Girl in the Shadows (17 page)

“Very funny.” I couldn’t tell if he was joking. He had mentioned the rumors about Nan to me too. “Anyway, handsome prince, you promise you won’t disappear again? That you’ll be honest with me?”

“I’ll do my best.” One side of his lips quirked, and then I got a full grin. “I’m happy you didn’t come to break up with me.”

I thought when he moved again, it would be to kiss me. But he pulled at my limbs, until we lay down beside each other in the little bunk, spooning, his front folded against my back. We could just barely fit, sideways. The embrace should have felt stifling. Instead, I felt safe.

More of this,
my heart said. But
danger, danger,
said my brain.

Dez pressed a kiss to the crown of my head, and his fingers traced a lazy circle on my hand.

“I’m glad you came,” he said.

“I’m glad our cards are on the table,” I said, wishing mine were.

I didn’t try to read the meaning of his sigh against my hair.

twenty-one

The hardware store aisles gleamed around us, packed with hammers and wrenches, nails and bolts. Normally, I’d have ordered what I needed for my new escape illusion from one of Dad’s suppliers. But that had been a lot easier when I was having things shipped to the condo or the theater, and then peeling them off as needed.

“What are we here for again?” Dez asked. His eye was almost back to normal, with only faded bruising around it. A red line where his cheek scab had been.

He’d ridden with me on the drive here to Kansas City for our shows through the Fourth of July. In fact, we’d spent an insane amount of time together over the past week. I should have been sick of being around him, and wanting to be alone, if only for a few hours.

But I wasn’t and didn’t.

I was in deep trouble with this beautiful, rakish boy. Hanging out with him almost made me forget about the revelations from my mother. And Dad’s secret warehouse. Almost. Nothing kept me from worrying about my magic and what would happen if I couldn’t control it during the illusion I was planning.

Becoming a magician was still the most important thing in my life. I’d poured all my excess energy into developing this new escape. My most spectacular yet.

And, yes, the riskiest. But I wasn’t telling anyone that part.

“Lovely Moira? I asked you a question,” Dez said. “Are you obsessing about my good looks again?”

“Something like that,” I said.

He leaned in and gave me a quick kiss. Easy and familiar. Which had the combined effect of being disconcerting. I was falling for him too hard. The girls at the theater would have urged caution, even if Dita and Jules seemed to approve. (Jules especially—he’d gotten her right at the start with the flowers and the solo Ferris wheel ride.)

Dez swept his arms to indicate the entire store around us. He was in his usual tank and beat-up jeans. “So, what are we here for? Because I would like to be somewhere else. Somewhere with just the two of us.”

“Shut up,” I said, knowing my cheeks had gone up in a flare of May Day red. His arms were distractingly delicious from all that knife-throwing. “You’re assisting me today. We’re working.”

“Ready and willing. So . . .”

I started walking up the aisle again. “Chains. We’re here for chains.”

When he didn’t respond right away, I looked over my shoulder. He was standing in the middle of the aisle. “Kinky,” he said.

My cheeks, my cheeks, my cheeks are on fire. We don’t need no water; let me do a disappearing act. Poof.

“They’re for my new illusion, gutter mind.”

“Oh,” he said with a shrug, and advanced. When he got close, he spoke into my ear. “I love messing with you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Romantic interlude over.”

Besides, we were at the section of locks and chains. There was a display of various chains hanging lengthwise. I ran my fingers over them, testing the size of the links and the weight of each one thoroughly.

“This one’s nice.” I wrapped the promising silver chain with tight links around my forearm and tugged to see how it felt.

“You’re going to use those?” he asked. “Why call it an illusion and use real chains?”

“An escape illusion. This is for the escape part. What else would I use? I left my good chains at home.” I didn’t look away, thoroughly absorbed in deciding which would work best. This new illusion was going to be grand, outdoors, and bar-raising for me—assuming I was able to convince Thurston to let me do it.

He had let Jules walk above cities, so I figured it should be fine. I just had to pull it off perfectly when I demonstrated it for him. That was the key to getting his approval.

