Sleeping Beauty and the Demon (25 page)

In a flash, Houdini leapt out of his seat and turned on the lights. The brightness of the room illuminated the medium’s assistant, who stood at the wall. She was draped in black and grasped a piece of red chalk in her hands. The chandelier’s light also revealed a fog-making device sitting in the corner . . . precisely where the apparition had appeared.

“You’re a fake!” Houdini pointed a finger at Madame Majinska.

The accusation seemed to knock the medium back to her real self. “How dare you disrupt this séance!” she fired back. “You must leave at once!”

Houdini shook his head. He plunged to his knees and looked under the tablecloth. “Just as I thought. A hydraulic pump is making the table go up and down. What’s more, I saw the outline of your assistant and spotted the fog making apparatus in the dark.”

Turning beet-red, Madame Majinska hemmed and hawed.

The others stood up and glanced under the tabletop. Indeed, there was a mechanism in place. Disappointment sent Rose’s heart plummeting.

The large man who’d been sitting next to Houdini withdrew a badge from his jacket pocket. “Jim Scarborough. With New York City Police, Department of Fraud. We’ve been trying to catch you in the act for a long time, Ms. Majinska,” he said as he clamped handcuffs around her wrists.

“Damn you!” the woman said miserably.

Scarborough turned to Houdini. “Thanks for making my job easier.”

“You’re welcome.” Seemingly pleased with the medium’s unveiling, Houdini shook Scarborough’s hand.

The detective escorted the medium out of the room. Close behind them were the elderly lady and her caregiver.

“How am I ever going to find out who Morvina is disguised as?” Rose asked Olivia. Before Olivia could answer, Houdini came to stand before them. Rose was surprised to find that in person, he was shorter than she was.

“I’m sorry none of this was real, Mrs. Starkov.” Houdini extended his hand. “I’m disappointed, as well. There are several loved ones I wished to contact, too.”

“It seemed real,” Rose said as she shook it forlornly.

“That’s because there was a good amount of ‘true-believers’ syndrome filling the room tonight.”

Rose sucked in a breath. “But how did Madame Majinska know those things about me?”

“Fake mediums have been known to go through people’s trash—and pay their clients’ closest acquaintances to rat information,” Harry Houdini continued on.

Anthony?
Rose thought.

Olivia glowered reproachfully at the magician and threaded her arm through Rose’s.

“This is my best friend, Olivia Marconi.” Rose introduced them.

“I’m sorry, Miss Marconi,” said Houdini. “I’m sure you and Mrs. Starkov aren’t happy with me. But it stands to reason that the longer these fraudulent séances go on, the more misled and traumatized sitters will be.”

“It seemed legitimate. Right up until you blew the whistle,” Olivia commented.

Houdini shrugged. “Information about Florence and Malcolm Hayes is public knowledge.

And I’m certain Ms. Majinska, if that’s her real name, knows that when someone books a séance, more often than not, that person is a blood relative of the departed.”

“When I referred to the apparition as ‘Mother’, I suppose I gave ‘Madame Majinska’ even more ammunition.” Rose grimaced.

“Unfortunately, you did.”

Rose’s shoulders rolled forward.

“I think of my illusions as a way to entertain people, but it’s cruel to deceive the public so outwardly.”

Rose’s mind darted to the misleading newspaper article Richard Bellum wrote about Drago. “It’s a shame when journalists do the same thing.”

“You can’t believe everything you read in the press.” The magician shot her a knowing look.
Was he making a reference to Drago?

“No, you can’t,” she agreed.

Her stomach twisted. Recently, the newspapers had interviewed Patrick. He, in turn, had passed along Rose’s words. Did Houdini believe Drago was capable of murder because of what she’d said?

Rose was about to ask the magician if he’d read the article when he turned to leave. “Give my best to your husband, Mrs. Starkov,” he called over his shoulder before he vanished into the dark corridor. “I admire him greatly.”

CHAPTER 27

F
ollowing the séance, Rose and Olivia exited the brownstone. A warm rain greeted them and as they strolled along the slick streets, Olivia’s expression revealed her agitation over the disastrous gathering. Rose’s footsteps lagged for the same reason.

“I can’t believe people make a living out of deceiving others,” Olivia fumed.

“It’s unfathomable,” Rose agreed gloomily. “But séance goers are vulnerable. I guess that makes them gullible, too.”

Olivia threaded an arm through hers. “I’m sorry you didn’t find out how Morvina is camouflaging herself.”

“Me, too.” She craned her neck back as they strolled, allowing raindrops to splatter on her face.

“What are you going to do now?” Olivia asked.

“I really don’t know.”

“It’s three days until your birthday, Rose.”

She shuddered. “Don’t remind me.”

They passed a clothing boutique, a bank, and a barber shop without saying a word. But as they strolled passed a newsstand, Olivia burst out, “Look, Rose. Drago has revealed another detail of his magic act in today’s paper!”

Hands trembling, Rose picked up the latest edition of
The Gotham Times
and read the headline.

“Magician to Climb Summit of Woolworth Building”

The paper rattled in her grasp as she scoured the article.

Dragomir Starkov—a talented illusionist stripped of his reputation—has returned to New York City seeking redemption and retribution. He intends to get those very things on June twentieth. From high atop the Woolworth Building, Starkov will hypnotize his wife, the beautiful Rose Starkov, by way of an accursed amulet he bestowed on her. Following in the footsteps of everything mysterious, the ancient Egyptian necklace comes with a spell. Will Mr. Starkov’s wife (a self-proclaimed victim of vertigo) wear the amulet of Tousret and join her husband as she climbs from the building’s pier level to its topmost spire?

