Flames and Smoke

Marguerite held the only notebook that managed to survive the flames. The leather cover was badly charred, and all but the center pages of notes were illegible. A decade of research settled beneath the feet of a scientist in a circus, surrounded by stagehands salvaging what little they could from her incinerated laboratory. Ten years of lost work made Marguerite’s knees weak, and she clutched the notebook until a corner of it crumbled in her grip. She gasped when Marie called to her.

“Ah, Marguerite,” she said, her slight form swaying from beyond the wreckage. Her skirts shined through the smoke and grit still settling in the air. “Asmodeus wants to see you, at his cabin. He sent me to fetch you.” Marie shuffled her feet. Marguerite pocketed the remnant of a notebook while she waited for the girl to finish. “He had his plotting face on.”

Marguerite’s mouth twitched, then worked its way into a tired smile.

“Tell him I’ll be there, so long as he supplies the liquor.”

Marie’s mouth opened, closed, and then contested her feet to see which could squirm more. Meanwhile, Marguerite stepped out of the wreckage.

“Come. Let’s not keep the man waiting.”

Marguerite led the way to Asmodeus’s dwelling, wondering if perhaps she was too rough on the girl bouncing along behind her. The notebook bouncing against her leg drew her thoughts away from etiquette and towards the magician’s boat. Asmodeus and Colette waited for them on the deck. Asmodeus certainly did seem to have his plotting face on, the calculations and maneuvers nearly written on his face while his fingers twitched. Colette was more subdued, though her shoulders were stiff.