“Um, you could use fake chains? Some sort of magic-shop fake ones? Or just stand on the ground and do card tricks?”

“Gross,” I said. “That’s not the kind of magic I do.” I paused. “I mean, I do employ certain tools and tricks, but you need the major elements of an escape to be real these days. People are too savvy to believe what happens behind a curtain is real now. They want to see something they never thought they’d see up close. Like a girl escaping from chains”—I smiled—“while suspended upside down from a burning rope.”

I looked around the store. “Speaking of which, we need to pick up some heavy-duty rope too.”

“Suspended from how high?” His arms were crossed in front of his chest.

“I thought I’d start with a dozen feet.”

“Oh, just enough to break your neck.”

I narrowed my eyes, focusing on the chains in front of me. “I don’t plan on doing that. Why the sudden attitude change? You helped me get my break.”

“I know. What was I thinking? I don’t like the idea of this one.”

“You’re scared. Aw, that’s sweet. But I’ll be fine.” Unless I magicked the rope into water and fell to my doom. But I’d gotten better at guiding the magic, at ignoring the pain.

“I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

“I could get hit by a bus outside.” I struggled to keep my voice casual, but I was irritated by this line of conversation. It felt like a cousin of the same sexism that had prevented Dad from being able to see me as a potential magician, like him. “I’m good at this stuff, you know? I’ve been practicing for years. I’ve put in the time. I know how to design an illusion. I would never plan an escape I thought I couldn’t do. Putting yourself in real danger in front of an audience is unethical.”

I was parroting things I’d heard Dad say in lectures. And I was lying again. This was the same kind of unethical as magicians pretending to have supernatural powers—which was weighed down with irony now that I really did have them. I still wanted to do magic
my
way, but my mother had been right about one thing: doing escapes seemed to make my actual magic show up.

“That first night, with the water—was that safe? You haven’t done it again. You had a close call, didn’t you? What happened?”

Of course it hadn’t been safe. It also wasn’t part of the illusion. I couldn’t tell him that. Part of me wanted to, more than anything. But it wasn’t smart.

And I was always smart.

“I’m standing here, aren’t I?” I whirled back to the chains and picked out a long strand. “I think this is thick enough to be dramatic but not so thick as to completely impede my movements. I brought my own locks, just in case. I’ve been toying around with this idea for a while.”

“You’re the expert,” he said.

“Yes, I am.”

I went to get the owner of the hardware shop to cut the length of chain I needed and then some rope. While he did, Dez prowled around the edges of the store.

He rejoined me at the checkout counter. “I should make you empty your pockets,” the balding owner said, addressing both of us.

My jaw dropped open. “I’m a customer.”

“Not you. Your friend.” He spoke more clearly to Dez the next time. “Don’t think about taking anything out of here, young man.”

“No plans to,” Dez said calmly. Like the guy hadn’t accused him of being a thief. “I apologize. It’s an old habit.”

I forked over a credit card with a clumsy hand, and the guy ran it. “Thanks, Miss—”

I snapped back to attention and cut him off. “Moira’s fine.” I scribbled on the receipt. I hadn’t even considered that my card had my real last name on it. Sloppy.

“No harm meant,” Dez said, smiling one of his more inscrutable smiles as he picked up the box the guy had stowed my chains and rope in.

We hit the sunny sidewalk outside, heading toward the parking lot and my convertible.

“What’s an old habit?” I asked Dez.

“You don’t want to know.”

“No, I do. I really do.”

He stopped walking and looked at me. “Casing the place. Figuring out where the cameras are.” He started moving again, and I trailed him. “And your last name’s Mitchell, not Miracle, based on your credit card. I figured Miracle was a stage name, but it’s good to know for sure.”

We were at the car. I unlocked the doors and got in, buying time to figure out how to respond.

Dez thumped the trunk, and I pressed the button to open it. He loaded the box and got in the passenger seat.

I sighed, looking at him. “I want to trust you.” Those brown eyes were all too known to me these days. Yet there was obviously so much we
didn’t
know about each other.

“We can’t always get what we want.”

