by Dima Zales
“We’re usually too busy during the day to be prancing around,” Vlad clarifies. “Since we don’t need to sleep, we do our work during the day and enjoy leisure activities”—he looks meaningfully at Rose—“at night.”
“Except you’re here during the day,” I observe.
“I’m with Rose whenever possible,” he says, that hint of a smile returning.
Oh no.
Are they about to make out again?
As happy as I am for them, it was really awkward to witness the last time.
“Did you know Rasputin?” I ask Vlad, in part to prevent the public display of affection and in part because I really want to know. “Or were you in France during his time?”
“I knew him when I lived in Russia.” Vlad’s black eyes take on a distant look. “But I was in France when he got into all that trouble with the St. Petersburg Council—”
“Wait,” I say. “What trouble?”
“You don’t gain fame in the human world without consequences,” Vlad says. “As you found out yourself.”
That’s right. Rasputin became an almost mythical figure—which goes against the spirit of the Mandate and probably pissed off the Cognizant around him.
“So what happened?” I ask, meeting Vlad’s unblinking gaze.
“From what I’ve heard, Grigori faked his death and went into exile somewhere.” Vlad shrugs. “Obviously, a seer—especially one that powerful—wouldn’t let himself be poisoned by mere humans, let alone get shot by them, then beaten and drowned, as the history books say.”
“But how do you fake something so intricate?” I ask. “All the online articles say—”
“How did the people in that TV studio forget the zombie attack?” Rose winks at Vlad before looking back at me. “How did the people at that Vegas hotel explain the shootings when you and Ariel battled Beatrice?”
“Of course.” I pat my lips with a napkin. “If Rasputin had help from a vampire, glamour could’ve been used to make humans believe any story.”
“It sure explains why the legend of Rasputin’s murder sounds so farfetched,” Rose says. “Don’t trust anything you read in human records. Those are highly unreliable.”
Vlad doesn’t look comfortable speaking about his kind’s powers so openly, but he does nod in agreement.
“So is everything known about Rasputin fake, then?” I ask, looking at Vlad. “Or just his death?”
“Anything can be faked,” he says. “But some information is not worth covering up, so I doubt it was.”
“What about children?” I ask. “Human history says he had some.”
“I wouldn’t trust that,” Rose says. “If he had children, he would’ve taken steps to conceal their identities before he went into exile.”
“He might’ve also taken them with him,” Vlad says.
“Do you have any idea where he went?” I ask him.
“No.” Vlad hands a wad of napkins to Rose. “If such information were known, Grigori would be dead. He really made a mess of things in St. Petersburg.”
I look hopefully at Rose.
She shrugs, wiping her hands. “If Vlad doesn’t know, I wouldn’t either,” she says. “I only knew of Rasputin by his reputation.”
I sigh in disappointment—which is when the sense of danger returns, stronger than ever.
Rose frowns at me, and Vlad raises a questioning eyebrow.
I must look as pale as I feel.
“Someone just walked over my grave,” I say quietly, and as though in reply, my phone rings again.
Chapter Three
I look at the “Private” label, take a calming breath, and unlock the phone.
One of the apps I installed reveals a number that doesn’t look familiar, but does have a local 718 area code.
“Give me a sec,” I tell Vlad and Rose and Google the number.
No luck.
I forward the number to Felix along with a text message.
App revealed the private caller, but I still don’t know who it is. Can you help?
Felix replies almost instantly.
Have a ton of work to do now but will tackle this as soon as I can.
I thank him and turn my attention back to Vlad and Rose. “Someone has been calling me for some reason,” I explain. “It’s probably nothing, but Felix is on it.”
“You let us know if it’s trouble.” Rose curves her hands around the cup of coffee Vlad purchased. “You’ve been through enough already. I refuse to let someone hurt you again.”
“Oh, thank you. You’re so sweet.” I shake my head in the hopes of clearing away the adrenaline overload, then recall that I have the world’s best stress relief with me today.
“Do you want to see something cool?” I ask my companions.
“A magic trick?” Rose’s face lights up, giving me a glimpse into her long-ago childhood.
Vlad raises both eyebrows.
