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“Nervous?” I whispered as the aerial performers gracefully descended, one by one.

“Of a performance that boasts of causing arrhythmia, according to this program?” He flicked the black and white striped show-bill he held. “Not at all. I cannot wait for my heart to burst. Really livens up an otherwise monotonous Sunday evening, Wadsworth.”

Before I could respond, a drum thundered and a masked man emerged from a cloud of smoke in the center of the stage. He wore a frock coat the color of an opened vein and a starched shirt and trousers that were an endless black. Scarlet ribbons and silver bullion trimmed his top hat and a burnished filigree mask covered everything from his nose up. His mouth curved in wicked delight as every eye in the saloon went to him and each jaw dropped.

Men jumped in their seats, women’s fans snapped open, the sound akin to a hundred birds taking flight. It was unsettling, witnessing a man materialize, unscathed by the tempest raging about him. Whispers of him being the devil’s heir reached my ears. Or Satan himself, as Miss Prescott’s father would have it. I nearly rolled my eyes. As a chief magistrate, I should hope he’d have better judgment. This was clearly the ringmaster.

“Allow me to introduce myself.” The masked man bowed, mischief sparking in his eyes as he slowly drew himself back up. “I am Mephistopheles — your guide through the strange and magnificent. Each night the Wheel of Fate will choose your entertainer. I warn you, though, beware of midnight bargains…taking your fate in your own hands is poorly advised.”

Passengers fidgeted, probably wondering at the sort of bargains they might make — how low they might fall in the pursuit of pleasure so far from society’s watchful shores.

“Our tricks might appear sweet, but I promise they are not treats,” he whispered. “Are you brave enough to survive? Perhaps you’ll be another who loses their heart and their head to my midnight minstrel show. Only you can decide. Until then?”

Mephistopheles prowled on stage, a caged animal waiting for an opportunity to strike. My heart thudded wildly. I had the distinct impression we were all prey dressed in our finest, and if we weren’t careful, we’d be devoured by his show.

“Tonight is the first of seven in which you will be dazzled.” The ringmaster lifted his arms and a dozen white doves flew from his sleeves into the rafters. A few excited cries erupted, Mrs. Harvey and Miss Prescott among the first.

“Horrified,” he continued, a slight croak now in his voice. From one blink to the next, his tie was no longer made of cloth — it was a writhing snake, wrapping itself about his neck. Mephistopheles clutched his throat, his bronze face turning a deep purple under the filigree mask. My own breath caught when he bent over and sputtered, gasping for air.

I almost stood, convinced we were bearing witness to this man’s death, but forced myself to breathe. To think. To compile facts like the scientist in training I was. This was only a show. Nothing more. Surely no one was going to die. My breath came in short gasps that had nothing to do with the corset of my fine dress. This was utterly thrilling and horrible. I hated it almost as much as I loved it. And I adored it more than I cared to admit.

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Thomas snorted, but didn’t dare interrupt this interesting new show taking place. With my deep blue silk evening gown, midnight gloves that extended past my elbows, and sparkling jewels draped over my collarbone, I felt nearly as bedazzling as the acrobats flying above us.

Miss Prescott wrapped her gloves around her throat, eyes going wide. “You know…I do feel strange. Lighter, even.” She swayed on her feet and clutched her center. “Should we call for smelling salts, Captain?”

“I don’t believe it’s necessary,” he said, inhaling deeply, no doubt regretting pairing the two of us together. “I assure you, this Mephistopheles is harmless.”

“I swear my soul is getting weaker. Can you tell? Do I look more…transparent?” Her eyes grew nearly to the size of saucers as she dropped into her seat and glanced around. “I wonder if there’s a spirit photographer aboard. I’ve heard they can capture such things on film. My clothing isn’t becoming indecent, is it?”

“Not yet.” I bit my lip, trying to keep the smile out of my voice and off my face, especially since Mrs. Prescott seemed ready to burst from fury at her daughter’s act. “We might be able to weigh you to see if there’s any difference.”

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“I suppose it’s time for a story.” Captain Norwood cleared his throat, gaining the attention of our table, including the Prescott’s, Uncle Jonathan, my chaperone Mrs. Harvey, and the wickedly enchanting Mr. Thomas Cresswell; the young man who’d won my heart as deftly as any card sharp winning hand after hand at his game of choice.

Accompanied by my uncle, Thomas and I had spent two grueling days traveling from Bucharest to Liverpool to board the Etruria before it set out for New York. We’d found creative ways of stealing kisses along the way, and each secret encounter flashed through my mind unbidden — my hands in his dark brown hair, his lips igniting flames along my skin, our…

Miss Prescott gently nudged me under the table, returning my attention to the conversation and warmth to my cheeks.

“…if, of course legends are to be believed. Mephistopheles is said to be a demon who’s in the Devil’s employ,” Captain Norwood continued. “Known for stealing the souls of those already corrupt, he’s full of magic and trickery, and he happens to be one spectacular showman. I guarantee you’re in for a week of unparalleled magic and mystery. Each night will bring a new carnival performance, never before seen. This ship will be the talk of legends, mark my words. Soon every cruise liner will host similar entertainments. It will be the start of a new era of travel.”

I raised a brow at his near reverent tone. “Are you suggesting you’ve hired a demon to entertain us and it’s sure to become all the rage, Captain?”

Thomas choked on his water and Miss Prescott shot me a mischievous grin. “Is there a church or chapel on the ship?” she asked, all round eyes and innocence. “What shall we do if we’re tricked out of our souls, sir?”

The captain lifted a shoulder, enjoying the mystery. “You’ll both have to wait and see. It shan’t be much longer now.” He returned his attention to the adults when Miss Prescott bolted from her seat, startling me and earning a disapproving glare from her father.

“One more little clue, please?”

Maybe it was the devil in me, but I couldn’t help adding, “I would hate to be so overcome with hysteria that I abandoned the ship. We’re not too far from port, are we? Perhaps I might swim…”

Miss Prescott slowly blinked in appraisal. “Indeed, Captain. In fact, I feel a bit of a fainting spell coming on this very moment! Do you think it’s Mephistopheles?” she asked, voice rising in pitch. “Does his trickery work from a distance? I wonder how many he can affect at once.”

I peered at her, leaning in as if to medically inspect her. “You do appear a bit pale, Miss Prescott. Does your soul feel attached to your person?”

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“The long trains on their costumes make them look like shooting stars, don’t they? I should love to have a dress made with as many gemstones one day.” Miss Prescott, daughter of Chief Magistrate Prescott, sighed deeply. With her caramel hair and cunning brown eyes, she reminded me of my cousin Liza. I liked her immediately. She set her champagne flute down and leaned close, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Have you heard the legend of Mephistopheles, Miss Wadsworth?”

I tore my gaze from the hypnotic scene above once more and shook my head. “I can’t say that I have. Is that what tonight’s performance is based on?”

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