No kidding.

“Look, back there,” he said. “That’s something I’d rather not talk about.”

How could I press harder, given the secrets I was holding back from him?

“Talking is boring anyway,” I said.

And then we were kissing, his hand winding up into my curls. He’d admitted he was checking the place out, that it was habit. But I was the one not being trustworthy.

I told myself I didn’t have a choice.

twenty-two

I looked down from my vantage point, standing in a car on the Ferris wheel’s next-to-lowest arm. A rope was wrapped securely around my ankles and tied off to the other end of the car.

“You’re sure this is safe?” Dez asked from the ground below.

“That again?”

Jules had volunteered to do the honors of lighting the flash powder that would slowly, very slowly, burn away the rope fibers—leaving me plenty of time to escape from the chains draped all around me, secured by locks.

Dez would take over her duties next time, assuming Thurston approved of me doing this escape when the midway was open. As expected, he
had
wanted to see the new act before he gave it the okay, since it would require stopping operation of the ever-popular wheel for a few minutes. Still, it had seemed like the most logical choice for something to tie on to in a dramatic way, in the absence of any five-story buildings like the kind Houdini and Dorothy Dietrich had used for similar escapes. And I had a soft spot for the Ferris wheel, site of a certain first date.

Plus, I thought Raleigh would be relieved to have me out of his domain.

Or not.

He stood in the background, behind the others who had gathered to watch. Thurston was there, of course, along with a motley assortment of Cirque folk, and the familiar faces of Dita, Remy, and Nan. I’d been surprised when Nan showed up, elegant as ever. Dez was in the front of the pack.

“You’re sure this is good?” Jules said, eyeing the rope. “I could ask Dad to check it out. He always gives my wires a look.”

“I appreciate the offer, but it’s good. I’ve had some practice with knots.” No need to divulge that my practice before today had been piecemeal, mostly involving tying knots I could then undo or experimenting in the theater with tie-offs when no one was around. I had gotten good at slipping out of handcuffs while suspended from one of the wires in the theater—right side up, so I could abort if anyone came along. Doing a more formal version like this had been the goal all along, but those stolen sessions had been far simpler.

Easy isn’t what the audience wants
.

I sucked in a breath and lifted one of my arms. It was chained, but Jules would also close the lock that would bind it against my body. One of the sound guys had given me a clip mic, to help with projecting my voice.

“You might think this escape is a hat tip to Houdini. But, instead, I want to dedicate it to one of the best-known stage performers of her time, Mercedes Talma, also known as Talma, the Queen of Coins. My sleeveless costume is a nod to her performances.” I flourished with my fingers and produced a prop gold coin. Then three. My audience gave me a smattering of applause, and I tossed the coins down to them. The inside of my black shirt and my pants contained a few hidden pockets packed with similar worthless prop coins. I had to hope I’d calibrated right not to release them until the big finish.

I continued. “You’ve probably seen her on old posters, rising off a table draped in a sheet. She was the woman used by her husband, Servais Le Roy, when he invented the levitation trick. But she soon won top billing of her own, and Houdini himself gave the thumbs-up to her mastery of sleight of hand with coins. Once, reportedly, muggers made the mistake of accosting her on the city streets—she kept producing coins until they were convinced she was magic, and they ran away. My feat today will be a bit of a metaphorical twist on the same. These chains symbolize the protection of gold and valuables. Escaping them before the rope burns will be all the more difficult—but what if I told you to think of this like a heist we’re embarking on together? I will get through the locks and chains, and deliver the valuables to you. Hopefully, with just the mystifying touch Talma herself employed during her thirty years on the stage.”

I held my arm in against myself, positioning it so there’d be a small fraction of extra room. “Would you do the honors, Jules?”

Stage magic happened in those small fractions, the secret pockets of reality no one bothered to pay attention to. “And will you assure everyone that the chains and locks are real?”

Jules tested the chains that looped around my arms, torso, and legs. Then she secured each of the five locks with the master key.

