“We’d be entered in different categories,” said Nyssa. “Anyway, I’m just doing the show for fun. Not like you— you’ve got prize potential.”
“No, I don’t,” said Chloe, shaking her head quickly.
“Don’t be modest. You’ve been playing the piano since you were, like, three, according to Kitty. I know the judges. Just play a few period pieces, some ragtime or something, and they’ll love you.”
“Look, I know you mean well, but you’ve got the wrong girl,” said Chloe. “You want to know the truth? I haven’t played in front of anybody in two months. I mean anybody. I couldn’t even play a scale in front of my parents right now if you paid me.”
“Why not?” Nyssa asked.
Chloe shut her eyes. Her heart had begun to race as she saw herself back on stage again.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be pushy. If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand,” Nyssa said after a moment.
“It was just a recital,” Chloe said angrily, her eyes still closed. “That’s all it was. I’ve been performing at recitals since I was five. It shouldn’t have mattered that it was being recorded for a radio broadcast. It was important, but so what? I was ready for it.”
Nyssa remained silent.
“It was a nightmare,” Chloe said, her voice faltering. “My brain froze; my fingers were like wood. Chopin’s Nocturne in F-sharp Major is challenging, but I knew it. I should have been able to play it blindfolded, but my mind just went blank. The notes were just black squiggles on the page.”
“What did you do?” Nyssa asked quietly.
“What did I do? I just sat there sweating and shaking like a complete idiot. For all I know I was drooling! Then I ran from the stage and threw up. It was the most humiliating experience of my life.”
“Lots of people get stage fright, you know,” Nyssa said. “Even the professionals. You should hear the stories my dad tells. You’d never guess what some actors go through behind the scenes. Stage fright is just a fact of life for lots of performers.”
“You don’t understand,” Chloe insisted. “Stage fright cannot be ‘just a fact of life’ if it prevents me from performing at all. My parents sent me to see a therapist, but it’s not helping. I’m supposed to work at ‘visualizing’ a successful performance. But every time I imagine playing in front of someone, my heart starts to race, and my palms get sweaty, and I feel sick to my stomach. This isn’t just a case of the jitters, okay? And the worst thing is, all I’ve ever wanted to be is a concert pianist. Since I was, like, five years old. I can’t even imagine doing anything else.”
Nyssa was silent for a few seconds. “Come on,” she said suddenly, grabbing Chloe’s arm. “There’s a piano in your great-aunts’ house, right?”
“Yes, but I can’t—”
“One note,” said Nyssa. “Just one, that’s all. Any note you want.”
“No—”
“Come on. It’s all right.”
Chloe yanked her arm free. “I said I’m not ready yet!”
“Sorry,” said Nyssa, holding up her hands in surrender. “Just trying to help.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” said Chloe. She took a deep breath. “It’s just, when I feel pressured, it makes it worse. I know I sound like a mental case, but I have to get through this my own way.”
Nyssa shrugged. “Well, when you’re ready, I’m there. I’d be impressed no matter what you played. Really. I can’t even play Chopsticks.”
Chloe nodded and attempted a smile. “Thanks, I think.”
Chapter Five
“I dreamt that someone was playing our old piano in the wee hours of the morning,” Kitty said at breakfast the next day.
Chloe felt her face flush. She remained silent, concentrating on the pattern the maple syrup made as she drizzled it over her pancakes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bess give her twin a pointed look.
“Wasn’t half bad for a dream,” Kitty said, ignoring her sister.
After breakfast, Chloe returned to the second floor to continue exploring the house. On her way upstairs, she paused to check the painting on the first landing. “It’s changed—it’s not my imagination!” she said, backing away in surprise. The cluster of tents was the same, but the landscape behind them was definitely different. The snow on the mountain peaks had disappeared, and the peaks themselves had softened into gently rolling hills.
“It’s a magician’s house,” Chloe reminded herself. It had to be an illusion; maybe it was just the way the light hit the canvas at different times of the day. She took a few breaths to steady herself and continued up the stairs.
