Girl in the Shadows (21 page)

Dez raised his hands again, sighting toward me, and I saw him click the safety off.

You trust him, right? Not to shoot you?

Of course I do.

He fired.

The shot cracked like lightning through the tent.

The glass fractured in the center, and I willed the bullet in my cheek to change to match the one with Dez’s scrawled initials on it, visualizing it in great detail. My whole body grew hot, like it always did when my magic came, and the metal of the bullet seemed to boil against the tender skin inside my mouth.

The moment of truth.

I removed the mouth guard, produced the bullet between my teeth and turned to the not-really-there audience. I spit it into my hand.

Dez had put down the gun and walked over. At this point in the show, I’d invite the audience member to inspect the bullet and confirm it was the same one they’d marked. Dez leaned over and examined it, then gave a low whistle. “That is some freaky mojo,” he said. “Also, I hate this trick.”

I laughed. “Why?”

“I don’t like shooting at you.”

“That’s a good thing. But I’m right here and just fine.”

“Yes, you are,” he said. “We good? You want to do it again?”

I considered. “No, I feel like I’ve got it.”

He hesitated. “Could you make a coin like the missing one? The way you make the bullet look the same?”

I blinked, then shook my head. “No, not without seeing it first. And it probably wouldn’t have the magic Mom needs anyway, the copy.”

“Right. Just a thought.” He kissed my nose. “So we’re done, then?”

“Why? You have plans for us?”

Dez took both my hands in his and swung them. “I wish. I have plans with Brandon.”

My grimace was inadvertent. Dez laughed at it. “He’s my friend. And he wants to go out into town. I promised.”

El Paso was right on the Mexican border, with Ciudad Juárez on the other side. Who knew what the boys would get up to?

“Abandon me. See if I care.” When he looked briefly uncertain, I said, “No, it’s cool. Go on. I should rest up for tomorrow anyway.”

“Good luck,” he said, leaning in for a kiss. My lips lingering against his felt like the moment the bullet left the gun, loaded with possibility . . . and danger. I’d told him all my secrets, but I sensed he still had plenty left.

When he pulled back, he said, “I . . .”

Was he about to say
it
? I love you?

I wanted it, and I didn’t want it. But I wanted it more than I didn’t.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

So that was me projecting. The letdown told me how much more I’d wanted it. “Don’t get too wild. I need you to come prepared to aim true.”

“Oh, I will.”

He gave me a deadly grin.

twenty-eight

Backstage the next evening I smoothed on classic red lipstick and went over everything mentally one final time.

The bullet catch was dramatic enough that it could—and would—stand alone tonight. I didn’t want to have to think about any other props or sleights, not until I’d done it successfully a few times in front of the crowd. These tents were on the small side but still held about fifty people at maximum capacity.

Thurston was thrilled about the act. He’d added an extra insurance rider—assuring me it was nothing after what they paid for Jules’s walks—and had a sign produced for the outside of my tent.

S
EE THE
MIRACULOUS MOIRA
PERFORM THE
DEADLY

BULLET CATCH

EXCLUSIVELY
ON THIS STAGE
TONIGHT!!!

I expected a packed house.

Dez came in, and I did a double take. He’d worn his suit. I was touched by the gesture. “You’re looking sharp,” I said.

“That’s where ‘sharpshooter’ comes from,” Dez said. “Well-dressed men like me.”

“It was so much better before you opened your mouth.”

He moved in close. “That’s what
she
said.”

I rolled my eyes, and he kissed my cheek, just below my mask.

“Don’t want to mess up your lipstick. Not this early in the evening.”

I willed myself not to blush. “Did you have fun last night?”

“No. I missed being with you.” He said it straightforward, not like it was part of the flattery game he was so good at playing.

“Oh.” I fidgeted. “We’d better get out there.”

“Your public awaits. Where’s the box?”

I picked up the small gun box with the handgun and the dummy shot locked inside. Dad had always been religious about this safety measure, so I was doing the same. I’d kept it hidden away in the closet of the Airstream, and I checked now to make sure that the gun and the dummy round were all set before relocking the box to hand off to Dez.

