Dreamer

by L. E. DeLano

  “Yes, we’re going home,” I sigh. “I’m not a completely ungrateful bitch.”

  He stops and turns to hold me gently by the shoulders. “I would never think that of you, love,” he says. “I’m only telling you these things because I know that you love your family as much as they love you. You always have, in every incarnation I’ve encountered. It’s as much a part of you as my devilish good looks are a part of me.”

  He gives me a cocky grin and I reluctantly smile back. “I know it’s natural for her to be worried … under the circumstances,” I admit. “I just feel like she should cut me some slack, considering. I’m a pretty good kid.”

  “You’re an amazing human being. You’re buying me some decent tea, and for that alone, you should be enshrined.”

  “And now you’re going to tell me to go home and apologize, right?”

  “No. I’m going to tell you to go home and eat some meatballs. But text your mother first to tell her where you are so she doesn’t think I’ve kidnapped you for lascivious purposes.”

  “Lascivious. That’s another archaic word.” I smirk as I reach for my phone.

  “It’s only archaic if its purpose is forgotten,” he says, sliding his hand down my arm and twining his fingers with mine. “I’ll be happy to add it back into your personal vocabulary.”

  I raise my brows. “Finn.”

  “Very well, then. If that’s off the agenda, why don’t we find something fun to do after dinner?”

  “Such as?”

  He gives me that gorgeous, crooked grin. “How about another adventure?”

  27

  A Little Touch of Magic

  “So what should I expect?” I ask as I step away from the glass door we’re in front of.

  Finn won’t tell me a thing about who we are over there or where we’re going, so I have no idea who’s switching with us. I only hope they can drive, because Mom gave me the car. Finn arranged this earlier today while he was getting tea, and I’m just along for the ride.

  Now we’re standing in a hallway at Rambling Acres, a retirement home in Greaverville, not Ardenville.

  “What are we doing here, anyway?” I ask.

  “We’re here to put on a show,” Finn says, smiling.

  I stare at him in dismay. “I’m not singing, am I?”

  He chuckles and squeezes my hand. “No. No singing.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.”

  “I’m an entertainer. You help out as my assistant,” he says.

  “And I’m your assistant. Okay.” I search back through my memories for pointers as he goes on.

  “I’m a magician and hypnotist—that’s the act and what we’ll be performing today.”

  My mouth opens and closes like a fish’s. “Hypnosis?” I can’t help it, I laugh out loud. “Are you serious?”

  “You don’t think I have showmanship skills?”

  “I know that you do. I just can’t see you swinging a watch in front of a bunch of zombie-eyed people.”

  “I’ll have you know I’m in high demand,” he says. “Come on; let’s grab some tea before we get started. They have refreshments at the back of the room.”

  We make our way into the auditorium, where volunteers are setting up the refreshment table. A few people dot the seats in the middle, but we’re still ten minutes from the start time.

  “I hope we get a bigger crowd,” I say.

  “They’ll be here,” Finn says. “I’ve always been able to fill the house.”

  He hands me a cup of coffee as he drops a tea bag into a cup of hot water for himself and we make our way backstage to wait.

  “How did you get started with something like this?” I ask.

  He blows on his tea to cool it for a moment before he answers. “In this particular reality, I had to make my way at a very young age,” he says. “I learned card tricks from a street hustler in New York City at the age of twelve, and I found a corner of my own to work after school. That branched out to other sleight-of-hand tricks, and, soon enough, I had a following. Eventually I got an offer to play a legitimate venue, and then another. Along the way, I met a hypnotist who hired me as an opening act. I became his partner. When he retired, I started my own act, and while touring about last summer, I met you. The rest is history.”

  Yes, it is. Him and me, together, of course. This Jessa plans on leaving with him right after graduation to take the act on the road full-time. And my mom is fine with that! I let out a laugh as the memory surfaces.

  “What’s funny?” Finn asks, finishing off his tea.

  “I’m not even going to college here! And my mom is remarried to a guy who plays in a band?” I’m shaking my head as the memories come through.