Chloe returned to the nursery, determined to find the secret passageway Bess had mentioned, as well as the lock that would open with her tiny key. She tackled the room systematically this time, mentally dividing it into squares in a grid. Starting under the south window and working her way slowly counterclockwise, Chloe examined every toy and every piece of furniture in her path, including a small music box that played a different tinny tune every time she opened it. There was no sign of a locked journal or chest that might welcome her key. As she made her way around the room, she carefully checked for loose floorboards and tested shelves and wall panels for signs of a hidden latch or door.
The better part of an hour had passed before she turned her attention to the bookcases that lined two walls of the nursery. Chloe pushed and pulled each section of the bookcases, but they remained fixed in place. As a last resort, she began removing books from the shelves. She emptied one shelf at a time, and then she replaced the books in the order that she’d found them before moving on to the next shelf. She glanced at the cover of each book as she removed it and quickly thumbed through its pages, just in case one of the volumes had been hollowed out and converted into a tiny treasure box or safe.
Chloe removed volumes A through P of a set of antique encyclopedias, but when she reached for volume Q, she found that it was stuck. Volumes R through Z slipped out without any difficulty, but volume Q remained fixed on the shelf, upright, all alone. Chloe couldn’t see anything holding the leather-bound book in place, so she tugged a little harder. This time the top of the book tilted backward slightly, as if on a hinge. There was a distinct click, and the section of the bookcase directly in front of Chloe moved. She pushed the shelves gently and they began to turn, revealing a widening crack of gray light from the next room.
When a wide-enough opening had been created, Chloe squeezed through and found herself in a room that was about half the size of the nursery. Dusty sports pennants hung on the wall above a single bed, and black-and-white photographs of uniformed schoolboys sat on a wooden desk. Chloe picked up the nearest photograph. There were no familiar faces among the young men who stared back at her, their arms folded across their chests.
“There you are,” a voice called from the far side of the room.
Chloe jumped, and then she relaxed again when she saw that it was only Abigail, peering in from the other side of the opening.
“I see you found the secret passageway into Henry’s room.”
“This was my grandfather’s bedroom?”
“Yes. Not much has changed since he left,” the housekeeper said. “Going on seven decades now.” She made a clucking sound with her tongue. “What this house needs is a good clearing out. Get rid of all the cobwebs and ghosts in one fell swoop.”
“Ghosts?” Chloe asked, her eyebrows rising hopefully.
Abigail lifted her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. “Sorry—just an expression. I came to tell you that two hungry women and a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches are waiting downstairs for you.”
Chloe was helping Abigail with the dishes after dinner that evening when Nyssa appeared at the back door.
“Want to ride down to the lake with me?” Nyssa asked.
“I don’t have a bike,” said Chloe.
“No problem. I can double you.”
“Go on,” said Abigail. “Just a few pots left anyway.”
&n
bsp; Chloe dried her hands and went to tell her aunts where she was going. She followed Nyssa outside and around to the front of the house where Nyssa’s bike was leaning against the gate.
“Hold on tight,” Nyssa said as Chloe climbed onto the bike behind her. “It’s all downhill from here.”
“I’ve got something I want to show you,” Nyssa told Chloe when they reached the beach a few minutes later.
“What?” Chloe asked as she sat down on a log.
Nyssa reached into her backpack and brought out a deck of cards, a small black box, a plastic container and a wand. “I’m still working on this,” she warned as she opened the plastic container to reveal three eggs, “so don’t expect too much. It’s one of the tricks your great-aunts taught me.”
“Really? One of Dante’s tricks?”
“It was one of the tricks that Dante performed, but he didn’t invent it. Lots of magicians do this one. Houdini even did it.”
“Cool,” said Chloe, leaning forward.
Nyssa cleared her throat. “Okay, here we go.” She shuffled the pack of cards, and then she fanned them out, facedown, in front of Chloe. “Take one. Don’t show it to me; just tear it up.”