He accepted the case and the key to it, and held aside the curtain so I could go out first. One last deep breath, a straightening of my shoulders, and I put on a smile for the audience. Then I stepped out from the curtain to take the stage.

I paused. The gun case nudged my back, since Dez was coming out behind me.

There were more people than I’d ever seen in this tent. Standing room only, which was probably illegal. It seemed like a monster made up entirely of eyes, all on me.

Keep going,
I told myself.
The audience isn’t a monster. It wants to be your friend. Get it on your side.

I smiled. When I spoke, I projected. I’d never needed a mic before in here. “Good evening and welcome. I’m the Miraculous Moira. I can’t imagine what’s brought so many of you here tonight.”

There were a few nervous laughs.

I couldn’t help feeling like this audience was here in case they might see a tragic death on the stage, the morbid factor in full effect. Oh well. Magicians counted on it.

“Wait, I can. You want to see a miraculous feat, a girl escaping death, and I’m too happy to oblige.” I nodded to the sheet of glass set into its frame to my left. “On this stage, you’ll see a hole in this glass, which will serve as proof that a bullet was fired—at me—on this stage. This handsome devil over here will be doing the firing.” I nodded to Dez, who nodded back and shot the audience a grin. “And one of you will mark the bullet. That audience member will then confirm it’s the same bullet that I catch . . . in my mouth.”

There were a few surprised “oohs.”

I raised my hand and crossed my fingers stagily. “Hopefully.”

That got a smattering of laughter and some light applause. The audience was coming along.

Dez held up the gun case, then set it on the ground and unlocked it. He removed the pistol and began to check it out. Even though I’d already done so earlier, it offered more evidence to the audience in support of the reality of what they were about to see. And it gave them something to watch in addition to me while I did my setup.

“But first, while my lovely assistant makes his safety check, I want to tell you a story. So many of the women whose work allows me to stand on this stage before you have been largely forgotten . . . by the men who write magic history. I’ll be dedicating tonight’s performance to two women from Georgia who made a sensation in the late 1800s with great feats of strength and controlling metal.”

They wanted to see that bullet fired, but they could listen to this first.

“The first was just a teenager when she performed, after supposedly gaining powers during a lightning storm. Powers to make those around her believe she was a ‘human magnet.’ She was Lulu Hurst, also known as the Georgia Wonder. She only performed for a short time, but she managed to inspire a successor who ended up surpassing her feats—Annie Abbott, who performed as the Little Georgia Magnet. Both these women could move metal objects onstage while three strong men tried to prevent it, often with just a hand upon the item and moving the men as well. Annie regularly resisted the efforts of burly men to lift her hundred-pound frame.” I was in the center of the stage, and I swept my hands out. “Who better to dedicate the bullet catch to than these women magicians who demonstrated control over metal? Lulu and Annie, if you have any aid you can offer me tonight, I’ll take it.”

I winked, and the crowd laughed. “And now, let’s get under way. I’ll need a volunteer from the audience to examine and mark the bullet that my lovely assistant will load into his gun.”

I searched across the hands being raised for whom to pick, and then a man shifted to one side about midway back in the tent. As he did, I caught a glimpse of the woman who stood behind him.

My mother.

I swallowed.
Why was she here again?
I wondered. I needed to find out.

“You”—I pointed—“the beautiful woman with the red hair right there. You seem like a perfect choice, and you’re already standing. Can you all help her get up here to us?”

I waited to see what she’d do. I wanted to talk to her, even briefly.

She could turn and run—or magically sweep the whole tent away, for all I knew—but it would make too much of a spectacle. Fighting her way out through the crowd wouldn’t be easy. She started in the stage’s direction.

Dez stood at my shoulder. He whispered, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Right.
She’d be marking the bullet. She had blocked my magic last time, with nearly tragic results.

Too bad I didn’t think of that before I invited her onstage. “No. But it’s too late now.”

I didn’t
think
she wanted to hurt me.

She made her way slowly to the fore, waiting for people to move, rather than shifting to walk around them. And people did. There was a command to how she parted the crowd along the aisle to get to us.