  “Ah, that would be Jason,” Finn says with a nod. “Your mother is quite bohemian over here. She paints.”

  She paints? I let that memory flood in, along with a few others. Jason is nearly ten years younger than my mom, and along with Danny we all live in a big renovated warehouse so they can both have studio space. Danny works as a roadie for Jason’s band.

  “You’re not using hypnosis on me now, right?” I ask him, just to clarify. “I’m really remembering my mom this way?”

  “She’s devilish fun and terribly whimsical,” he says. “She and I get along quite famously.”

  He reaches for his top hat and his tuxedo jacket with tails, and my lips start to twitch, holding back a grin—until I slip out of my long coat and see my sparkling purple leotard with a tulle pouf attached to my butt. It’s high cut at the thighs and low cut in the front, and with the four-inch heels I’m wearing, I look like a showgirl.

  “It’s time,” he says, giving me a slow perusal from my rhinestone-clipped hair to my fishnet-clad toes.

  “You brought me here just so I could see that my mom has it in her to be a little wild, didn’t you?” I ask.

  “I brought you here just to see you in that outfit,” he responds with a grin.

  The volunteer coordinator at the retirement home is announcing us, and a moment later we step out on stage to a full house, and Finn gives a brandishing wave of his hand as our banner unfurls from the catwalk overhead.

  GALLAGHER’S GRAND ILLUSIONS, it proclaims in large, sparkling letters.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!” Finn calls out. “For my first trick, my lovely assistant, Jessa, will take a personal item from someone and place it in this magic box.” He pulls me forward by the hand. “Jessa, if you please.…”

  I quickly search my memories to remember how this trick works.

  One gentleman offers his hearing aid, but I smile and tell him I don’t want him to miss a bit of the program. Another woman in a bright red sweater at the back lifts her hand slightly, but she’s too far back.

  “How about you?” I ask a gentleman in the middle of the third row who fits the bill perfectly. “May we borrow your wristwatch, Mr.…?”

  “Jenkins,” he says. “John Jenkins. And this is an expensive watch.” He glares up at me as I step over a few feet and nudge my way in to him.

  “No harm will come to your timepiece, I assure you,” Finn says grandly. “It’s all in the spirit of fun, am I right, everyone?”

  A few lackluster claps sound, and one of the aides encourages Mr. Jenkins.

  “I don’t want a scratch on it,” he warns me as he puts it in my hand.

  “Not to worry,” Finn assures him as I hold the watch close and nudge and bump down the row to return to the stage. I give Finn a nod and he takes the watch from my hand and holds it over the box.

  “Now, everyone, watch the magic box,” he says, tilting it out to the audience so that they can clearly see inside it. “Are we all agreed that it’s empty?”

  Again, a lethargic response from the group, many of whom are looking over at the table that holds the refreshments.

  “Very well, then,” Finn soldiers on. He drops the watch in, then holds the box out and I tap on it once with a magic wand from a nearby table. He opens th
e door on the box, and, of course, the watch is gone.

  “Great,” says John from his seat. “Now bring it back.”

  “’Fraid I can’t do that, mate,” Finn says, opening the empty box again with a sly grin. “It appears good and lost. Perhaps it’s rematerialized in the room somewhere. Let’s all have a look around, shall we?”

  Finn steps down off the stage, making a great show of looking under people’s chairs and even asking a few to move their feet, as I do on the opposite side of the room. He eventually works his way back to John.

  “Well now, John,” he says, clapping a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’ve never had this happen before. I’m terribly sorry. I’ll give you the name and number of my insurance agent, and he’ll cover the replacement.”

  “Damn right he will!” John blusters.

  “Do you have a pen?” Finn asks, patting his lapels. “I seem to have misplaced mine.”

  John reaches into the breast pocket of his shirt and pulls out his watch. His mouth forms a perfect O and then he finally cracks a smile. “Well, I’ll be darned,” he says. “I didn’t even feel you slip it in there!”

