NINETEEN

S IGNA

Everyone had made it back to Wisteria Gardens by late afternoon on Christmas Eve, Elijah assuring them that guests would surely arrive come evening.

It made sense to have the most effervescent of them be the one to invite the townsfolk, though if no one decided to show, Aris promised to use whatever magic necessary to make them.

"I'll have to put a haze over their thoughts anyway," he'd said. "It's not like we can invite the entire town to come and watch flying costumes and pretend that all is well and normal."

Signa sighed. This was far more complicated than she'd hoped. It was a wonder she and Aris had ever tried to figure this out on their own.

She paced circles in what was once the library of Wisteria.

They'd fashioned the entire manor into a theater for the night, and the spirits around her practically buzzed with excitement.

No longer did they bounce from wall to wall, reveling in their chaos.

Having the theater around them seemed to have given the spirits a sense of place, mellowing them out.

They whispered to one another, flitting to and fro while trying to peek beneath the curtains to catch glimpses of the audience.

The ballet mistress snapped at them whenever they got too close.

" Never allow the audience to see you before the show ," she instructed. "It ruins the mystique."

Blythe, however, followed no such rule. She came bounding through the stage door not long after, sporting a broad grin and looking immensely proud of herself.

"People are arriving," she announced. "There are at least two dozen already seated, and they have fantastic taste. All are raving about the decor. "

Somewhere behind them, Aris sighed. Each soul in the audience ultimately meant more work for him, though it also meant a greater chance that the spirits would be pleased with this performance and be able to pass on.

"What will they all believe they came here for tonight?" Blythe whispered, scooting closer to Aris.

"I'll make them believe we put on some abundantly festive performance.

Perhaps it'll be about a beautiful princess named Blythe who tries to befriend the cute forest animals and get their help with delivering presents to the nearby orphanage.

The villain will be a cackling witch named Signa Sorrow who does not believe in the spirit of Christmas.

Blythe will be locked away in the highest floor of the tallest tower, only able to be saved by a dashing prince named Aris, who helps slay the witch and—"

Moss suddenly filled Aris's mouth, cutting off his words.

"Blythe will save herself when she helps Signa see the joy of Christmas. For the witch was only lonely, and it pained her to see others happy when she was so misunderstood. But the two of them become friends, and together they save Christmas!"

"When in this story was Christmas ever in danger?" Sylas asked, appearing from the darkness and taking several long strides toward them, his boots making no sound.

Blythe frowned at him. "It doesn't matter if there are plot holes so long as the story is gripping."

Signa snorted, too distracted to participate in the conversation. She made a tiny gap in the curtains to peek through, uncertain whether it should relax or unnerve her to see that every seat was filling up. Only when the ballet mistress snapped at her did Signa withdraw.

" Mystique ," the woman snapped. "We must maintain the illusion."

Signa slipped away, leaving the ballet mistress to her fretting. A few more hours, and this mess would finally be over. She just had to ensure that the spirits behaved, and that no one in the crowd was in danger.

"It'll be all right." Death had stepped up behind her, thumb brushing the length of her wrist. It helped her breathe easier, though nothing would relax her until the show was over.

"I'm closing the doors," Elijah warned, poking his head backstage. "Consider this your five minutes to places."

Signa nodded, though she needn't say a word. The ballet mistress had been aptly listening, and the moment Elijah disappeared she swiveled and clapped her hands in the air, summoning the attention of every dancer. They quieted, as still as the earth and watching with hawklike eyes.

"This is the moment we've been training for, everyone. Five minutes to places!" She spoke in that thick accent of hers, looking over each performer. When her eyes landed on a very hopeful Odette, her thin lips pursed. "Has anyone seen Ju—"

"Jules is finishing getting dressed," Signa quickly told her. "I'll go and fetch him."

The woman's face pinched tight. "Very well, but be quick about it."

Signa tried not to let herself be irked by the woman's grating tone as she slipped out the back door of the makeshift stage to where Jules paced the length of Wisteria's hall.

The older man had been outfitted in a costume of a silky gray with a high structured collar and silver embroidery around the neckline and cuffs.

The buttons on his tunic were shaped like snowflakes, and his face had been painted with silver-leaf dust so that it would shimmer beneath the stage lights.

His shoulders boasted wintry epaulets; he'd strike a heroic figure when he made his entrance.

"It's time," she told him, keeping her voice soft. "Are you ready?"

He grunted under his breath, fidgeting with his collar. "Do I have a choice?"

"Of course you do." Perhaps Aris would force the man's hand, but Signa would have no part of it.

"I know you're afraid, but they've been waiting for you all this time.

If not to give yourself the chance to finally say goodbye, then do this for them.

You can gift them the peace that they deserve.

" She stepped forward, extending her hand.

For a moment Jules looked away, and panic tightened Signa's throat as she realized this might be too much for him. That he might turn and flee. Instead, he slowly took her hand.

"Take me to them," he whispered, and Signa pulled him inside.

It was a different world backstage, and one that Jules met with wide eyes. He gaped at the dozens of costumes that floated before him, stumbling back into Signa.

"I changed my mind," he rasped. "I can't do this."

"Yes, you can." Signa steadied the man, who trembled like a leaf caught in a storm. "You've already done it. They're all right there, Jules."

"Heavens above." The man's skin had gone sheet-white. "It's true. Everything you said was true."

