"Oh tell a story!" the magician exclaims. He links his arm through Marina's and they saunter down the cobblestone street. We're close to the edge of the quarter and the streets are appropriately quiet.
"Have you learned to breathe fire yet?" I whisper to the dragon, holding up another cigarette. He smiles and I admit I'm a little sweet on him. Must be the purple eyes. I light it up as Marina starts to display her impressive mind for folklore. She even adjusts her glasses before she talks and I laugh, because I think it's adorable and I'm a little sweet on her too.
"The Bell Theatre is easily the most famous theatre in the City after The Rosary," she says, her eyes taking on a firelight glow. "Which is appropriate as there is history between the two. It was started by two performers ten years ago. Rumour has it they ran The Rosary for a few years before Luscinia took it over. They say she was recruited by one of the performers but there was this mysterious fire and the next time The Rosary put on a show, she was in charge. The two performers left and put in a bid for the Viola memorial garden property."
"A whole garden in your memory, Vee!" the magician says seriously. "You should have told us you were famous." I ignore him, as I tend to do when I think he’s being ridiculous but don't have a clever retort. I never like being reminded of my full name anyways. Vee is just fine, thank you.
"Tthe history behind the memory garden was a pretty gruesome story," Marina carries on ignoring us. "After The Ruin that killed the most talented and revered magic users in the City during the Fifth Age, the lesser talented scattered across the land gathered here for their time in the spotlight. Even though magic was prohibited for everyone's safety, they believed the danger had passed and that they would have their time to shine."
Marina's voice takes on the breathy quality it does when she's deep in a story. Ahead, we're about to pass a small shrine for the ghosts.
"They reveled in their new found glory for a time, styling themselves the blessed lumininaries of this chaotic city that had become their playground. They were fascinated by the macabre atmosphere of the ghosts and they created clubs for magic users in complete disregard for the tragedy that had created the very ghosts they adored. The Bell Theatre used to be such a club. Until finally, it came for them too. It was then they learned that The Ruin was not just a spell gone wrong as everyone had believed. They learned it was a disease that had infected the very town and it had not gone away. It was only dormant until their magic woke it again and it fed on them, driving them mad until they turned on each other. Scores of them died, many to join the ranks of the dead that haunted the city. That was the last time unregulated magic was allowed to be performed in the city."
The magician scoffs and touches his chest.
"And what about the wizadry that I bring?" he asks in mock offense. Marina shakes her head.
"Not illusions, my darling. Not stage trickery and slight of hand. Real magic from our blood and spirit like our ancestors did."
Miette slips her hand into mine and I smile at her.
"It seems strange," she says softly, her musical voice caressing my ears. "For so long, no one knew the exact nature of how the first wave of them had died. They spent so long revering the ghosts but how did they never ask them them how their lives had been lost?"
"Pride," Marina offered. "They were lesser talents, intoxicated on the new reverence they were receiving.. With the most powerful magic users gone, they had access to things they had never tasted before. They romanticized the ghosts but I do not think they truly thought of them. If they had, they could have avoided the same fate."
As we pass the small wooden house on a stone pillar, the magician touches the bells hanging down the side of it. The air seems darker, the streetlights brighter around it. A pile of flowers and other offerings of the day lay around it - tidied by a shrine hand probably. Marina puts the rock we'd been tossing back and forth at the base, the dragon leaves a crystal ball, I leave an unlit cigarette, Miette a folded paper star, and the magician rings the bells again.
"To your continued sleep, friends" he says magnanimously, his arms out with a quick bow, but his movements have lost some of their spirited mockery. Even though his art is not the same, it wouldn't do well for him to mock the spirits. We leave the shrine and its bright shadows behind.
Hey! My name is Ciel Sainte-Marie (aka So Nefarious). I'm a writer and artist hanging out on Steem, writing stories, and studying games. You can read my previous short stories The Ghost at the Auction Party, The Unexpected Ghost, and House of Longing here on steemit.