Page 46 of One for the Money
She doesn’t notice that I’m staring at her, her eyes still wide in shock, staring at where Quinton and Matteo exited the tent.
“The Twisted Twins!” Jude says, jarring me out of my perusal of the Omega.
Dario does a swooping bow, and when he points to me, I mirror the movement. Audiences always want us to be in sync, to appear to be nothing more than extensions of one another.
I hate it in everyday life, but it makes sense for our act.
I hate our costumes. In addition to our tiny hot pants, our bodies are painted with glow-in-the-dark paint in twisted, swirling patterns.
The double Wheel of Death gets lowered down from the ceiling, and our backing track cuts on.
The Wheel of Death, a space frame with two circular tracks on either end, is where Dario and I always start our show. It’s an eye-catching spectacle and a great warm-up. I grab onto the frame and hoist myself onto the left side, and Dario mirrors me on the right.
And then it begins to move.
The wheel spins vertically, leaving Dario and me to move and jump, doing flips and tricks to stay on the wheel without falling. At one point, we’re on the same side, doing handstands facing each other, and Dario has the fucking idiotic idea to talk to me.
“Doc is watching,” he says, falling out of his handstand and doing a backflip. I grab the railings and swing myself into the center of the wheel, trying to escape his blathering. “She looks like she’s into it.”
I fight the urge to glance over at her, knowing that no matter what I see on her face, it’ll distract me.
“Shut up,” I hiss, pulling onto the beam between the two wheels and running to the other side. Dario laughs as he watches me escape, and we finish up our routine as the song pulls to a close. The wheel slowly comes to a stop, and we balance on top before performing front flips to dismount.
The next part of our act, the trapeze, is what people come to see us for. Netless, with the thinnest possible mat under the tent’s subfloor, many reviewers have called it “needlessly suicidal”.
They’re not wrong, honestly. I don’t think a Beta could survive a drop like this. It would be hard for us, even with our advanced Alpha healing.
Dario is the primary flyer, and I’m the catcher. This means his role is more dangerous than mine, and I have the heavier responsibility.
No pressure.
The track changes as we climb up our platforms into one with a seductive beat that sings about dancing in the dark. I unhook and swing out on my bar, getting used to the speed and feeling of flying through the air. After a few moments, I close my eyes as I flip down, my legs locked tightly.
And then the lights cut out.
The decorative swirls on our bodies are all that anyone can see, leaving the audience gasping as we go through the motions of our performance.
The beats of the song are counts in my head, and Iknow when to expect my brother to fling himself off his bar. We’ve done this so many times that sometimes it feels like he’s an extension of me, like it would be impossible to miss him.
Dario’s hands land in mine, and the lights flash on, showing the connection. Then they’re off again, and Dario is scrambling, standing on my bar and swinging us both. Our stage hand is on the opposite riser, Dario’s bar in hand, and he swings it out to us.
My brother does a flying leap and latches on, right as the lights kick back on, swinging himself up and over the bar to hang upside down, just like me.
We didn’t tell Jude we were swapping roles tonight. Let’s hope we get this right, or he’s going to be pissed when I’m out of commission for a few shows.
This change in routine has nothing to do with the Omega in attendance. Nothing whatsoever.
I climb up on my bar, moving my body to get momentum. While Dario flew to a song about dancing in the dark, mine tells the story of what happens after the darkness wins.
Eyes are on me, and I can feel their pressure like a brand, but somehow, I know without a doubt that two of them are hers.
My feet slip under her attention, and I can hear the gasps of the crowd as I scramble to maintain my balance.
And hers.
Somehow, over the music, over the noise of the crowd, over the roaring in my ears, I can hear the fearful little sound she makes.
And knowing that she fears for me, that she’s worried something may happen to me, settles me. I’m not going to read into that right now.
