Page 43 of Real

“Move back,” the woman says.

We back up just before two white poles extend from the bottom of the platform.

“Hold on. There’s more than one way to get to the second floor.”

Timothy and I grasp the poles just as the platform lifts. I’m not even that surprised. This place is more than magic. There’s a whimsical nature to it—a fantasy within a fantasy.

The platform begins moving up diagonally until we reach a white door that appears out of nowhere. The woman must have been hiding it from us this whole time. She opens it to a cement staircase within.

“Will you do me a favor, skatten min?” she says.

“Okay.” I’m not sure what I can promise her before I know what her favor is.

“Will you be careful with our secrets, no matter what you choose?”

All the Illusors keep talking about a choice I have to make. I guess that’s something Skatt will explain.

“Of course I will be careful with your secrets,” I promise. It’s strange, but I feel at home here in the Den more than I ever have anywhere. I would never do anything to harm the Illusors or this place.

I step onto the staircase, and Timothy follows me.

“I didn’t catch your name,” I say as the platform lowers.

But it’s too late. The woman is no longer standing there.

The platform is empty.

19

Buddy

The staircase leads to another large white room. This one has a series of doors on each side with doorknobs that are painted like a yellow and blue pinwheel. At the center there is a small stage with blue and yellow curtains that match the doorknobs. There is a row of ten red chairs, and six of them are filled with alpha men. The first one is Einar, which is a nice relief. Several of the other men have blond hair and blue eyes, just like him. It’s kind of bizarre. They’re all wearing the same suit and sitting together too. The four men on the end are wearing suits too, but not of the same color or cut. The one on the end has black curly hair and a pinstripe suit. His shoes look very expensive. The next guy has a build similar to H’s and a big smile on his face. The other two seem a little nervous, especially the one seated next to the blond-haired blue-eyed brigade.

Einar stands. “It’s good to see you again so soon. Please sit down. The show is about to start.”

“Who are… I mean…” How do I politely ask why there are three more of him dressed exactly alike?

“We all are younger alphas who have yet to paint our hands,” he says, sitting again.

I think that means they don’t have mates yet. Why does that matter? And that doesn’t explain the uncanny resemblance he shares with three of the other guys.

Timothy sits next to him, which leaves one chair left for me. I join them, hoping this will all make sense soon.

The moment I sit, the curtains begin to open. On the stage there are five wooden marionettes. That isn’t surprising because this is supposed to be a puppet show. The thing that’s shocking is that these marionettes are life-sized, and their strings are clearly visible. It all seems a little clunky for the Illusors, who are capable of much more sophisticated entertainment. The eyes of the marionettes don’t even open. They’re all male and identical with brown hair made of yarn.

They perform a jerky, simple dance in unison until the one on the far left opens his eyes. Those eyes aren’t wooden. They’re real like mine. He winks at me and kneels down to pick up a pair of scissors on the stage. He cuts his strings as the other marionettes continue to dance.

Once his strings are gone, the independent marionette begins a more complex dance on his own. It compliments the clunky dance of the others as if he doesn’t quite want to leave them to their own devices. He spins and leaps with a passion that’s hard to look away from. I’d bet anything this is Skatt.

At one point he does a series of flips, and when he lands, he’s no longer made of wood. He has real skin and real hair and a real smile as he looks directly at me. Hope surges within me. He was made of wood with yarn hair. If he can turn to flesh and blood, don’t I have a chance? He even had a picture of me. Maybe the magic that created him is somehow connected to the magic that created me.

He continues to dance with the other marionettes. I watch intently, wondering if the others will wake up too. But they don’t. As the dance slows, the man goes back to where his strings hang without him. He grabs them like he’s holding onto a bunch of balloons with each hand, and his skin shifts from flesh to wood once again. My heart sinks. Is he only allowed to be human for the length of the dance? What will happen to him now that his strings are cut loose?

The curtain closes on the marionettes, who are now all wooden and lifeless.

The men seated next to us cheer. Timothy and I sit in shocked silence. I still don’t understand what’s happening.

A wooden man steps out from behind the curtain and walks down the steps next to the stage. “Welcome, welcome! Forgive my dramatics. I think you’ll find I’m like everyone else here. I like to put on a good show.”

---