by Nora Roberts
The heavy canvas flap swung shut behind him and blocked out most of the light and air from the midway. Noise battered against it like rainfall. People were already crowded on the low wooden seats, murmuring among themselves, shifting and waving paper fans against the stifling heat.
He stood in the back a moment, scanning. With an instinct that had been honed sharp as a switchblade over the past six weeks he skipped over a huddle of kids, crossed off a few couples as being too poor to net him anything but his admission price and cagily chose his marks. The situation called for him to look to women, as most of the men would be sitting on their money.
“Excuse me,” he said, polite as a Boy Scout, as he squeezed in behind a grandmotherly type who seemed distracted by the antics of the boy and girl on either side of her.
The moment he was settled, the Great Nouvelle took the stage. He was dressed in full formal gear. The black tux and starched white shirt looked exotic in the heat-drenched tent. His shoes gleamed with polish. On the pinkie of his left hand he wore a gold ring with a black center stone that winked in the stage lights.
The impression of greatness was set the moment he faced his audience.
The magician said nothing, yet the tent filled with his presence, swelled with it. He was every bit as dramatic as his poster, though the black hair was shot with glints of silver. The Great Nouvelle lifted his hands, held them palm out toward the audience. With a flick of his wrist, his spread, empty fingers held a coin. Another flick, another coin, and another, until the wide vee’s of his fingers were filled with the gleam of gold.
Luke’s attention was snagged enough for him to lean forward, eyes narrowed. He wanted to know how it was done. It was a trick, of course. He was all too aware the world was full of them. He’d already stopped wondering why, but he hadn’t stopped wondering how.
The coins became colored balls that changed size and hue. They multiplied, subtracted, appeared and vanished while the audience applauded.
Pulling his eyes from the show was difficult. Lifting six dollars from Grandma’s purse was easy. After tucking his take away, Luke slid out of his seat to move into position behind a blonde whose straw purse was sitting carelessly on the floor beside her.
As the sleight of hand warmed up the audience, Luke pocketed another four dollars. But he kept losing his concentration. Telling himself he’d wait before hitting the fat lady to his right, he settled down to watch.
For the next few moments, Luke was only a child, his eyes wide with amazement as the magician fanned the cards, passed his hand over their tops, and his other hand over the bottoms so that the spread deck hung suspended in the air. At a stylish movement of his hands, the cards swayed, dipped, turned. The audience cheered, wholly intent on the show. And Luke missed his chance to clean house.
“You there.” Nouvelle’s voice resounded. Luke froze as he felt those dark eyes pin him. “You’re a likely-looking boy. I need a smart . . .” The eyes twinkled. “An honest boy to help me with my next trick. Up here.” Nouvelle scooped up the hanging cards and gestured.
“Go ahead, kid. Go on.” An elbow rammed into Luke’s ribs.
Flushing to his toes, Luke rose. He knew it was dangerous when people noticed you. They would notice him all the more if he refused.
“Pick a card,” Nouvelle invited as Luke climbed onstage. “Any card.”
He fanned them again, outward to the audience so that they could see it was an ordinary deck. Quick and deft, Nouvelle shuffled them, then spread them on a small table.
“Any card,” he repeated, and Luke frowned in concentration as he slid one from the pile. “Turn toward our gracious audience,” Nouvelle instructed. “Hold the card facing out so all can see. Good, excellent. You’re a natural.”
Chuckling to himself, Nouvelle picked up the discarded pack, manipulating it again with his long, clever fingers. “Now . . .” His eyes on Luke, he held out the deck. “Slip your card in anywhere. Anywhere at all. Excellent.” His lips were curved as he offered the deck to the boy. “Shuffle them as you please.” Nouvelle’s gaze remained on Luke as the boy mixed the cards. “Now.” Nouvelle laid a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “On the table, if you please. Would you like to cut them, or shall I?”
“I’ll do it.” Luke laid his hands over the cards, certain he couldn’t be tricked. Not when he was so close.
“Is your card the top one?”
Luke flipped it up, grinned. “No.”
Nouvelle looked amazed as the audience tittered. “No? The bottom one, perhaps?”
Getting into the spirit, Luke turned the deck over and held the card out. “No. Guess you screwed up, mister.”
“Odd, odd indeed,” Nouvelle murmured, tapping a finger to his moustache. “You’re a more clever boy than I imagined. It seems you’ve tricked me. The card you chose isn’t in that deck at all. Because it’s . . .” He snapped his fingers, turned his wrist, and plucked the eight of hearts out of thin air. “Here.”
While Luke goggled, the audience broke into appreciative applause. Under the cover of the sound, Nouvelle spoke quietly.
“Come backstage after the show.”
And that was all. Giving Luke a nudge, Nouvelle sent him back to his seat.
For the next twenty minutes, Luke forgot everything but the magic. He watched the little redheaded girl dance out on the stage in spangled tights. Grinned when she stepped into an oversized top hat and changed into a white rabbit. He felt adult and amused when the girl and the magician staged a mock argument over her bedtime. The girl tossed her curling red hair and stomped her feet. With a sigh, Nouvelle whipped a black cape over her, tapped three times with his magic wand. The cape slithered to the floor, and the child was gone.
