without knocking first, I find them in a state of undress, wearing nothing but a binder and black boxer briefs.
They startle, but don’t rush to cover themselves, flashing me a grin and a quick salute before leaning over to pick up a black linen shirt from the vanity chair.
“What brings you in tonight, boss?” they ask, tugging the shirt over their head before running a hand through their cropped strawberry-blond hair.
I close the door behind me and perch on the edge of the small couch, facing Zazel, casually crossing a leg over the other as I steeple my hands over one knee.
My body language is calculated—friendly.
I could easily force the truth out of their mouth like a pair of pliers extracting a rotting tooth. I would much rather they give it away willingly; I’d sniff out their lies eventually. This way, no one gets hurt, and we can all continue to uphold the illusion of security.
“A little birdie told me you’ve made a new friend,” I drawl with an inquiring smile.
Zazel’s eyes narrow. “A new friend?” they repeat as they slip into a pair of black trousers, still barefoot.
“You were both at Pandaemonium yesterday. Brown hair, tattoos,” I rattle off before pausing, recalling the ill-state of her. “Rail thin.”
“You mean Veil?” Turning their back to me, they sit in front of the vanity mirror, brightly illuminated with light bulbs around the edges, their gaze meeting mine through the reflection. “My roommate?”
“Veil,” I say quietly, smoothing every letter of her name over my tongue before swallowing them down with relish. “Last name?”
“Vulturine,” Zazel mutters as they apply some mascara, their mouth slightly open with concentration.
“Do you still live down on Crescent Street?” I probe further.
I know where Zazel resides, just as I know where all my employees live. I make every detail about them my business. When used properly and efficiently, controlling them with information is just as powerful as governing them with fear.
Zazel’s answer is laced with suspicion. “Yes …” they answer slowly, now raking gel through their hair, still studying me through the mirror. “Why the sudden interest, boss?”
I can tell they’re being careful not to cross an invisible line between us, and I can appreciate their survival instinct while still being curious enough to ask the question.
I jump to my feet, acting disinterested while straightening the rings on my fingers and inspecting my black nail polish. After a loaded beat, I find their gaze and shoot them a wink, followed by a cocky grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know, love?”
5
VEIL