  The room breaks out in applause, and Finn silences them with a flourish of his hand. “I’m not done yet!” he says, reaching out for John’s watch and holding it before John’s face, tilting it ever so slightly back and forth. He clasps John’s shoulder firmly and leans down, making direct eye contact.

  “How’s that chair feeling, John?” he asks, in a low, soothing tone. “It looks awfully comfortable. The kind of chair you can just sink into.”

  “Yeah … it’s pretty good,” John agrees.

  “And that ceiling fan up there,” Finn goes on. “Spinning and sending all that cool, fresh air down here. Breathe that in, John. Isn’t it nice?”

  John’s eyes focus on the fan, and he nods slowly as Finn continues to speak to him in a calm and nearly monotone voice. It happens in just a few seconds—Finn has him hypnotized. John stands up, turns a circle, and walks to the stage at Finn’s suggestion. Then he proceeds to tell us all that he’s the reincarnation of King Arthur and he owns a dragon, before Finn brings him out of it.

  I’d call it nonsense if my memories weren’t telling me Finn manages to do this at all his shows. He’s got a real gift for it, and people eat it up.

  We spend another thirty minutes with Finn hypnotizing various audience members, and it pulls raucous laughter when he convinces three older ladies that they are actually hens. They strut and flutter their arms, clucking loudly as the whole room roars. We’ve got the crowd in the palm of our hands, and I am loving it.

  “Now for the fun part,” Finn says as he escorts me back to the stage. I take my place beside him, and before I can ask what’s next, he pulls my hand behind me, snapping it into a pair of handcuffs, along with my other hand.

  “Finn!” My surprise is genuine and draws more laughter from the crowd.

  “Don’t worry, darling,” he reassures me, to their delight. “I only want to keep you immobile while I throw the daggers at you.” They laugh again as I give him a look that plainly asks if he’s out of his mind.

  He leads me over to a very large bull’s-eye target and stands me so my head is right in front of it.

  “This is the tricky part,” he says under his breath as he positions me. I feel him press a tiny piece of what feels like wire into my hand, moving his body in front of mine to block the audience’s view. “I’ll draw it out a bit longer,” he tells me quietly, “but I need you to perform your signature trick. On five.”

  On five? What is that supposed to mean? Finn turns away to give the crowd the lowdown on our next trick. I am to break out of my cuffs and stop him before he murders me.

  For a moment I have an oddly uncomfortable flashback, and then I search my memories frantically. The wire in my fingers is familiar now, and I begin feeling around behind my back for the keyhole and the delicate spring inside.

  Finn finishes regaling the audience, picks up his daggers, and turns back to me.

  “Smile, my love,” he says. “There’s been many a woman thrilled to be my target!”

  The women in the audience just love that, laughing and clapping, and a few of the older ladies even hoot and catcall him. He gives them a saucy wink, and it’s all I can do to concentrate on the task at hand.

  Which becomes impossible when the first dagger whizzes by my right ear and embeds itself in the wooden target with a whump. I start visibly, and Finn gets another laugh when he asks me how much coffee I’ve had. Knives two and three seem to come with alarming precision and even more alarming frequency. I have to get this done by knife five, and the tumblers inside the cuffs still aren’t cooperating. My hands are sweaty, and that’s making it even more difficult.

  I give Finn a panicked look, and he gives the audience a shrug. “She’s not herself today,” he says. “Normally she enjoys this sort of pointed attention.”

  They laugh again, and he throws another knife. They didn’t get the emphasis he put on that first phrase, but I did. She’s not herself today. My eyes lock with his and I get what he’s trying to tell me. I know how to do this. I just need to relax and trust that I do.

  There. With a click, the cuffs are off, and I move them to my left hand. My eyes go wide as I remember why I need to do that, and Finn shoots me an encouraging smile as he picks up the last knife.

  “Steady … steady…,” he says, taking aim.

  I give him a shaky nod, and I take a deep breath. The knife flies straight for me, and my right hand snaps out, arresting it in midair. I can feel the difference in the weight, and I step to the side, holding the knife in position so the audience can clearly see that it would have hit the center of the target. I dangle the cuffs in my other hand, smiling widely.

