The Exorcist Doctor

Chapter 147 - Applause Dies // Power Remains

Vivi was the first to nearly lose her soul. She clutched the railing with both hands, shouting in panic as the driver whipped the reins and sent their carriage barrelling after the bandits. The rest of them held on for dear life as well, but Gael threw his head back and laughed, taking another long pull from his bottle.

“Live a little, Vivi!” he shouted. “This is the best tour Bleakhearth’s about to offer us yet!”

As their carriage screeched around a corner again, frightening dozens of passersby and even the bandit carriage they were trailing, Maeve slammed into his shoulder and dug her fingers into his coat.

“What in the hells are we doing?” she snapped. “Why are we chasing thieves like it’s any of our business?”

“Because Bleakhearth’s rich!” he shouted back, leaning closer so she could hear him over the wind. “It doesn’t matter if the streets look clean! No matter how peaceful it looks, there’ll always be people who think they’re untouchable, and there’ll always be someone stupid enough to try their luck at getting rich off a heist! After all, one good heist and you can set your entire family up for life!”

“That explains nothing! Why are we chasing them?“

“Because it’ll put us squarely in the good graces of the men who run this ward!” He slapped his cane against the railing again. “Driver! Faster! Don’t let them get away!”

The driver answered by snapping the reins even harder. The giant silver ant surged forward with renewed fury, and the carriage shot down Bleakhearth’s main streets, lanternlight smearing into long golden streaks. Wind tore at coats and hair, and the elegant facades of shops and gardens blurred into a single glittering rush.

Ahead of them, the bandits finally realized they weren’t alone. There were five of them in total—two hunched inside the carriage itself and three clinging to the sides like barnacles—and one of them twisted around first, mask crooked as he spotted pursuit. He shouted something that got swallowed by the wind, and then all three bandits on the sides raised pistols at once.

Everyone reacted differently. Gael leaned aside lazily, bullets whining past where his head had been a heartbeat earlier. Cara shifted her weight without even looking, letting a shot skim harmlessly past her shoulder. Fergal ducked instinctively. Jin didn’t move much at all—he simply went very still, face pressed flat against the railing.

Vivi shrieked and grabbed Jin without thinking, arms locking around his torso. He stiffened, said nothing, and accepted the embrace like a man resigning himself to fate.

“Gael,” Maeve warned, still gripping his arm tightly. Her face had gone pale. “If we go any faster, I might be sick on your boots.”

“Try to aim over the railings,” he advised, still grinning.

Meanwhile, Evelyn leaned over the railing, utterly delighted. “Look at that fountain!” she shouted over the gunfire. “It’s shaped like a moth! Did you see that? They’ve got gold trim on the wings!”

“I see!” Liorin said breathlessly, gripping the rail with both hands while still craning his head around. “So many lights! Bleakhearth look like storybook!”

Another volley of shots rang out. None found flesh. Fergal twisted back to look at Cara. “You alright with this speed?”

She glanced at him flatly. “I’m doing just fine. You?”

“Good.”

“Good.”

The distance closed fast as the driver didn’t relent, whipping his silver ant to go faster, faster, and even faster. Once they were close enough to the tail of the bandits’ carriage, Gael planted one boot against the front rail and straightened, pointing his cane forward.

“Alright, enough sightseeing! Fergal! Evelyn! Stop fucking around and get your asses over there!”

Evelyn laughed wildly and launched herself forward, wings snapping open as she cleared the gap. Fergal followed an instant later, leaping with his Jumping Spider Class’ Art, and both of them slammed onto the top of the bandits’ carriage.

The bandits blinked and looked up at them. Both of them punched straight down, expecting resistance.

They were wrong.

The carriage gave way catastrophically. With a horrible, splintering crack, the entire vehicle tipped, momentum carrying it up and over. The world seemed to freeze as the bandits’ carriage lifted into the air, rotating end over end—directly back towards Gael’s carriage.

It was Gael’s turn to blink.

Oh shit.

Before he could snap his right hand up and have his hungry flowers shred the carriage to pieces, the driver suddenly snapped his reins hard. The giant silver ant turned sideways and slid into a drift, and the entire carriage tipped over with it. All of them grabbed onto a railing to stop themselves from falling off, and sparks screeched beneath them where wood scraped against stone, but the full carriage drift was successful. The bandits’ carriage sailed overhead—then it hit the street behind them and exploded.