“A parent,” Nouvelle said soberly, “must be firm.”
For a finale, Nouvelle sawed a curvy blonde in a skimpy leotard in half. The curves and the costume had elicited a great deal of whistling and cheers.
One enthusiastic man in a paisley shirt and starched bell-bottom jeans leaped up, shouting. “Hey, Nouvelle, if you’re done with the lady, I’ll take either half!”
The divided lady was pushed apart. At Nouvelle’s command, she wriggled her fingers and toes. Once the box was pushed back together, Nouvelle removed the steel dividers, waved his wand and threw open the lid.
Magically reassembled, the lady stepped out to a round of applause.
Luke had forgotten all about the fat woman’s purse, but decided he’d gotten his money’s worth.
As the audience filed out to take a ride on the Loop De Loop or gawk at Sahib the Snake Charmer, Luke sidled toward the stage. He thought maybe, since he’d been a kind of assistant for the card trick, that Nouvelle would show him how it was done.
“Kid.”
Luke looked up. From his vantage point, the man looked like a giant. Six feet five inches and two hundred and sixty pounds of solid muscle. The smooth-shaven face was as wide as a dinner plate, the eyes like two raisins stuck slightly off center. There was an unfiltered cigarette dangling from the mouth.
As ugly went, Herbert Mouse Patrinski had all the bases covered.
Luke instinctively struck a pose, chin jutted forward, shoulders hunched, legs spread and braced. “Yeah?”
For an answer, Mouse jerked his head and lumbered away. Luke debated for less than ten seconds, then followed.
Most of the tawdry glamour of the carnival faded to gray as they crossed the yellowed and trampled grass toward the huddle of trailers and trucks.
Nouvelle’s trailer looked like a thoroughbred in a field of hacks. It was long and sleek, its black paint gleaming in the shadowy moonlight. A flourish of silver scrolled on the side proclaimed THE GREAT NOUVELLE, CONJURER EXTRAORDINAIRE.
Mouse rapped once on the door before pushing it open. Luke caught a scent that reminded him oddly and comfortingly of church as he stepped inside behind Mouse.
The Great Nouvelle had already changed out of his stage tux and was lounging on the narrow built-in sofa in
a black silk dressing gown. Thin plumes of smoke curled lazily upward from a half a dozen incense cones. Sitar music played in the background while Nouvelle swirled two inches of brandy.
Luke tucked his suddenly nervous hands in his pockets and gauged his surroundings. He knew he’d just walked into a trailer but there was a strong illusion of some exotic den. The scents, of course, and the colors from the plush, vivid pillows heaped here and there, the small richly woven mats tossed helter-skelter over the floor, the draping silks over the windows, the mysterious dip and sway of candlelight.
And, of course, Maximillian Nouvelle himself.
“Ah.” His amused smile half hidden by his moustache, Max toasted the boy. “So glad you could join me.”
To show he was unimpressed, Luke shrugged his bony shoulders. “It was a pretty decent show.”
“I blush at the compliment,” Max said dryly and waved with the back of his hand for Luke to sit. “Do you have an interest in magic, Mr . . . . ?”
“I’m Luke Callahan. I figured it was worth a buck to see some tricks.”
“A princely sum, I agree.” Slowly, his eyes on Luke, Max sipped his brandy. “But a good investment for you, I trust?”
“Investment?” Uneasy, Luke slid his eyes toward Mouse, who seemed to be hulking around, blocking the door.
“You took several more dollars out with you than you came in with. In finance we would call it a quick upward turn on your money.”
Luke resisted, barely, the urge to squirm and met Max’s eyes levelly. Well done, Max thought to himself. Quite well done.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I gotta take off.”
“Sit.” All Max did was utter the single syllable and raise one finger. Luke tensed, but sat. “You see, Mr. Callahan—or may I call you Luke? A good name that. From Lucius, the Latin for light.” He chuckled, sipped again. “But I digress. You see, Luke, while you were watching me, I was watching you. It wouldn’t be sporting of me to ask how much you got, but an educated guess would put it at eight to ten dollars.” He smiled charmingly. “Not at all a bad turn, you see, on a single.”
Luke narrowed his eyes to slits. A thin trail of sweat dribbled down his back. “Are you calling me a thief?”
“Not if it offends you. After all, you’re my guest. And I’m being a remiss host. What can I offer you as refreshment?”
“What’s the deal here, mister?”
“Oh, we’ll get to that. Indeed, we’ll get to that. But first things first, I always say. I know a young boy’s appetite, having been one myself.” And this young boy was so thin Max could all but count the ribs beneath the grubby T-shirt. “Mouse, I believe our guest would enjoy a hamburger or two, with all the accompaniments.”
“ ’Kay.”
Max rose as Mouse slipped out the door. “A cold drink?” he offered, opening the small refrigerator. He didn’t have to see to know the boy’s eyes cut to the door. “You can run, of course,” he said casually as he took out a bottle of Pepsi. “I doubt the money you have tucked in your right shoe would slow you down very much. Or you can relax, enjoy a civilized meal and some conversation.”
