Page 44 of The Failed Audition

He gives me a look that I regard asthanks, one that encompasses more than just this moment, I think. I’ve been tagging along all night, and I haven’t done much. But I haven’t made his life harder, so there’s that. And I thought his biggest stress was Amour—carrying the weight of an entire show on his shoulders.

“Luka,” Nikolai shouts as we approach all of them, still chatting like nothing has changed. An athletic guy, dressed in a plain gray shirt and jeans, squeezes through the pack before standing beside his brother.

I thought I was invisible with my five-foot-two height, but somehow Luka trains on me first.

“Hey…I recognize you,” he says. I feel my facial muscles tense. “You’re the titty pierc—”

Nikolai smacks the back of his head, skillfully holding Katya with one arm.

Titty Piercing.I’ll take the Virgin Mary nickname over that, any day.

Luka gapes at his older brother. “What?” He touches his head.

“I’mholdingour passed-out sister, and that’s the first thing you have to say?” he nearly growls out the words. His eyes slice through Luka. And I thought I enraged him during the first auditions—this is a new spectrum of pissed off.

“Dimitri would’ve made the same comment!” Luka rebuts.

“Dimitri?” Nikolai lets out an aggravated sound. “If you’re modeling yourself after someone who’s been to jail three times, then I’ve severely miscalculated how smart you are, Luka.”

“Pissing on the street shouldn’t even be a crime,” Luka retorts, still gawking. He outstretches his arms likecome on.

Nikolai just glares. Right at him.

And Luka shrinks back, his shoulders lowering in regret. He just now registers his little sister in Nikolai’s arms, and guilt spreads across his face. It’s clear to me that Nikolai has a lot of influence over them—that his words matter to his siblings.

“I’ll take Kat back to her room,” Luka offers, glancing once over his shoulder. Timo staggers as he laughs, full-bellied ones that brighten his face beneath the gold carnival mask. He rests his hip on the map kiosk while his humor overtakes him. “He wants to go to Hex down the street.”

Nikolai rubs his jaw. “The bar that closes at five?”

“Yeah.” Luka scoops his little sister, cradling her body with ease. “You can’t tell him no. He’s eighteen.”

“Just let me handle it,” he says. “Keep your phone on. Don’t steal anything. And thank you for calling me about him.”

Luka nods, mutters a few things in Russian, and breaks from the pack, aiming for the elevators. This shift in the group alerts Timo, and it takes him about one-point-two seconds to finally zone in on us.

He points his gold staff at me with a dazzling wide grin and says, “Thora James.” Then he bows. I can’t smile this time, partially because I feel Nikolai boiling beside me.

It’s like when I’m in the air, about to land a double layout, and I know I’ve overcorrected. I know that I’m going to stumble when I hit the mat.

It’s just like that.

I see the bad thing before it happens. It’s rare that I fixate on the incoming storm, but I’m starting to, I realize.

Timo notices Nikolai beside me, and his sparkling grin slowly fades.

Nikolai steps forward, and the entire group silences. More out of respect than fear, I believe. The power he possesses, over a bunch of rowdy, drunken guys, takes me aback. “You didn’t check on Katya like I asked,” he says lowly.

Timo leans his bodyweight on the staff. “I called her. Chill out, Nikolai. Or better yet, go to bed.” He laughs, expecting everyone to join in with him. No one does. The rest of the guys mutter quietly and shake their heads. Everyone is on the God of Russia’s side. No one cheers against him.

Except maybe Timo.

Nikolai speaks again, his voice harsh and words coarse. Someone wins a jackpot, the casino floor blaring the electric slide song. Nikolai never trips up, and Timo’s knuckles whiten on his staff. They shout back and forth—for what feels like five minutes, until we’re ushered outside by hotel management.

On the other side of the glass doors, no cool breeze lessens the sticky heat beneath my coat. I linger, unsure of where myplace is again. Then Timo pushes his mask up to his forehead, their argument switching to English for the first time.

“I’m not twelve anymore!” Timo screams, pain leeching his voice. His face reddens with the words. “I want tolivemy life, and you can either follow me orleave me alone.” He hails a cab, shutting his brother out.

Nikolai breathes deeply, like he’s run a full marathon. He rubs his lips and then turns his head, searching almost. I’m surprised when his gray irises land on me, about ten feet away. He gestures to me with two fingers likecome here.

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