Mephistopheles had his back to me, but I recognized him by his scarlet tailcoat, gleaming knee-high boots, and narrow-hipped swagger. From this direction he resembled a pirate king. I wouldn’t be surprised to discover that he added an aquatic act once they landed in New York.

“Next time, twirl the torches as if they were a pocket watch on a chain,” he was saying, swinging his watch in a wide circle. “The velocity will keep the flames from spreading along the metal rod and look impressive from the audience. But do it quickly—it’s still metal and will burn your lips if they accidentally touch it.”

Anishaa peered up at him through lowered lashes, and I was surprised the ringmaster hadn’t noticed her crush. She seemed to balance on the edge of each word and idea he offered.

“A fine scientific deduction,” I said. Mephistopheles whirled, looking startled by my unannounced visit, yet pleased. He clutched the watch, then pocketed it. “Metal getting hot with fire. Who would’ve guessed? Next you might tell her that ice will be cold to the touch.”

“Miss Wadsworth. Always a pleasure.” His mouth quirked as he gave a slight bow. “I have it on good authority that falling in love is like toying with fire. Warm, crackling with heated passion…” Anishaa snorted and he motioned for her to practice.

“Well, if one is foolish enough to play with flames, they shouldn’t be surprised when they get burned.”

Anishaa’s expression was bemused while she twirled the flames, allowing us a bit of privacy, though I noticed her attention kept darting over to the object of her secret affection.

“Would you care to see my work space?” Mephistopheles asked, all gentlemanly manners belied by the cunning gleam in his eye. “It’s just around the bend.” He smiled behind his mask—a wolf inviting Red Riding Hood into the darkened forest. What he didn’t know was that this particular girl carried a weapon beneath her hood and had an assortment of wolf hides mounted in her chambers. “I promise no immoral behavior. Just gears and gadgets. Maybe a bit of grease. Nothing too romantic.”

“You certainly know how to charm a girl,” I said. “Next you’ll show me your mask collection.” I peered close to this newest work of art, a pale gray with cloudlike swirls of white, noticing the slight hitch in his breath as I drew near. “How many do you own, one thousand?”

“Closer to one million.” He grinned, regaining his composure. “Practice twirling one, then the other, like we discussed,” he called over to Anishaa. “We’ve got to work on when you spit the flames next. I’m almost ready with the new tonic.”

She nodded, then continued her work. He folded my hand over his arm, escorting me down the promenade to his lair. I’d only been half jesting about the masks, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he did have that many. He probably needed an entire trunk to transport them.

“Spitting fire?” I asked. “That sounds a bit dangerous. And a little crass.”

“It’s not as if she’ll be spewing flames onto the crowd like chewing tobacco. Danger can be found in everything, even the mundane. And that’s quite boring,” he said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this early? It’s not time for a lesson. Did Mr. Cresswell send you here to break off our romantic entanglement? I thought he might throttle me in Miss Crenshaw’s cabin. I bet he hated sharing toys as a child.”

“First, I am not anyone’s toy, sir. And second, if Thomas was upset, don’t you believe he would be the one standing here, challenging you for my affections?”

Mephistopheles snorted. “Well, he does seem the type to run his enemies through.” He squinted at me. “Is that the sort of thing that attracts you? Perhaps I’ll start challenging your other suitors to duels. I may even remove my mask once I’ve won. Let them gaze upon the true face of their victor.”

“You mean the face of their mortal enemy?”

“I doubt they’d call me their friend after being introduced to Nightsblade.”

“Nightsblade?” I asked, stopping. “Is that the name of your imaginary friend?”

“Close.” He chuckled. “You’ve heard of nightshade, correct? Tantalizing plants, but deadly. Like my sword. Nightsblade.”

“Clever.” Unease ran its icy fingers down my back. Belladonna—a type of nightshade—had been found in Miss Crenshaw’s system. “Does everyone in your carnival need to be in possession of a weapon to be accepted? Like a secret mask-wearing society of sword wielders?”

He laughed again, only this time I wished to withdraw my arm from his.

“Hardly. Jian and I are the only ones who’ve got swords,” he said. “His are for his tricks; mine is from my past. Alas, we have more important things to discuss. Time is one law I cannot seem to break, no matter how much I beg, borrow, or steal, I cannot produce more of it. Any news on who has been murdering passengers? Investors are not happy, and I fear what the future will bring for the carnival. No other cruise liner will hire us if they think we’re harboring a murderer.”

