I steeled myself. “Four years ago, our mother died and left us with nothing but a smattering of junk.”
Bel’s fingers stopped moving. At least he was paying attention.
I cleared my throat. “After the funeral, I went through the house collecting things to sell and stumbled upon a crumpled flyer for a performance in Durc. The front was printed with a beautiful woman singing. I decided right then to take us there.”
“Because of a flyer?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “The woman looked so happy. I foolishly thought that if we went to Durc, Zosa would book singing jobs. Then we could have money to travel, find a more exciting place to live. I was only thirteen.” I looked down at my hands. “Now it all seems too silly to say out loud.”
“Hoping for something more isn’t silly,” he said quietly. “What happened next?”
“I bought ferry tickets. After we arrived, I used the last of our money for the room at Bézier’s. The following afternoon, I dressed Zosa up and took her to audition at the venue on that crumpled flyer. She was only nine.”
Bel watched me, an inscrutable look on his face. “Let me guess. She didn’t land the job.”
“She didn’t sing. The venue manager took one look at her all dolled up and laughed. I wanted nothing more than to return to Aligney afterward, but I’d spent all we had to get us to Durc. We were stuck.”
His expression softened. “I’m sorry you went through that.”
I bristled. I didn’t want his pity. I dropped my gaze to the open atlas, filled with far-off places. I thought I might see some of them before returning home, until a moment ago, when I learned I wasn’t allowed outside.
“If something happens to my sister before we leave this place . . .” Guilt planted a foothold inside me. “Where is she?”
“Probably in her room. If she was hired as a performer, it’s doubtful she’ll work again until the next soirée.”
That wasn’t right. “But Des Rêves told me herself Zosa would work for her nightly.”
“Nightly?”
“She’s one of Des Rêve’s chanteuses.”
Bel stiffened. Something about his posture made me wary.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly. I didn’t believe him. Something was wrong, I was sure of it. Bel’s eyes flicked to a wall clock. “It’s after seven. Madame Des Rêves will be onstage in the salon. I’ll speak with her later and ask after Zosa. You and I can talk in the morning. Now please get to your room.” His eyes bore into mine. Those eyes weren’t about to take no for an answer.
“Fine,” I lied.
If there was something wrong, it would be my fault for not checking on Zosa. I’d speak with Des Rêves right now.
Bel let me pass. When the door shut, I took off. I raced downstairs and across the lobby, only slowing at the sound of singing. The salon was packed. No sign of Yrsa or the twins, so I crept inside. A man plucked a towering harp. Guests lounged, sipping glowing aperitifs, eyes glued to the stage where a trio of girls performed.
The first girl had brown skin, luminous against a pink chiffon gown tipped with marabou. The second girl was curvy with beige skin and blonde hair that curtained against a dusty blue gown sewn with iridescent feathers. Zosa was girl number three.
She wore a low-cut silk concoction disappearing into a skirt of feathers the exact shade of molten gold.
I shoved forward until she opened her mouth and sang. My feet stopped. With each word, her voice strengthened. I thought of the apple crate and the flour jar, then the venue manager who had laughed at her.
He wouldn’t be laughing now.
Zosa hit a high note and all the guests in Salon d’Amusements gasped. Tears pricked my eyes. My sister was better than Maman. Better, I imagined, than that woman from the crumpled flyer. The guests probably assumed she was a suminaire, because her voice felt like magic.
The velvet curtains behind the chanteuses parted. Madame des Rêves stepped out in a sheath of ruffles matching her sapphire wig. The only part of her that wasn’t blue was her pale skin, and that silver talon resting in her cleavage. I’d forgotten about the talon. An artéfact, I assumed.
“This is the best part,” cooed a guest.
On the last note, Des Rêves touched the talon to Zosa’s collarbone. The crowd went wild. In the span of a blink, Zosa folded, her dress scrunching up as she transformed into a tiny golden bird.
“Zosa!” I jostled forward, but there were too many guests. My mind screamed to get to her, but I was trapped in the center of the crowd.