I hadn’t made things easy on myself. I expected my magic to show up, like it usually did these days during an escape, but I planned to guide it, as my mother had said—not to rely on it—to accomplish this feat. I’d gotten better at doing that. I hoped.

“Stand back,” I cautioned.

Then I stepped off the arm of the Ferris wheel into nothing.

I plunged through the air, the rope yanking tight at my ankles.

My small audience’s collective gasp was gratifying music to my ears.

I’d practiced a few times with Dez earlier that day, on how to time the step and the fall so nothing got dislocated. That didn’t mean I’d done it enough to make it as familiar as producing the coin from my palm had been.

I dangled at the end of the rope secured around both my ankles. Taking a breath to get my bearings, I spun in the air, bound in chains.

The head costumer had suggested making a velvet lining to go between my ankles and the rope to make it more comfortable.
Comfortable
wasn’t really the word I’d have used, but at least it only dug partway into my flesh.

“Fire!” I called out.

Jules muttered something above, but I couldn’t make out what she said. She took the automatic lighter I’d provided—as if she was about to light me like a barbecue—struck it, and held it next to the rope.

The flames were dramatic, the flash powder providing an extra burst and a pop. Another gasp from my small crowd. The strangers in it applauded. I saw Brandon join Dez, shaking his head and gaping at me like I was crazy.

It was Dita who called up this time. “Are you sure this is safe?”

I grinned dizzily, blood rushing to my head. “Now let’s complete this heist,” I called out.

I worked against the chains. The warm metal pressed into the bare skin of my arms, baking in the sun. The chains pressed less firmly into my torso. I’d have imprints later from the coins concealed there.

My head pounded like the world’s worst migraine, and I crooked a bit at the waist to hold it up. A little dizziness wouldn’t kill me. A lot might.

At least there’s no magic heat yet,
I told myself.

I fought to get my neck at a good angle. The wind and my own motion sent me rocking like the more violent pendulum of a clock. Back and forth in the air, back and forth . . .

I had a thin pick just inside a hidden pocket at my waist to help with the locks—two of them would fall away when the chains did, not as secure as they’d appeared—but I had to loosen one of the coils enough to get to the pick before it could help me out.

Which would have been much easier right side up.

My breathing grew shallow. I
was
in danger. I’d rushed putting this together.

I had to get out of this.

I exhaled and punched one arm through a loop in the chains. The rope above sizzled and popped, and Jules called out: “A strand just gave. Hurry, Moira!”

One of the locks Jules had secured was of my own design, and I shook it off, letting it fall to the ground below. The crowd cheered.

Sweat dripped into my eye, stinging.
Stay focused.

As the rope swung, my magic arrived, roaring to life. Still, my heart thudded with the certainty that I was in danger of failing this escape.

My hands heated against the chain, and the chains absorbed it, every link consumed by a fast-moving wave. I was wrapped in the coils of a snake made of fire. A snake like the one in my mother’s tattoo.

The overheated chains squeezed me tighter, forcing my breath out. I fought to suck in more air. Enough to keep going.

I wasn’t guiding the magic. It was in control.

“Moira! Everything okay?” Dez, of course.

I gave a shaky thumbs-up with the closest thing I had to a free hand.

“Second strand!” Jules called, almost shrieking it. “Gah!”

The rope let go some traction, jerking against my ankles. I fell.

Only a few inches.

But I was running out of time.

And burning up.

My blood boiled, and I did what an escape artist should never do. I began to focus on every way this was going wrong.

About how the chains around me were too hot, and I couldn’t make them not be, and how when the audience pulled them away from me later, they’d see the imprints of the chains scorched into my skin. In this vision, I lay twisted on the ground, eyes staring up at nothing.

Morbid. So morbid. Don’t turn into the audience
. It was Dad’s voice, not mine, that I heard in my head.
They might want a dramatic failure, but they can’t have one.

“Moira?” Dez again.

“Just a sec,” I grumbled through a burning throat.

I stopped moving and closed my eyes. And I banished that vision of myself dead. I ignored the heat burning into me and visualized ice coating the chains. I strained to transform the heat, to draw on my magic to help me. To guide it, the way I’d thought I was better at now.