Luke considered bolting. His stomach rumbled. Compromising, he slid an inch closer to the door. “What do you want?”
“Why, your company,” Max said as he poured Pepsi over ice. His brow lifted a fraction at the quickly smothered flash in Luke’s eyes. So, he thought as his own mouth grimaced. It had been that bad. Hoping to signal the boy that he would be safe from that sort of advance, Max called for Lily.
She stepped through a curtain of crimson silk. Like Max, she was also in a robe. Hers was pale pink and trimmed with fuchsia feathers, as were the high-heeled slippers on her feet. She tapped over the scattered rugs in a wave of Chanel.
“We have company.” She had a pippy voice that seemed to be stuck in perpetual giggle.
“Yes. Lily, my dear.” Max took her hand and brought it to his lips, lingered over it. “Meet Luke Callahan. Luke, my invaluable assistant and adored companion, Lily Bates.”
Luke swallowed a hard knot in his throat. He’d never seen anything like her. She was all curves and scent, her eyes and mouth exotically painted. She smiled, batting incredibly long lashes. “Pleased to meet you,” she said, and snuggled closer to Max when he slipped an arm around her waist.
“Ma’am.”
“Luke and I have some things to discuss. I didn’t want you to wait up for me.”
“I don’t mind.”
He kissed her lightly, but with such tenderness, Luke’s cheeks went hot before he looked away. “Je t’aime, ma belle.”
“Oh, Max.” That French business always made Lily’s toes curl.
“Get some sleep,” he murmured.
“Okay.” But her eyes told him, quite clearly, that she would wait. “Nice meeting you, Luke.”
“Ma’am,” he managed again as she swayed back through the red curtain.
“A wonderful woman,” Max commented as he offered Luke the glass of Pepsi. “Roxanne and I would be quite lost without her. Wouldn’t we, ma petite?”
“Daddy.” On a little huff of breath, Roxanne crawled under the curtain then popped to her feet. “I was so quiet, even Lily didn’t see me.”
“Ah, but I sensed you.” Smiling at her, he tapped a finger to his nose. “Your shampoo. Your soap. The crayons you’ve been drawing with.”
Roxanne made a face and shuffled forward in her bare feet. “You always know.”
“And I always will know when my little girl is close.” He lifted her up and settled her on his hip.
Luke recognized the kid from the act, though she was dressed for bed now in a long ruffled nightgown. Bright, fiery red hair curled halfway down her back. While Luke sipped his drink, she twined an arm around her father’s neck and studied their guest with wide, sea-green eyes.
“He looks mean,” Roxanne decided, and her father chuckled and kissed her temple.
“I’m sure you’re mistaken.”
Roxanne debated, then temporized. “He looks like he could be mean.”
“Much more accurate.” He set her down and ran a hand over her hair. “Now say a polite hello.”
She tilted her head, then inclined it like a little queen granting audience. “Hello.”
“Yeah. Hi.” Snotty little brat, Luke thought, then flushed again as his stomach growled.
“I guess you have to feed him,” Roxanne said, very much as though Luke were a stray dog found rooting through the garbage. “But I don’t know if you should keep him.”
Torn between exasperation and amusement, Max gave her bottom a light swat. “Go to bed, old woman.”
“One more hour, please, Daddy.”
He shook his head and bent to kiss her. “Bon nuit, bambine.”
Her brows drew together, forming a faint verticle crease between them. “When I grow up, I’ll stay up all night when I want.”
“I’m sure you will, more than once. Until then . . .” He pointed toward the curtain.
Roxanne’s bottom lip poked out, but she obeyed. She parted the silk, then shot a look back over her shoulder. “I love you anyway.”
“And I you.” Max felt that old, always deep warmth flutter into him. His child. The one thing he had made without tricks or illusions. “She’s growing up,” Max said to himself.
“Shit.” Luke snorted into his Pepsi. “She’s just a kid.”
“So it seems, I’m sure, to one of your vast years and experience.” The sarcasm was so pleasant, Luke missed it.
“Kids’re a pain in the butt.”
“In the heart, quite often,” Max corrected, sitting again. “But I’ve never found one that gave me any discomfort in another part of the anatomy.”
“They cost money, don’t they?” A trickle of old anger worked its way into the words. “And they get in the way all the time. People have them mostly because they get too hot to think about the consequences when they screw around.”
Max stroked a f
inger over his moustache as he picked up his brandy. “An interesting philosophy. One we’ll have to discuss in depth sometime. But for tonight . . . Ah, your meal.”
Confused, Luke looked at the door. It was still closed. He heard nothing. Only seconds later there was the scrape of feet and the single quick rap. Mouse entered carrying a brown bag already spotted with grease. The smell had saliva pooling in Luke’s mouth.
“Thank you, Mouse.” Out of the corner of his eye, Max noted Luke restraining himself from snatching the bag.
“You want me to hang around?” Mouse asked and set the food on the small round table that fronted the sofa.
“Not necessary. I’m sure you’re tired.”
“ ’Kay. Good night then.”
“Good night. Please,” Max continued as Mouse closed the door