The more important question is: If Rose Starkov succumbs to the amulet’s curse, will it cause her to kill her husband before she takes her own life—just as the Egyptian prophecy predicts?

Legend has it that only its counterpart, the bracelet of Amenhotep, can save them.

Olivia, who’d been reading the article alongside Rose, whistled with disbelief. The air escaped Rose’s lungs and she fought to breathe. “I left the amulet and the bracelet behind in France.”

“Does Drago know that?”

“I’m not sure.”

Rose was more worried about her mother’s prediction.
You will fall to your doom from someplace high and a demon will cause it to happen.

“Apparently, Drago has this whole thing planned out,” Olivia said. “But I don’t understand why he’s publicizing it so heavily. It’s an open invitation for Morvina to sabotage the whole thing—and for the police to capture him.”

The color seeped from Rose’s face.

A luminescent moon brightened the top of the Woolworth Building in the distance. She’d learned in grammar school that the structure stood over seven hundred and ninety-two feet high and had taken over three years to construct.

She’d been in the lobby only once. And though she’d been astonished at its beautiful veined marble and vaulted mezzanine ceilings, she never dreamed she would be on
top
of the building.

She shook her head vehemently at the thought.
No. I can’t possibly climb it.

Olivia tightened her grip on Rose’s arm. “It seems diabolical that Drago wants you to climb to the pinnacle of a building when he knows you have vertigo.”

Sometimes Olivia wasn’t very smart, but Rose loved her anyway. “That’s the point. If I heed his commands, it’ll tell people his hypnotic powers are genuine.”
He got the idea from the spinning wheel at Château de Maincy.

Rose remembered Drago’s words that night. “If I hypnotized someone and commanded them to touch the spindle, they’d do it in a dreamlike state—because
consciously
they would never put their finger on something sharp. The action would convince people that I’m a viable magician with the ability to spellbind.”

Olivia took the paper from her and threw it in a trash bin. “I hate to see Drago’s face when he finds out you’re not wearing the amulet anymore.”

Rose fell silent. She touched the faded brass locket she wore instead. Once she opened the locket, she stared at the tiny artist’s rendition of Drago she’d cut from a show program. She should be scared to death of her husband, but she still felt a certain pull toward him.

Was there more to what I saw in the coin?

Worried that she’d been rash when she notified the police, Rose took another look at Drago’s image. His enigmatic eyes gave her chills and made her misgivings multiply. What if there was
another
demon stalking the city? An alternate demon that was responsible for killing the girl in Coney Island last year?

After all, Drago couldn’t be the only one. But who was it?

Damn!
Rose wished she’d been able to actually communicate with her mother at the séance.

“You miss Drago, don’t you?” Olivia asked gently.

Rose nodded numbly. “I saw him turn into a demon, but I didn’t actually see him kill anyone in the vision.”

“What are you saying?” Olivia eyed her dubiously.

Rose’s cheeks flamed. “Maybe someone else killed the last Coney Island victim.”

“You should have thought of that before you got the entire police department involved.”

“I’ll give you that, but my shock made me panic.”

Olivia gave her a sympathetic look. “Why don’t you ask the coin who killed the girl?” she suggested.

“That’s a wonderful idea!” Rose said.

As she and Olivia sat on a streetcar bench, she delved into her handbag. The coin wasn’t there! Adrenaline rushed through her veins. She fished inside the handbag’s lining. “It can’t be!” Tipping the purse upside down, her heart sank when nothing fell out. “The coin’s gone!”

“Did you lose it?” Olivia asked urgently.

“I don’t know.”

“When did you see it last?”

“It was in my handbag last night. I checked on it before I went to sleep—and I didn’t open the bag up until now. There’s no way the coin could have fallen out.”

“Let’s go home and look for it.”

The girls did just that. They practically tore the house apart looking for the lei coin, yet it was nowhere to be found.

Exhausted, Rose lay in bed hours later. A thick cloud of uneasiness hung over her.
Who would have taken it while I slept last night?

She replayed the evening’s events in her head. The family had gathered around the dining room table for Elena’s famous rigatoni, antipasto salad, and focaccia bread. Patrick had joined them. After the meal, they’d sat in the parlor, listening to Elena play the piano. Rose had excused herself and gone to bed before anyone else.

There had been five other people in the house. Who was the thief?

“Your coming out of hiding
^*
is commendable, Drago,” Archibald McMillan said as he sat in his office chair. “But as your manager, I think you should have stayed in New York to defend your reputation—instead of traipsing off to France.”

“I disagree,” Drago replied dourly. “Leaving the city gave people time to forget that blasted newspaper article.”

“
Forget?
Is that what you think they did?”

Drago cast him a deep scowl.

“You wish, Starkov. Bellum’s article shot holes in your reputation like a .45. You’re lucky I signed you on again!”

Drago’s blood heated—as it always did when the day he was going to morph into a demon again drew near. “After this illusion, McMillan, I guarantee you’ll want me as your only client.”

McMillan scowled back. He took several drags from his cigarette, snuffed it out, then surged to his feet. “I don’t know about that, but it’s a good thing you’re rich. Getting permission to use the Woolworth Building cost a pretty penny.”

“I know, and my bank account knows,” Drago said grimly.

“Do you also know that when your show closed, it tapped my finances out?”

Drago nodded. He studied his manager. Thin and extremely hyper, McMillan seemed to survive on nothing but coffee and cigarettes. He was a man with no wife and no children and it was said that he had only his job to keep him company.

The smallness of McMillan’s life made it impossible for him to understand what Drago was going through. But it didn’t matter. Drago didn’t need him to understand. He just needed McMillan to promote his next illusion like it was the last glitzy spectacle on earth.

“All right,” he said. “I have a lot to make up to you. Now is the chance.”