Wood, metal, coins, and shattered glass erupted in a thunderous spray. The shockwave rattled lanterns and sent passersby scrambling back in a chorus of startled cries, but the driver simply jerked his reins once more to have his giant silver ant yank their carriage upright, and then it slowed, coming to a halt in front of the crash site.

The five bandits lay scattered across the street. Groaning, yes—bleeding, yes—but still very much alive.

While the others gasped for breath and looked at each other, completely astonished by the turn of events, Gael burst into laughter.

“Oh, it was worth it to get a carriage after all—”

Maeve whacked the back of his head as Fergal and Evelyn fluttered back onto their carriage. “Are you insane?”

He grinned at her. “But that was fun, right?”

“No,” Maeve said.

“No,” Cara said.

“No,” Vivi said.

“No,” Jin said.

“No,” Fergal said.

“Yes!” Evelyn and Liorin said. Gael brightened and rubbed their heads.

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“Keep going to the Mothlight Theatre, please,” he said, leaning over the railings and tipping his hat at the driver. “We don’t need to be here for their cleanup.”

The driver dipped his head and whipped the reins once more. This time, the giant silver ant trotted away at a slow and steady pace—Cara, Maeve, and Jin would probably kill him if he made them any sicker than they already were—and nobody stopped them while they simply rode away.

Gael spied a few more gargoyles perched upon the corners of a few roofs as they rode off. No doubt they were merely being allowed to leave, but there was no need to worry the rest of his gang over that.

As they eased deeper into Bleakhearth, the streets widened. The lanterns grew brighter, and the buildings turned more and more theatrical. Arched windows, gilded balconies, and velvet banners swaying gently in the night were the least of the luxuries—the carriage eventually slowed to a halt before a massive theatre absolutely blazed with light. Spotlights swept the sky in slow arcs, crossing over one another like dueling blades of gold, while a constant stream of well-dressed patrons flowed through its wide ornate doors. Laughter and music spilled out into the street in warm, expensive waves. Just breathing in made Gael feel poor.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Then Gael hopped off the carriage first.

“This is us,” he said. “End of the line.”

He turned back toward the driver, grin crooked and approving.

“By the way—that drifting back there? Sick as hell. What’s your name?”

The man tipped his head, amused. “Safi.”

“Ever considering driving full-time for a clinic, Safi?”

“Tempting, but I’m leaving Bharncair in a few days. Just here on vacation.”

Gael clicked his tongue. “Shame. Well, thanks for the ride. Here’s the extra I promised, and here’s some extra-extra for the sick driving.”

He tossed the driver two coin pouches as the others climbed down one by one, still completely in awe at the sheer size and luxury of the theatre. Safi snapped the reins immediately after, gave them a final nod, and rolled off down the street.

Gael watched him go before turning back to his gang, grinning.

“Alright,” he said. “From here on out—best behavior.”

And maybe the Mothlight Theatre made it easy for people to want to be on their best behavior, because all of them immediately stiffened and looked like the spotlights shining at the sky would suddenly turn on them. Gael, of course, knew that wasn’t going to happen. He started forward himself, heading towards one of the ticket booths off to the side where a masked receptionist waited behind the glass.

He stepped up and leaned his forearms on the counter.

“Evening,” he said. “I want six adult tickets and two children tickets.”

“Six adult tickets and two children—”

“Ah. Wait a minute.”

Gael glanced back at Vivi. She was still staring up at the theatre’s towering spires like they were going to shoot off into the skies, and her eyes were soft and huge, widened with the kind of childlike awe that’d make any parent’s protective instincts itch.

He waved Maeve over, and he waited until she was right in his ear to whisper.

“How old is she again?”

Maeve blinked. Went over to Vivi for a whisper. Then she came back. Gael quickly whirled back around to face the receptionist with a smile.

“Correction,” he said brightly. “Five adult tickets and three children tickets.”

The receptionist paused. Behind the glass, the mask didn’t move, but the stillness grew judgmental. “She doesn’t look like a child.”

“Okay, but look at her.” He jabbed his cane at Vivi discreetly. “Can an adult look that dumb staring at a simple theatre?”

The receptionist was silent for a beat. Then he let out a slow exhale that somehow sounded like surrender. “Five adults and three children, then.”

Gael beamed. After the receptionist named a price and he paid it, he went back over to the gang and handed everyone the gold-lined tickets. Unfortunately, just holding the tickets in his hands made him feel poor as well, and he suspected that was just going to be a recurring feeling being in Bleakhearth. He supposed he already missed Blightmarch already.