Come on. Do it.

The heat eased a fraction. I moved, and . . .

My arms slid through the chains like they were water and I was cutting through the waves.

I heard another lock fall and hit the ground with a dull thud, even though I wasn’t sure I had gotten to the pick, and then another. A length of silver chain followed them to the ground, and my eyes locked on it in wonder. A little in horror.

My entire body felt like a live wire, like electricity, like I was the fire, I was magic itself, and nothing that was real could hold me.

Oh, Houdini, if you could see me now. The truly unholdable girl
.

I wanted to laugh or scream, make some noise that proved I was still alive, but I didn’t. I found the pick, undid the last true lock, and cast off the final chain.

As if on cue, Jules shrieked again: “It’s almost through!”

A flash of motion below, and someone produced a net from behind a tent. That was not the plan.

“As promised,” I shouted, “the contents of the imaginary safe we just robbed! In Talma’s memory!”

I triggered the release mechanisms with quick, clever fingers, and as the gold coins showered down, I heaved myself up to grab the rope above where it was burning. Then I swung over to the arm of the Ferris wheel and landed safely on the metal.

The rope gave at that moment, burned through, the length that had supported me dropping to the ground.

That couldn’t have been more perfect had I timed it.

The crowd called out, cheering and clapping. I waved, like Dad would do from the top of the theater.

Jules climbed down from the car and grabbed me. She clutched me, like she still wasn’t sure I was safe.

“That was terrifying,” Jules said, beaming at me. “I loved it.”

You barely made it,
a little voice inside me said. But the applause below drowned it out. I had done it. I’d successfully resisted my magic’s takeover and made it work for me.

“Come down and accept your kudos,” Thurston said, producing a bottle of champagne from somewhere and popping the cork. His assistant held a clutch of plastic flutes.

I didn’t meet Dez’s eyes until I was on the ground. He was smiling, but there was something else behind his expression. Intense suspicion. He took one of my coins and flipped it into the air, catching it again. I kissed him on the cheek, quick, before he could say anything.

Not that he did.

Nan met me at Thurston’s side. She took my elbow and kept a placid smile pasted on while she spoke. “That was not just skill, Moira. You must be careful.”

I didn’t want to hear it, so I turned to Thurston. “Champagne, you said?”

“I know you’re underage, but you’re not as young as this one.” He eyed Jules, in a half embrace with Remy already.

Brandon took one of the plastic glasses of champagne and handed it to Dez, then another for me. They were also underage. Raleigh accepted one too, but he simply downed it and left.

Thurston didn’t seem to notice. “To a great escape!” he said, lifting his glass. “And to the magic of the Cirque!”

Nan frowned at that wording, but she took a sip anyway.

We all plastic-clinked, and then Dez pulled me off to one side. “Was the effect what I wanted?” I asked, only because I knew the answer was yes. Sometimes you want constructive criticism, but other times you just want to be told you know what you’re doing. After how close that had been, I wanted to hear nothing but praise.

Dez had an intensity to him that didn’t mesh with celebration. “You almost didn’t make that, did you? Why are you pretending?”

I went still. “What are you talking about?”

He shook his head. “Stop pretending that was safe. You want me to watch you get hurt?”

I held out my arms. “Do I look hurt?”

Okay, so there were marks from the chains on my skin, but I was fine.
I was fine.

“Not yet,” he said.

I gulped another drink of the warm, dry champagne.

Thurston called out, “Moira, can I steal you for a sec? I want to hear how you make the flames on the rope so dramatic. I wonder if we could use that trick elsewhere.”

Dita, beside him, was nodding and smiling. “She always says my costume looks like a daredevil’s,” she said. “Maybe it could be something special I use in our act. We could make my swing look literally smoking hot?” She swallowed her smile, then added, “A little extra before our remembrance on the third.”

“Go on,” Dez said. “Go talk to the people who can’t tell you’re risking your life. I’m not one of them.”

I watched him walk away. He didn’t understand, because he couldn’t. I’d been fooling him all along.