Behind Signa, Odette squealed in delight, pushing the others aside as she darted toward Jules. This time Aris used his threads to steady the man.

Jules would see only Odette's sugarplum-pink dress as the spirit rushed him, but his eyes seemed to simultaneously melt and fill with fear as he stared, looking a hair's breadth away from fainting.

"It's her," he whispered, pushing against the threads to stand taller. "Isn't it?"

Odette, too, seemed curious about the man she approached, peering down in fascination as she floated before him.

She bent close to inspect his face, and though her touch did not connect, Jules still sighed as if able to sense the way she smoothed her hands over his skin, peering deep into his eyes for a long moment before she smiled.

" Jules ," she whispered, and with that word Signa saw more clarity in the spirit's eyes than she had at any point in these past several days. "You've come home."

"What's she saying?" Jules begged, his voice still tense as terror ate into him. "Is she angry with me? Does she want me to leave? Does she—" He lifted a hand to where Odette pressed a kiss against his forehead, mouth going slack as he was stilled by her phantom touch.

"She's glad you're back," Signa whispered. "Odette is glad to have you home, Jules. They all are."

The spirits were peering over each other to observe the two, their wide grins making Signa's chest ache with happiness.

This was her favorite part of her powers.

It was what made the thankless work she did so worth it.

She may not have had a clear title like Death, Life, or Fate, and she may not ever fully understand how she came to exist. But one thing was certain—Signa was precisely where she was meant to be, and was doing the work that she was made to do.

"I'm sorry," Jules whispered, tears falling from his cheeks like glistening stars. "I never wanted to hurt any of you. I was going to ask you to marry me, Odette."

" I know ," she whispered, Signa echoing the words aloud. "And I was going to say yes."

Aris had backed away, not at all built for such emotional turmoil. Blythe, on the other hand, was watching with a trembling bottom lip and tears streaming down her cheeks.

" Dance with me ," Odette whispered, offering Jules a pale translucent hand. "Be my partner one last time."

He didn't need the translation. When Odette reached toward him, he wound his fingers around her sleeve and followed, his chin held high and his back straight, looking twenty years younger as they took to the stage.

" Places, everyone! " the ballet mistress called out, fretting about to ensure that everyone was ready when she saw that Jules and Odette were at the center. "Places!"

Odette lifted onto her toes as Jules took his position, seeming to remember the dance as though it'd been only days since he last practiced. He shut his eyes, lifted his chin, and the show began.

Velvet curtains parted with a soft rustle, revealing Blythe's magnificent stage, now dressed in an ethereal glow from the lights beaming down on the dancers. The audience, held under Aris's spell, leaned forward in their seats as the first notes of the orchestra swelled from the hidden pit.

Jules stood tall at center stage. He was an old man now, far from the youth who had been a part of this performance ages ago, and yet he moved nimbly on his feet, guided by Odette.

She no longer floated but kept her pointed toes solidly on the ground, her movements so graceful that it seemed as though the air itself bent to her command.

Every turn, every lift, was like a story woven by their bodies. Jules circled her, proud and regal.

The other spirits had floated from the shadows as the music continued to build.

They moved around Jules and Odette like a winter breeze, their forms shimmering in shades of silver and ice.

Their costumes billowed with each turn, glimmering in the light, while their silent feet glided over the floor in perfect synchrony.

Signa watched from behind the curtains, her fingers clutching the fabric as she held her breath, unable to look away.

The audience might be seeing a performance, but she was watching a farewell.

Odette's face shone with a tenderness that Jules might not have been able to see, but Signa hoped with every fiber of her being that he could feel it.

Blythe, like the others, would only be able to see twirling costumes and pretty lights, and yet she watched with rapt attention as the pair moved through the final phases of the dance. Jules lifted Odette into his arms, and for a moment, the very world held its breath.

Odette's hands glided to Jules's chest, her body shimmering. The tears in her eyes were no longer bloodied as they fell. Her figure was blurring at the edges, and Jules tightened his grip as if he could sense it.

"Odette?" he whispered, loud enough that Signa heard his despair.

But Odette only shone that same soft, serene smile she'd worn since their reunion. She held on to Jules as he set her down, bending to press a tender kiss to his lips. And then, with a final graceful spin, she let go.

Her figure broke apart into thousands of tiny, wisping fragments, and her costume fell to the floor, her fading form no longer able to hold it up. Other spirits were beginning to experience the same, each of them fading, one by one, as they gave their final performance.

Behind Signa, Sylas had begun to stir. It was time.

Jules stumbled forward, his hand still raised to where Odette had stood seconds before.

His breath came in ragged bursts as he stared upon her fallen dress.

He whispered words that Signa did not hear.

Words that didn't belong to her, but that had Odette trembling.

She turned to focus on Sylas, who stood waiting in the wings, and nodded to him softly.

The music swelled again, and at the final crescendo the reaper stepped out among the swaying spirits, who saw him with a new clarity, the fog lifted from their eyes.

They turned to him, reaching out their hands, bodies vanishing from this world one after the other as Death guided them on to the next.

The music fell silent, the stage lights dimming as Jules stood alone at center stage. His eyes were wet, his chest heaving with sobs, but his face—his face was filled with peace.

Only then did the audience, still under Aris's spell, burst into applause. They stood from their seats, clapping. And with the weight of his entire troupe on his shoulders, Jules took his final bow.