Light Fantastique by Cecilia Dominic Page B

O’Connell said. “As for how I got it, don’t worry about it.”
    Radcliffe snorted. He rarely imbibed but held a snifter with some sort of honey-colored liquid.
    â€œPerhaps I should ask what’s new with you.” Marie gestured to Edward, who spoke with Iris in hushed but excited words and then to the two men with their beverages. “This feels like a celebration.”
    â€œWe made a breakthrough,” O’Connell told her. “Well, the professor did. We got the mock lighting system to work with the aether. It was disappearing when we tried to inject it in the hydrogen, but he made an adjustment and it worked. Lit up the atelier like a bonfire all morning.”
    â€œOh, that’s incredible!” Marie clapped her hands. Now she stopped the tea server, which had come around again, and opened a side door, where her mother always kept a small bottle of rum. She poured some in a teacup, which she then raised. “Here’s to you, then, and the new era for the Théâtre Bohème.”
    They raised their glasses to hers, and Edward and Iris joined them. The professor appeared tired and worn, but there was a light in his eyes that had been dulled since the death of Jeremy Scott in Rome. From the look on Iris’s face, she noticed it too, and a relieved happiness emanated from her through the special connection she and Marie shared.
    Marie’s shoulders relaxed a hair, but jealousy braided her lower guts. Not for Edward—goodness, she had no room in her life for neurotic scientists—but that Iris was one step closer to the chance for a normal life with a husband and family.
    Marie gazed at the brown liquid in her glass, hating her friendship-betraying thoughts and the circumstances they originated from. She should be happy for Iris and not begrudge her the moment, for she knew there were still challenges ahead.
    â€œWhere’s Johann?” Edward asked and startled Marie from the dark spiral of her emotions. “He should be here to celebrate with us.”
    â€œWhy?” Marie asked. “He’s busy. Working. He can celebrate with us later.” She pushed away the sense of relief she’d had that morning when she heard him outside the dressing room, like he could pull her from her strange dreams into this world and anchor her in reality.
    â€œSomething he said yesterday was responsible for the breakthrough. His words bounced around in my head and made me see things in a new way.” Edward smiled at Iris. “And then I knew what had to be done, what adjustments to make.”
    â€œHe’s a good friend,” Iris said.
    â€œEven if he has his faults,” Marie added.
    Like being irresponsible and a gambler and putting us all at risk from the Clockwork Guild. Her mind tripped through her reasons for not liking Bledsoe as smoothly as the tea server moved along its track.
    â€œRight,” Radcliffe said. “So let’s toast to Edward and Patrick.”
    â€œAnd to Marie and Maestro Bledsoe, who will be taking part in the upcoming production,” Iris added.
    Marie reluctantly clinked her teacup to the others’.
    â€œSo Fantastique is taking the stage again?” Radcliffe asked.
    â€œNot enthusiastically.” Marie tried to ignore the impulse to step into the expected role of premiere femme , but her shoulders straightened, and her chin tried to move into a haughty angle.
    Her appetite fled. No, no, no! She took a gulp of rum and ended up coughing.
    â€œAre you all right?” O’Connell thumped her on the back.
    â€œUncanny,” Radcliffe said. “You seemed to transform for a moment.”
    â€œAnd you’ve been working too hard. Perhaps you should take a break from your makeshift clinic, Doctor.” Marie set her teacup on the table. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I have lines to memorize.”
    â€œWait,” Edward said. “I wanted to show you the system so you can tell me if