“I know the Council forbade me from performing for humans,” I say to Vlad. “But if I show an effect to the two of you, it should be fine.”
Rose gives Vlad a beseeching look.
“If it’s something only we can see,” he says, “there’s no problem.”
“It’s a close-up effect,” I promise. “Now, Rose, do you want to be my helper, or should it be Vlad?”
“Me,” Rose shouts in the voice of a ten-year-old. “Pick me!”
I look at Vlad, and he nods, the tiny smile back in the corners of his eyes.
“Rose,” I say, my hands going into my pockets, “please name any playing card out loud.”
“Seven of clubs,” Rose says without a second thought.
Inwardly, I’m dancing a jig, but outwardly, I just nod approvingly and take my right hand out of my pocket.
“Please shuffle these,” I tell Vlad and pantomime a riffle shuffle for him.
Vlad takes the cards out of the box and expertly gives them a table riffle.
“Thanks. Now put them back into the box and give them to Rose to hold between her hands.”
I pantomime how Rose is to hold the cards, and Vlad places them gently into her outstretched hands. I can’t help but notice how he uses this chance to brush his fingers caressingly against her palm.
“Sorry for stating the obvious,” I say. “But just to point out, now that the cards are held this way, I can’t change anything about them.”
Rose nods.
“Now,” I say, fighting to keep the excitement out of my voice—the hardest part about being an illusionist for me. “Name a number between one and fifty-two.”
“Forty-two,” Rose says without thinking again.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “You didn’t say it because it is, say, the answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything in a famous book?”
“Can I change it to twenty-four?” Rose holds the cards tighter in her hands.
“Hmm.” I scratch my chin, pretending to consider it. “I’ll tell you what… I’ll let you change your mind if that’s what you want.” She looks at me eagerly as I continue. “In fact, I’ll even let you change your twenty-four for something else if you wish, but only if you do so in the next five seconds.”
I start to count silently with my fingers.
“I like twenty-four,” Rose says after some consideration. “I’m sticking with it.”
“You sure?” I put on my best poker face.
“Positive,” Rose says. “Twenty-four.”
“Okay. So your free choices are the seven of clubs and twenty-four. Correct?”
“Yes.” Like many people in this situation, Rose begins to look uneasy.
“And you could’ve changed your mind,” I remind her.
She nods, her uneasiness growing visibly.
Channeling my best illusionist impersonation, I pointedly stare at her hands.
The hands that are clutching the deck of cards as though Rose’s life depends on it.
“No,” she says. “That would be impossible.”
“Please t
ake the cards from the box and count to the twenty-fourth one,” I say imperiously. “Let’s see if we can see the impossible become possible.”
Rose takes the cards out and begins to count.
On ten, her hands begin to shake with either fear or excitement—it’s hard to differentiate.
On twenty-four, I can tell she doesn’t want to turn over the card, so I prod her, saying, “Please turn over the card. I don’t want to touch it and be accused of some kind of sleight of hand.”
Rose turns over the twenty-fourth card.
It’s the seven of clubs.
Rose’s eyes turn into tea saucers, but Vlad looks annoyingly calm, all things considered.
“How?” Rose mutters. “Did you master your powers already?”
“Vlad shuffled those cards,” I remind her, but the high I was feeling from Rose’s initial reaction is ruined. I don’t need to be a seer to know that her theory is how everyone will explain a huge chunk of everything I’ve been doing. “You would have to have been the seer, not me, to guess the card’s location so easily.”
She nods, but uncertainly.
“I wasn’t done anyway,” I say, and it’s the truth. “This next part can’t be explained by seer powers at all.” I take the seven of clubs into my right hand and make a stylish gesture.
The card disappears from my hand.
Rose gasps.
“It didn’t actually evaporate.” I show my hand on both sides and wink conspiratorially. “The card teleported.”
I stare at Rose’s pocket, and when she sees where I’m looking, she puts her hand to her chest, as though she’s about to faint.
“Please put your hand into the pocket.” I point.
Rose gingerly obeys—and when she touches the card inside, she jumps as though it’s a rabid tarantula.
“Take it out,” I order. “Let’s see what card it is.”
As if working under water, Rose takes out the card and turns it over.
