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"A minute ago you were pledging your life to her," Steven remarked.

"That was on stage. Now we're mere mortals, Mozart."

"You. Howard Rockwell the Third or Fourth, a mere mortal? Hard to believe," Steven said.

Howard grimaced.

"Usually. I have some stage assistant do that sort of thing. But," he added, reaching for her sword and breastplate as if it took an enormous effort. "under the circumstances," he told Cinnamon. "I will do you this favor this one time. Naturally. I'll expect something in return."

"Naturally you can expect whatever you want. What you'll get is another thing."

Steven laughed, but Howard just continued to smirk.

"Come on. Honey," she said to me. "I'll help you finish up."

"The owl has cried." Howard screamed so loudly I thought he would surely bring everyone in the grand house to the door. "Minutes to go before we face Madame Senetsky and the possibility of being beheaded on the spot. Come on. Mozart. Help me with this stuff while the womenfolk do what womenfolk do."

Humming Beethoven's Fifth. Steven helped gather up the costuming.

Cinnamon laughed.

"He's good," she said. "but he's obnoxious."

My heart was pounding. Who were these other students? Was this how geniuses behaved?

Was I crazy to come here, or was this going to be more fun than I could have ever imagined?

Something told me it wouldn't be much longer before I knew the answer.

2 Madame Senetsky

"I didn't start out thinking I was going to become an actress,'" Cinnamon said as we walked across the hallway to my room. "Acting was just something that came naturally to me. I guess. My mother and I did a lot of pretending in the attic of our house, where we found things that went back to the original owner and his family. He was a famous Civil War general, and we used to do a great deal of roleplaying, imagining ourselves back then. It was fun. but I never thought of it as training for a career. My drama teacher at school kept after me, and finally. I took a part in the school production, a big part.

"What about you and the violin?"

"My uncle Peter, my father's younger brother, told me I was drawn to the violin like a fish to water. He used to say it plays me rather than I play it."

"What do you mean, used to say?" she asked as we entered my room.

"He was killed in a plane crash. He was a crop duster back in Ohio, where my family has a corn farm."

'Oh,'" she said. She looked like gloomy, dreadful news was not shocking or upsetting to her. It was almost as if she had expected to hear something like that.

"Anyway, he bought me my violin and paid for my early lessons,"

I started to finish my unpacking. She looked at the picture of Chandler I had brought.

"Who's this?"

"My boyfriend," I said, holding the picture and smiling. "He goes to Boston University. Just starting. I miss him already. He plays piano and we took duet lessons together. That's how we met. I mean. I knew him in school, but before that we didn't so much as say hello."

"He looks... smart," she said. "and he's goodlooking, too," she added. 'I don't have anyone special," she continued before I could ask her. "I don't think I want to get involved with anyone until I'm forty. Not seriously, that is."

"Then you don't want a husband and a family?"

"No," she said quickly. "I won't torture them. You know how hard it is for someone to be in the theater and have any sort of normal life. Once we start this, really start it, we've got to become dedicated, like nuns married to the Church or something. That's what Howard says. I suppose he's very good. He doesn't lack for ego, that's for sure. Hell be the first to tell you how good he is. He claims you have to have that sort of confidence to do what we do. He won some sort of national drama award, like the Academy Award of high school theater or something."

"I want a family," I said. "Maybe even more than I want a career."