We loaded up and drove east, past rusted mailboxes and driveways that led to nowhere. The address led us to a place called Red Oak Hollow, though the only red oak in sight looked more like blackened bone than anything living. The trees leaned in strange directions, as if trying to listen to the road.
I kept fiddling with my mirror, checking my lipstick, pretending not to think about how the girl smiled when we agreed. That smile stayed with me — too eager, too pleased. Kaito kept one hand on the wheel, the other drumming against his thigh like he was trying to play something only he could hear.
I adjusted my top in the side mirror, making sure the girls were doing their part — not too much, but just enough to catch a gaze and keep it. A little lift, a little flair, just enough distraction to buy time or trust. Performing wasn't just dance; it was the whole damn illusion.
"You think she was lying about the family needing performers?" I finally asked, my voice casual, but my fingers still tugging at the edge of my neckline.
He didn't answer right away. Then, without warning, he pulled over to the side of the road — gravel crunching under the tires as the van rolled to a stop beneath a crooked tree.
He turned toward me, face soft but serious. "I think she said what needed to be said to get us to go," he said slowly. "But that doesn't mean she was wrong."
I blinked, about to respond, but he was already out of the driver's seat, coming around to my side. He opened the door, reached in, and helped unzip the back of my dress just a little. Not in a flirty way — in that quiet, careful way of his, like he needed something to focus on that wasn't the road or the dread hanging over us.
"You want this to be real? This gig?" he asked.
I turned to the side and gave him a tired smile. Not fake — just worn at the edges, the kind that says thanks without saying it. I was grateful. Not just for the zip or the shoulder kisses, but for the way he always noticed the weight before I admitted it was there.
I exhaled. "I want the money to be real. Everything else... we handle."
He nodded once, zipped me back up, and kissed the top of my shoulder. It might've been habit, or maybe he had a thing for shoulders — I wouldn't blame him. I've got a beauty mark there, shaped like a crescent moon. Mama used to say marks like that meant someone was born under a watching star. Old folk tales said they made you 'touched,' blessed or cursed depending on who you asked. Kaito never said which he thought it was — just kissed it like it told him something worth keeping.
Then we got back on the road.
"That's real comforting," I muttered.
The GPS — or what passed for one in our setup — fizzled as soon as we hit the gravel road. It wasn't a screen so much as a glowing shard mounted in a copper frame, pulsing with low light like it breathed on its own. We called it the Fateglass, but it didn't reflect anything you'd recognize. Just shimmered and whispered directions in a voice too old to be anything from this century — no wires, no satellites, just old magic humming like a tired oracle.
It stopped humming right as we passed the county line, the light guttering out like it knew better than to speak past there. Luckily, the directions were scrawled on the back of a gas station receipt. I read them aloud while Kaito drove. Turn past the scarecrow with no eyes. Veer left at the broken fountain. Follow the road till the air changes.
When we finally pulled up, the place looked like something out of a circus's leftover dream — a wide clearing, a half-burned stage, mismatched chairs, string lights dangling between trees like someone tried to host a wedding for ghosts.
I stepped out first, squinting.
"This supposed to be the venue?"
Kaito gave a noncommittal shrug. "Let's hope the check's real, even if the crowd isn't."
Then, without much warning, he wrapped one arm around my shoulders and pulled me in. With the other hand, he tipped my chin just enough to press a kiss to my lips — slow, sure, and full of heat that caught me completely off guard.
He lifted me onto the back bumper of the van like I weighed nothing. My breath hitched, half startled, half smiling. I didn't expect it, but I didn't fight it either. Just patted his back, feeling the tightness in his shoulders.
He stopped, blinking. "Sorry. I just really wanted to kiss you."
I sniffed, nose scrunching. "Damn it, Kaito."
He blinked again. "What?"
"I smell like peaches again. That's your fault."
See, my man always had this peach thing about him. Not like cologne — something baked in. He'd kiss me, touch me, breathe on my neck, and boom: I'd be walking around smelling like orchard perfume. It was sweet the first dozen times. After that, it got annoying. Magical, sure. But annoying.
"It's not intentional," he said, half-laughing. But I knew better. Kaito always did that peach thing right before gigs that felt off. Not the fun ones — not the cult that worshipped cheese, bless their dairy-loving hearts. That one was strange but sweet. No, the peach aura came out when things might get complicated. Like his magic was putting down roots before the rest of him could catch up. And maybe part of me liked it. Maybe part of me expected it. But damn if it didn't cling to everything I wore.
"Yeah-huh. That's your weird magic quirk. It's cute. Mostly."
He opened the van's back again, and we began to set up — slower this time. Not out of laziness, but caution. You could feel it in the air. Like the ground remembered too much.
He set up the first chime stand while I laid out the fabric. The sun filtered through the trees in weird patches, like it was dodging something. The wind made the bells jingle before he even touched them.
"Lettie," he whispered, coming close.
"Yeah?" I was still trying to rub the peach scent off my neck with the edge of a towel — one of those thin motel ones that barely held a thread of hope. It didn't matter how hard I scrubbed; the smell wouldn't leave. It was clinging like memory, stubborn and sweet. I muttered under my breath, "Of course it won't come off. Damn it, Kaito.""
"We don't have to stay if it turns bad. I don't care about the money. But the way he said it — it didn't match his eyes. Kaito's tone sounded steady, like he was giving me an out, but his hands were working faster than usual, more focused. He kept glancing around, eyes flicking to the trees, the shadows, the stage.
I watched him move and realized — this was the first time I'd seen him like this. Like he wanted to do the job, needed to even, but also didn't. Like something bigger was sitting on his shoulders and he was trying not to let it shake the chimes.
I smiled, brushing his shoulder. "It's twenty thousand dollars, Kaito. That's not money. That's vacation money. That's leave-everything money."
He didn't smile back. He just made one more sweep of the setup, tightening the silk loops, adjusting the base weight on the bell rig, and making sure the stage was up to code — or at least as close to 'code' as you get in a clearing surrounded by whispering trees and phantom lighting.
So I said it softer. "We'll be fine. We've danced darker places than this."
Then I slipped behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist, pulling him in like I was trying to make the big man my little spoon — standing, grounded, and all mine. He flinched just a little, caught off guard, but didn't pull away. Just leaned back slightly into the hug like it was the only thing holding him upright.
For a second, I wished I could wrap both of us in that moment — soft and stubborn and full of grit. But we had work to do. So I let go, gave his hip a pat, and nodded toward the stage.
He nodded slowly, still watching the woods like they owed him something.
And me? I adjusted my veil and walked toward the half-burned stage, heels soft against the dirt.
"Let the show begin."