“Like this?” Chloe asked as she tore a Jack of Spades into half a dozen pieces.
“That’s right. Now put the pieces in the black box.”
When the torn pieces were inside the box, Nyssa closed the lid. “Wait, I forgot.” She opened the box again and put her hand inside. She withdrew a single torn corner and handed it to Chloe. “Take this and hold on to it. At my command, I’m going to make the rest of the card appear inside the egg of your choice.”
“Really?” Chloe said skeptically. “And how are you going to do that?”
“C’mon,” said Nyssa. “Just choose an egg.”
Chloe pointed at one of the three eggs.
“Good. Now remove the other two eggs.”
As Chloe obeyed, Nyssa held up her wand and waved it three times over the sealed black box. She whispered an incantation and jabbed the air above the egg that Chloe had selected. “Now watch carefully,” Nyssa commanded her friend.
Chloe watched as Nyssa forced the tip of her wand through the egg’s shell, breaking it open. A rolled-up card emerged from the gooey interior of the egg. “Can I pick it up?” Chloe asked.
Nyssa nodded, and Chloe pulled the card out, wiping it off against the edge of the container. “It’s my card,” she said in amazement. “But it’s in one piece! It’s just missing the corner I’m holding in my hand!”
“Do they match—the piece that’s missing and the piece you tore off?” Nyssa asked.
“You know they do,” said Chloe. “How did you do that? That was amazing!”
Nyssa gave a shallow bow. “Thank you. A magician doesn’t usually tell her secrets, but I’ll make an exception for you. After all, you are the great-granddaughter of Dante Magnus. First, the card you tore up is still in the bottom of the box. It’s a trick box with a secret compartment. I only pretended to take out the torn corner that I gave to you. That piece really came from a second card.”
“Okay,” said Chloe, “but how did that card get inside the egg?”
“The second card was rolled up inside my hollow wand. At the same time I was breaking the egg, I was forcing the card out with a rod hidden inside the wand. It all happened at once, but you couldn’t see it because of the bits of shell and the broken egg yolk in the way.”
“I get it,” Chloe said, nodding slowly. “Except how did you know which card I was going to choose?”
“That was the easiest part.” Nyssa grinned and held up the pack of cards. She fanned them out, face up this time.
Chloe groaned. “They’re all the Jack of Spades.”
“There, I’ve let you in on one of my best tricks. Now you owe me,” Nyssa said as she began gathering up her props.
Chloe handed her friend the two unbroken eggs. “Owe you what?” she asked suspiciously.
“Don’t panic. I don’t want your money. I just want to know what it’s really like, staying in Dante Magnus’s house. People say it’s haunted, you know.”
Chloe felt goose bumps rise on her arms. “Haunted? Like how?”
Nyssa shrugged her shoulders. “Mostly it’s just what kids say. You know. Any house that big and that old has got to be good for a few ghost stories.”
“Do they say anything about Dante’s disappearance?”
Nyssa zipped her backpack and sat down again. “According to most of the stories, Dante didn’t really disappear. They say he’s either hiding or trapped somewhere in the house.”
“He’d be long dead by now,” said Chloe. “He was in his early fifties when he vanished, and that was, like, almost a century ago.”
“Well, his bones then.”
It was a warm evening, but Chloe shivered anyway.
“Sorry,” said Nyssa. “Didn’t mean to freak you out. It’s just a story kids tell when they’re bored.”
“I don’t know.” Chloe rubbed her hands over her arms. “There are some weird things going on in that house.”
“Like what?”
“Like this, for starters.” Chloe held up the tiny key hanging from the chain around her neck. “It came with the invitation my great-aunts sent me. Thing is, no one seems to know what it’s for or how it got into the envelope.”
“Okay, that’s a little creepy, but someone must have put it there. Is there anything else?”
“What about a picture that changes every time I go past?” said Chloe.