They passed through the theatre’s grand doors after getting their ticket checked by another counter, and quickly they entered a vast hallway that swallowed sounds like a mouth. It was almost pitch-black, the walls velvet-draped and narrow, and ventilated with some sort of air conditioning that kept it just a little bit below cool. Thankfully, they were all still hot-blooded after the exciting carriage chase, so none of them shivered. Yet. The kids might want a coat or two if they stayed for a while.

Evelyn and Liorin immediately crowded behind Maeve and Gael as they walked through the dark hallway, following the ebb and flow of the crowd. The children' s eyes flicked to the countless doors along the sides of the hallway. Each led to a different performance room, every time one of those doors opened for someone to enter or exit, a slice of sound bled out—sometimes laughter, sometimes applause, but lots of astonished gasps. A troupe of acrobats swung past one doorway in a flash of glittering ribbons. Another room held a man shouting over the roar of a caged, drug-modified beast. Somewhere else, string music from a faraway land spilled out in quick, bright notes like coins tossed on marble. Gael didn’t recognize that style of music, so it was probably from the far east.

“Saintess,” Evelyn murmured, grabbing Gael’s arm and trying to peek into every room at once. “It’s like they’ve got a whole carnival in here.”

“But where we go?” Liorin whispered.

Gael pointed his cane down the corridor. “Straight.”

They didn’t stop for any of the smaller performance rooms. It was like refusing temptation for the children, but they eventually reached the end of the hallway, opening up into the main theatre. It wasn’t so much a theatre as it was a grand stadium, though. Rows and rows of seats curved around a central elevated stage, all draped in dark velvet and gold trim. The ceiling arched high above, lost in shadow, and swinging lanterns packed with glowing moths hung like constellations trapped in cages. It was still dim enough for the theatre atmosphere, but golden cones of light poured down every here and there, making skin look soft and decadence look charming.

Thousands of spectators already filled the seats all around, surrounding the center stage where a full circle orchestra of golden-masked musicians sat. Their attire was ridiculous in the best way: moth wing motifs, butterfly wing embroidery, and shimmering coats that caught the lantern light, instruments glistening. Their posture was perfect. In the very middle, the conductor moved like a dancer trying to command the air itself, and the orchestra followed his rhythm without looking at him—they were facing out towards the crowd, after all.

As Gael and his gang circled along the outer ring of seats and searched for empty seats, people glanced at them, but only briefly. Everyone was too preoccupied with the performance to spare much of an afterthought for anyone else.

“... Who are they?” Maeve whispered at him as they found their cluster of seats, settling down quickly.

“The Mothlight Musicians,” he said, nodding at the orchestra. “They’re the theatre’s main performers. They go up there every night, dusk till dawn, and play until their fingers snap. A pretty boring life, if you ask me.”

Evelyn’s eyes widened. “It’s always music on the big stage, then?”

“Not always. You saw them on the way here. Sometimes they’re acrobats, sometimes they’re beast troupes, and sometimes they’re magicians.”

“Can we see beasts today?” Liorin whispered.

“Probably not.”

“Can we see magic today?” Evelyn whispered.

“No—why are you excited about magic anyways? You can literally fly.”

The song soon reached its end with a flourish. The conductor bowed, and the musicians bowed in unison—almost mechanical in their grace—and the crowd erupted into applause.

Then the lights shut off, and the theatre fell into sudden, total darkness.

Sound died as if someone had snapped a neck.

Maeve’s hand found Gael’s sleeve without thinking. Vivi made a tiny sound. Evelyn went still. Fergal’s shoulders tightened. Jin’s posture didn’t change, but Gael could tell the man was nervous. He, too, felt an uneasy itch at the back of his head—as much anticipation as apprehension—but after a beat, the spotlights blazed back on.

The stage was empty. Not a single chair. Not a single instrument. Then the spotlights swung over and swept the seats around them. Hundreds and thousands of men once sat on those velveted cushions, but now—not a single soul.

The spotlights snapped onto Gael. Onto Maeve. Onto Cara. One by one, the light pinned them in place like specimens under glass, and hidden speakers above them crackled to life.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the announcer said, honeyed and cold. “Now, for our next show—led by visitors from not-very-far-away—yhe physicians of the infamous Heartcord Clinic!”

Nobody clapped, of course. There was nobody in the theatre.

“... Welp,” Gael said, standing up and slapping his knees. “Three-Face time.”