Infini (Aerial Ethereal #2)(71)

I pull my sopping shirt off my head, and he examines my back, nodding to himself.

“I thought I saw old burn marks on your arms and shoulders yesterday but I wasn’t sure. Now I am.” Geoffrey motions for me to put my shirt back on. I tug it over my head as he says, “No one mentioned that you’ve juggled fire before.”

Great. I see the interest in his eye. “I stopped juggling fire when I was fourteen.”

“Why?”

I’m scared to say the truth. I know what his response will be. “It no longer fit the choreography.”

“The choreography. You mean the boring, soulless routine that once existed before I arrived?” That’s exactly why I should’ve lied, but maybe a tiny part of me agrees with him.

“What other high-risk juggling can you do?”

I’m quiet, hands on my hips. Almost winded.

“Don’t make me examine your scars next.”

I’m afraid. He’s already one-hundred percent going to add fire to the routine. Which is fine. It’ll add the “awe” factor that might help Infini. I’m definitely okay with that.

But I can’t tell him that I can juggle machetes.

He’ll without a doubt incorporate it within the choreography, and even with blunted edges, they’re too dangerous for the kind of complex tricks I perform. I’m worried that if I tell him “I can juggle humongous-as-fuck knives” and then put my foot down, he’ll fire me and find someone who can do it.

I slowly shake my head. “Nothing else.”

“Nothing else?” He looks disbelieving.

“Why would I lie?” I say.

“Laziness.”

I stare up at the eighty-foot ceiling, suppressing the urge to roll my eyes.

“Here’s an ultimatum,” he begins. No. I feel sick again, but for a completely different reason. “If I ask the veteran staff about your various props and they list off a high-risk one—you’re fired. Or you can tell me the prop now and you’ll have a choice.”

Choices.

This one has to be less painful than Marc Duval’s choice four-and-a-half years ago.

“What choice?” I ask.

“You’ll either perform with the high-risk prop or you’ll prove to me that you don’t want to—by holding plank for three hours on this stage.”

A three-hour plank? My whole face falls, unknowing whether or not I have the strength for that.

“How badly do you want to omit the prop? How much iron-will do you have?”

Strangely, his words bolster fight in me. I nod over and over.

“No, Baylee,” Brenden calls out, his voice sharp with worry.

Only one choice lets me off the hook. There’s no way the staff won’t tell Geoffrey the truth. He may even be able to look in AE’s artist database and see my specific skills.

“I’ll ask you again,” Geoffrey says, ignoring my brother’s outburst. “What other high-risk juggling can you do?”

“Machetes.”

Geoffrey claps his hands, grinning. “That will grab an audience’s attention.”

I look back at the line and almost everyone has their palms to their head. Luka is squatting, his face in his hands.

It’s okay. I want to tell him.

Brenden can’t meet my eyes, but he looks sick to his stomach.

I focus on Geoffrey. “Where do you want me to plank? Off to the side—”

“Right here.” He points at my feet. Where I stand. Front and center. I hate being the center of attention like this, but it’s over. I can’t exactly rip the spotlight off anymore.

I lower to my forearms and use my core to hoist my body up, my toes on the ground in a push-up position. I hold this pose, my muscles already burning.

And then something happens.

Luka breaks the jagged line by walking forward. I arch my neck to see him fully, and without any hesitation, he comes in-line with me and easily lowers to a plank position. My lips part, stunned and overwhelmed.

He’s doing this with me.

Luka turns his head to meet my gaze. So much love and encouragement stares back at me.

Sweat drips down our temples and the bridge of our noses, and not long after Luka’s demonstration, Brenden leaves the line to join us. He sets his forearms on the ground, his determination pouring through me.

I love my brother so much.

One beat later, there’s a mass rush forward of Russian men.

Every single Kotova drops down to plank position. It builds an even greater fire beneath me. The last time I had all the Kotovas on my side, I was best friends with Luka. I lost all of that when we got in trouble.

I forgot how powerful their solidarity feels.

Ten minutes in, and the entire cast of Infini is holding plank. Even the clowns.

“Camaraderie!” Geoffrey shouts. “This is what I like to see! This is what I want. Give me that fighting spirit every minute, every day.”

It’s not as easy as it looks, and I only wonder if there’ll be more tests after this one. And worse: what happens if we fail?





Act Twenty-Five Luka Kotova

31 Days to Infini’s Premiere

“You can blame being late on me,” I tell Sergei, an offer I shouldn’t even consider—but I let it out almost subconsciously.