Nyssa listened to Chloe’s description of the painting of the carnival on the first-floor landing. “Maybe the painting just looks different as the light changes,” she suggested when Chloe was finished. “Kind of like an early hologram.”
“Is that even possible?”
“I don’t know,” Nyssa said. “But there has to be some kind of rational explanation. Like the obvious one, maybe, that someone is switching them on you as a practical joke.”
Chloe shook her head. “But who would do that? And why?”
Nyssa shrugged. “No idea. You’re the one staying there.”
“Okay, let’s say there’s an explanation for the painting and the key. But what about the dreams I’ve been having?” Chloe demanded. “Ever since I arrived in Little Venice, I keep dreaming that someone’s trying to send me some kind of message. And then there’s Dante’s book. It’s like a waking dream; I almost get hypnotized every time I start reading it.”
“You’re obviously a very suggestible person with a fantastic imagination,” said Nyssa.
Chloe didn’t even try to keep the irritation out of her voice. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one having weird dreams day and night.” She stood up. “The sun’s almost down. I’d better get back.”
“Sorry,” said Nyssa. “If I’d known your aunts’ house was such a touchy subject, I never would have brought it up.”
Chloe shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said as she fingered the key hanging at her throat. “No matter how crazy it sounds to you, there is something going on in that house. There’s a reason I’m here this summer; I can feel it. If I could just find the lock that goes with this key, I know it would all start to make sense.”
Chapter Six
Chloe was still feeling a little unsettled when she took Dante’s book to bed with her that night. Her conversation with Nyssa had made her more determined than ever to finish Dante’s story, even if reading the memoir was a slightly disconcerting experience. She opened the book to the next chapter and immediately entered the story.
When I left Circus Animagicus, it was my intention to find a magician who would be willing to take me under his wing until I had enough experience and enough money to launch my own act. I expected it would take a year or two at most to accomplish what I wanted. But somehow more than a decade flew past in a blur of canvas tents, crowded railcars and musty theaters. I made my way from one touring show to another, always working in the
shadows of other performers. The money I earned assisting magicians or performing ten-minute crowd teasers on the vaudeville circuits was not nearly enough to buy the elaborate props, costumes and promotional materials I needed to introduce myself properly on the world stage. I became increasingly frustrated, but I did not give up. I whispered the same words over and over again before I fell asleep each night: “I will be the world’s greatest magician. I will be the world’s greatest magician.”
I was performing with a traveling show in Vancouver in the summer of 1897 when I heard the news of the Klondike gold strike. I was ecstatic. Here at last was my chance to get the money I needed to produce my own show! Three other men agreed to travel with me to Dawson City in the Yukon: Thomas Rankin, a juggler and fire-breather; Li Yung, a knife thrower; and Antoine Langlade, a snake charmer.
In spite of our impatience to be underway, it took us the better part of a month to complete the necessary arrangements for our expedition. In mid-August we finally made our way down to the wharf with our provisions—two-thousand-pound “outfits” that consisted of enough food, clothing and essential gear to last each of us an entire year.
It was a difficult journey from the beginning. Our steamship was designed to carry fifty or sixty passengers, but there were more than four hundred people crammed on board for the voyage north. When we were still many hundreds of miles from our final destination, the ship anchored at the end of a long inlet on the Alaskan coast, at the makeshift settlement of Dyea.
Twice a day for the next three months, the four of us and countless others trekked back and forth through the rain and mud with fifty-pound loads on our backs. When we had succeeded in carrying all of our provisions from Dyea to the base camp at the foot of the Chilkoot Pass, it was time to tackle the dreaded pass itself. Earlier trekkers had carved an icy staircase of over a thousand steps into the steep mountain. After resting for a few days, my companions and I made our first ascent up what was called the “Golden Staircase.” It took us almost six hours to reach the top. Over the next month and a half, we each repeated this climb forty times.
When the Curtain Rises Page 4