She reached the side of the stage and climbed up the three steps we’d placed there earlier. She wore jeans and a tank top, as before.

My mother
was
beautiful. There was no hint of the pallor or weakness she’d shown outside the Airstream that night. Her green eyes weren’t so different than my own, except I didn’t have a tattoo that matched them. I could only see the side of it, but the snake was curled around something.

She did not have a welcoming or worried look. Instead, I was presented with a mocking half-smile that told me exactly nothing about why she was here or what to expect. She seemed . . . different than she had either of the other times. Could it be that we had a serious audience? She’d been so paranoid that first night. Perhaps the mysterious
he
was nearby.

“Hello . . .” I paused, leaving space for her name.

Dez looked like he was in pain behind her.

“Regina,” she said.

“Well, Regina, thank you for being here and being a willing volunteer.”

Her eyebrows lifted.

“Are you a fan of magic?” I asked.

“Devoted.”

The queen of the one-word answer.

The audience was starting to get restless. No matter how much I wanted to try to pry more out of her, to see if this was the worst idea I’d ever had, the show had to go on.

“Regina, we’d like you to confirm this is a real bullet.”

Dez, grave-faced, took the wax round from the box and handed it to her.

She squinted at it. “Looks real to me.” She stage-whispered to the audience, “I’d have to kill someone with it to be sure, but . . .”

Her voice had gone just teasing enough that the crowd would assume she was joking. I wasn’t convinced.

“Let’s hope not,” I said, and the audience rewarded us with laughter. I was surprised at how blind they were to what was happening in front of their very eyes, but I shouldn’t have been. That was how magic worked. The audience only ever saw a sliver of truth.

Dez met my eyes, a plea in his to stop this somehow.

Sorry, no way out now,
I tried to tell him.

I pulled a marker from my pocket. “Regina, I’d like you to mark the bullet with something unique to you, a symbol that we can use to identify it. I know there’s not much space, but do your best.”

Our fingers brushed when she took the marker, and I felt like Lulu Hurst, like I’d been hit by lightning. My magic stirred awake, my palms heating.

She reacted not at all, except to simply take the bullet from Dez. “Thank you,” she said.

He said nothing, which was unusual for him. He gave me another pleading look while she was occupied scribbling on the bullet.

She held it up for us and the audience to see when she’d finished, settling into her role more.

I struggled to memorize what she’d drawn during my brief look—if I survived the next few minutes, I’d have to reproduce it. But the way my magic continued a low burn, I worried I’d do something by accident first.

After all, the last time I’d seen her, she insisted I stop performing. And stop using my magic.

She’d made a shape, oblong, with spiky points at the top and a flat bottom. I could see it when I briefly closed my eyes, but I had zero clue what it meant.

She was here again, though. That wasn’t meaningless. What happened next wouldn’t be either.

“Please stand to the side of the stage,” I said. “And remain there so you can confirm that I catch the same bullet.”

“Oh,” she said with a full smile, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

She nodded to Dez and sidled over to the steps and down them.

“We’re doing this,” he murmured.

“Just like we rehearsed.”

Then I spoke louder, to the audience once more. My voice was slightly unsteady, but that only made them drink the words in more readily. “Can we have absolute silence in the tent? And please stay in your seats, for your own safety.”

Dez and I went to our opposite sides of the stage, separated by the glass and the distance. My hands heated the safety goggles as I donned them, and the bullet was already hot against my fingers. I managed to load it in my cheek, placing the mouth guard in for appearances. I didn’t wait, pouring magic into the metal casing, into making that odd symbol appear on it as quickly as I could, before my mother could interrupt.

The bullet burned against my jaw. My magic eased a little of its burn, satisfied.

I found her, my mother, watching from just beside the stage, seemingly at ease. Wouldn’t it be funny, I thought, if she’d turned the wax one into a real bullet and they found an identical one in my jaw?

Ha freaking ha. At least I’d make the history books.

Dez took aim, and I forced myself to stand still. Not to move or flinch or duck.

He fired.