Catherine entered the long, narrow hallway behind the Heritage bar, heavy duffle bag tucked under one arm and an excited grin on her face as she hurried towards her goal. The back entrance was seldom used, but the owner allowed performers to go in and out that way, to give them a bit of privacy. Anyone caught loitering near that entrance was quickly disabused of their foolishness.

She could barely contain her excitement. She’d spent all day half dreaming of tonight, and her belly was so crowded with bumblebees and butterflies she half expected some might come flying out if she opened her mouth. Well, none did, but there was always a chance. And wouldn’t that be a sight to see.

Giggling to herself, Cat slipped into a back room and shut the door behind her, locking it to make sure no one would walk in on her. Then she took a deep breath and set her burden down on the vanity. The room was about as small as the master bedroom in her and Angie’s apartment, with a large vanity taking up a quarter of the space and a few standing racks for hanging dresses or suits, a closet for storing her belongings, and a small washstand for cleaning off makeup or just washing hands.

After refreshing herself in the small bathroom outside, Cat tore open her bag and began taking out her equipment and the outfit she’d chosen for tonight. Bottles and jars of makeup and paints, vials of strong perfumes, ribbons and hair ties, and jewelry of a dozen different varieties. Long and thin strips of metal as well, which she set aside, separate from her other pieces.

The dress was a thick, woolen affair of variegated colors and patterns she’d made herself while she’d lived with a tribal clan what seems a hundred years ago. It came in two parts—a loose, layered blouse with a shawl that covered her chest and shoulders but bared her midriff, and a long skirt that curved about her hips and twisted down her legs to end in loose tassels that brushed her ankles. The tassels swayed hypnotically as she practiced swinging her hips, remembering the dance she learned so long ago.

Once satisfied with her dress, Cat sat at the vanity and grabbed the jars of paint and makeup, then set to painting the skin on her arms, her face, and her midriff too. Swirls of blue and lines of gold decorated her tan skin as her brush danced over it, her top removed so she wouldn’t smear paint on the cloth. She painted the tips of her fingers, and had to wait for them to dry before painting the fingers on her other hand. She had time, though.

With makeup she changed her face. Her cheekbones went higher and became more prominent, her full lips drew color, and shadows made her eyes seem larger than they truly were. She tied long strings of beads to her hair, and they clacked as they brushed together. When it was all done and she saw herself in the mirror, even she had difficulty recognizing her own face. It was someone else’s face. Someone more beautiful by half.

“I am Zia the Enchantress,” she said aloud, meeting her own gaze in the mirror. A spark of amusement tickled her chest, and she couldn’t help but laugh. What would Angie say, if she heard her say that?

When all the paint dried and she checked over herself again, she redressed and sat down to wait. She wouldn’t be going out until the hour struck, and she still had a few minutes to kill before her time. Besides, those butterflies were still churning her stomach, and she wanted a moment to rest and settle her nerves. She hadn’t waited long when a rap sounded at her door, and before she could get up to answer it, the latch on the door shifted aside.

Zia tensed, then relaxed as the owner of the Heritage stepped into the room, gently closing the door behind her. The owner, Star, was wearing that snapback she always had on, ponytail snaked through the hole in the back and her head tilted just far down enough to hide her eyes. Still, eyes down or not, she gave Zia an appraising look, folding her arms across her chest.

Star was an imposing woman. She was of a height with Zia, but the way she carried herself—even while slouching and at ease—height never seemed to matter. This was a woman in full control of herself, her surroundings, and everyone in her proximity. A woman who was who she wanted to be, and unafraid of it. Zia envied her.

“I see you’re ready,” Star said, leaning back against the doorframe. Even doing that she looked in control. “The bar’s packed. There will be quite the crowd when you go out there, but I suspect that’s what you wanted.”

“I will go out in a few more moments,” Zia agreed. She tried to pitch her voice to match the owner’s tone, calm and confident, but what came out was all breathy anxiety. Star’s lips curved into a small smile.

“Relax, Catherine,” she said. “You won’t be any good tense like a coiled spring. Stay focused, but relax. Deep breaths.”
Zia tried. She really did, but there was only so much breathing could do for her. “I’m Zia right now,” she said. “I’d prefer if you called me that while I’m dressed up. It helps me...disconnect.”

Star frowned. “I think you have something backwards, Catherine Winters. Disconnecting yourself from your stage face is all well and good, but remember which one you’re supposed to be right now. You are Catherine until you walk onto that stage. Only then can you be someone else.”

“It helps me,” Zia said defensively.

Star shrugged. “Fine. Suit yourself, kid. Just remember, reveling in the spotlight is all well and good, but if you let it control your life and everything you do, you’ll get burned out quick. You could be a decent actor, if you play your cards right, but you won’t ever be more than that.”

Despite herself, Zia flushed red and almost leapt from her chair. “You can’t—” she cut off, biting her tongue as Star raised a hand. That was all she did, but it felt more like a slap in the face than the earlier comment.

“Take one from a woman who’s been where you are before,” Star said. “Leave Taygete before you can’t get out anymore. This life will suck you in, and it won’t spit you out until you’re as withered and dried out as a corpse. Go to the country, find a farm somewhere or a husband or both, and give your life to something worth doing. You don’t belong here, kid, and I don’t mean any of this as an insult.”

Star nodded to her, then turned and left before Zia could utter a word. She was still opening and closing her mouth, trying to figure out what to say in that empty room, but nothing came out. Zia...or Cat, or whoever she was, fell back into her seat and stared at her hands, her mind racing but no thought coming to the surface.