  Finn comes up to take the knife from my hand, then pulls the remaining daggers from the target. No one sees him switch the rubber dagger for the real one in his upstage hand, placing the dummy in his pocket. He turns back to the wooden prop table with his hands full of daggers, slamming them point-down so they all stand up.

  The room roars with applause, and I take a bow, grinning madly. Wow! We really are good together!

  “You’re a natural,” Finn says, winking at me.

  “I’m a circus performer, you know,” I say under my breath. “Haven’t been her yet, but now I can’t wait to try!”

  “That’s my girl,” he says, and I’m not even going to try to hide how much I like the sound of that.

  “We make a great team,” I tell him as our audience files out.

  “We managed to put on a good show,” Finn agrees. “The Senior Citizens’ Alliance was quite thrilled by our performance. Gallagher’s Grand Illusions continues to flourish.” He makes a show of straightening his bow tie. “I heard several of the ladies ask to have us back.”

  I study his face from his slightly tousled hair to his perfectly angled jaw.

  “What a surprise,” I say blandly.

  Finn rubs his chin thoughtfully. “D’you think Dreamers can be hypnotized? I need to repay one for dropping me in a lake, as I recall.…”

  28

  The Question of Us

  “What the devil am I wearing?” Finn asks once we transfer back, coming through in my bedroom. My eyes widen as I take him in.

  “It’s an old concert T-shirt of mine,” I tell him. “And it’s obviously too small for you.”

  “Obviously,” he agrees. “I can barely move my arms. Why would I … ah. I have it now,” he says as the memory comes through. “We were helping Danny clean up after dinner.”

  “And you thought it would be funny to tickle me as I reached for a bowl,” I say, remembering as well. “You ended up wearing a whole lot of marinara, so I offered you the shirt.”

  I’m trying really hard not to stare at the way the tight shirt is clinging to his chest, but I’m not doing too well with that.

  “Like what you see?” he teases.

  “It’s not a glitt
ery leotard and fishnets.”

  “Haven’t hit a world yet where that might come true,” he says. “But you never know.…”

  I grin as I open my dresser drawer and find him a large T-shirt left over from a Spanish Club car wash last year, and then I turn my back so he can change. I’m not going to be caught ogling again.

  We make our way downstairs, and Danny is in front of the Xbox, as usual. He tears his eyes from the TV to look at me.

  “Hi, Jessa. You’re back now?”

  Finn looks startled and I give a shrug. “He knows,” I say. “He always seems to know.” I smile at my brother. “Yeah, Danny. I’m back.”

  “Okay,” he says, facing forward again. “Why don’t you stay instead of swapping?” he asks. “You could be twins.”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” I tell him.

  “You guys should get together sometime,” he says, turning to look back at his game.

  “Yeah, we should.” I look around. “Where’s Mom?”

  “She says we’re out of bread but we’re only out of her bread. The brown bread. We have bread,” he assures me. Mom eats wheat bread, which Danny can’t stand.

  “So she’s at the store?” He nods an affirmative, keeping his eyes on the TV. “Tell her Finn went home and I went up to bed, okay?”

  “Okay. Good night, Finn.”

  “Good night, Danny,” he answers. He gives me a questioning look as I lead him over to the front door and step outside with him, pulling it shut.

  “Stay with me tonight,” I whisper.

  He reaches out to take my hand. “Eversor won’t come near you, love. I promise. And soon enough she’ll realize that she has no power anymore.”

  “I know. Meet you at the back door.”

  “I look forward to it,” he says, and his eyes are gleaming in the darkness.

  I do need to work on that scholarship application and on a writing project, and I seem to write better with him around. I feel better telling myself that’s my motivation.

  Once we sneak back upstairs, I set Finn up with Danny’s portable DVD player that we take on car trips, a pair of headphones, and the entire Harry Potter series. He’s engrossed, and I’m able to get some work done.