I considered asking him about the tarot cards and why have each performer learn them, but didn’t want him to be suspicious of my motives. Nor did I wish to give away the fact I suspected both the tarot and playing cards were a cipher of sorts—their meanings clearly detailing the story of the crimes for anyone capable of reading it. If he was the murderer, then he might alter his methods of killing.

“Not yet, but I do have a theory I’m working on.” I wet my lips, hoping to not raise his suspicion by being too curious about his passing comment. “Whose sword is bigger? Yours or Jian’s?”

He stopped short, staring at me as if I’d disrobed in front of him and everyone else on this promenade. From the appraising glint in his expression, I didn’t think he’d mind if that happened. It took a moment for my brain to catch up with the innuendo I’d accidentally made.

“I—I mean,” I stuttered, “which is more finely crafted?”

“Hmm.” He started walking again, though that devious smile still curled his lips. “If I’m being honest? I’d say his. Nightsblade is a gorgeous sword, but Jian’s are works of art.”

Now I was the one who halted our procession. I hadn’t expected him to be anything other than cocky. “I thought men like you lied for sport.”

“Which makes it all the more fun for you to sort out the truth from my lies.”

He kept walking, not in a hurry or appearing suspicious. If anything, he seemed relaxed, his stride confident. We were nothing more than a young couple, strolling along the promenade. Except he wore a ridiculous mask and I wore a concealed blade, and most of the ship wore fear like a new overcoat.

A few times I caught him lifting his face as if to feel the sunshine, though the sun was hidden behind a thick layer of clouds. A storm was brewing.

“Jian had his swords crafted by an expert bladesmith from the Ottoman Empire during his travels,” he continued, though I hadn’t inquired. “The metal practically sings as it cuts through the air. You’ll have to come to one of his practices—you can hear it best when there’s not a crowd.”

“Does he sleep with his swords near? It sounds as if they’re worth a great amount.”

“Why all the curiosity about Jian?” He paused near a cabin in the middle of the deck. “Do you believe he’s keeping bodies in his sword bin?”

His question was light, but there was an edge in his expression that pricked my pulse.

“Can I not inquire over a singing sword without a motive?” I asked. “Not everything revolves around you, you insufferable thing.”

“Yes, but—”

“You know? I just had a tremendous idea! You ought to rename his show ‘Jian, the Sultan of Singing Swords.’ I’d wager people would love to hear that symphony. Perhaps you can engineer a way to enhance the sword song. Have you tried using the methods of an ear trumpet to amplify sound?”

Mephistopheles raised both brows. A feat I was always impressed by, since he never took off his mask. “Are you interested in turning your scientific mind into profit?” He held a hand to his heart. “Have I convinced you to join show business after only a few nights? I’m even better than I thought. And I thought quite highly of my wooing skills before, mind you.”

“‘Show business’?” I asked, relieved to have distracted him. “Is that what you’re calling the carnival today?”

“It’s what P. T. Barnum calls the circus, has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

I scoffed. “I’ve heard rumors of him being unkind and a scoundrel. I’m not sure basing anything off of him is a wise idea.”

“He’s an opportunist, as are most businessmen, which doesn’t require respectability.”

Mephistopheles inserted a key, then pushed open the door, revealing a cabin unoccupied by anything other than tools and props. There was a faint scent of metal in the air, and, for once, it wasn’t due to spilled blood.

He flipped the light on, revealing ordinary-enough-looking things mixed with the improbable. Top hats with metal parts on the inside, bird cages with mechanical doves covered in real feathers that appeared so lifelike I had to touch them to be sure they were toys. I spied a tailcoat hanging on a hook, the entire inside of it stitched with metal and gearshifts. Raven feathers perched along the shoulders, sleek and shiny as oil.

Scattered across the vanity were screws and bolts and plague-doctor masks. I shuddered as I drew closer to one, its leather beak a cream so rich it appeared to be carved from bone.

“These are…”

“Terrifying?” he supplied, picking one up and running a gloved finger over the large beak. I imagined his expression as thoughtful, though it was hard to tell. “Did you know that during medieval times, when plague doctors wore these, they placed aromatic scents at the tip of the beak? Rose petals, juniper berries, lemon balm, and mint. They helped keep putrid scents of death away.” He set it down. “They were also allowed to perform postmortems on the dead, though it was forbidden to others during those days. Someone such as yourself would have faced grave charges.”