The card is the seven of clubs.
Rose audibly gasps. “I don’t think I want to know how you did that. And I’m a witch.”
I smile, the earlier dopamine high returning.
“Aren’t you impressed?” Rose asks Vlad after she regains her composure.
I can’t blame her for asking. Vlad’s face was completely expressionless throughout the proceedings, as though I’d just read the menu instead of performing some of the best effects from my repertoire.
Maybe he’s one of those people who feels the sense of awe on the inside, like my dad, instead of showing it on his face, like Ariel and Rose?
“I know how you did that,” Vlad says, his face as passive as before. If he were Felix, he’d look triumphant right about now. “However, since Rose said she doesn’t want to know how it’s done, I’ll keep quiet.”
“I just had a change of heart,” Rose says. Turning toward Vlad, she makes puppy eyes at him, and in an exaggeratingly pleading (and somewhat disturbing) voice, she adds, “Please. Please tell me.”
“How can I refuse?” Vlad gives me an apologetic look. “May I?”
“It’s a free country,” I say as calmly as I can. Gathering the cards into their box, I pocket them and mutter, “Besides, what are the chances you actually know what I did?”
“The card in Rose’s pocket.” Vlad gently pats Rose’s side. “You planted it there when you hugged her.”
“She did?” Rose looks at me admiringly. “I thought you were just really happy to see me.”
“One would have to be very skilled to put that card in there so fast and without Rose feeling anything,” I say to Vlad noncommittally. “Are you sure about that theory?”
He crosses his arms and nods.
Damn vampires.
They must have supernatural attention to detail because I did exactly what he said. It’s called put-pocketing and is the closest to pickpocketing I get with my close friends. Both pick and put-pocketing are among the core skills I’ve developed over the years of fantasizing about my own show, and despite Vlad catching me, I’m still glad to have had a chance to practice it.
“Now let me explain how your card was at your chosen number,” Vlad says and pointedly looks at Rose instead of me. “The deck of cards used was made up of fifty-two identical sevens of clubs—so every number you named would’ve yielded the same result.”
“Again, are you sure about that?” I smile cockily and take out the deck from my left pocket.
As cool as an Antarctic cucumber, I take the cards out of the box and make a stylish fan—displaying the different indices for them both to see.
“That’s not the deck I shuffled,” Vlad says with unshakable confidence. “That one is in your right pocket.”
If I ever create a show for the Cognizant, I will have a new rule—no vampires in the audience. Or perhaps no Vlad. I’ll need to check if other vampires are as annoyingly attentive as he is.
I’m tempted to deny having a deck in my right pocket, but that would open me to the possibility of Vlad checking my pants.
Rose wouldn’t like him checking my pants. Not even a little bit.
I decide to sidestep the issue. “To have a whole deck of seven of clubs in my pocket implies I knew Rose would name that exact card, and so does put-pocketing a seven of clubs into Rose’s pocket during a hug. But how could I know she’d name the seven of clubs? Did I make her say it?” Deciding to throw in a little lie, I add, “She had the chance to change her mind.”
“That’s true,” Vlad says thoughtfully—and I inwardly smile.
I didn’t actually give Rose the chance to change the card after she named it; I was too happy she said what I wanted her to say to risk such a thing. Instead, I made a big deal about letting her change the number she’d named.
“So,” I say to Vlad. “Your whole chain of logic crumbles.”
“You used your seer powers,” Vlad says, but without earlier conviction. “You foresaw what card she would settle on.”
“Wrong.” I grin. “I told you earlier; I didn’t use my power for this effect.”
“But wouldn’t you say that regardless?” Rose rubs her temples.
“I didn’t use my powers,” I repeat. “I can swear any oath you’d like. For that matter, I’d let you use your powers to see if I’m telling the truth.”
This isn’t a bluff. The way I knew Rose would name that card is so much simpler that I can’t believe she doesn’t realize it. A year ago, I was performing for Rose and asked her to name any card. She named the seven of clubs. Then, a few months later, I was doing another, similar effect, and she named the same card. So I decided to take a gamble today. Had she named any other card, I would’ve taken the normal all-cards-different deck and performed another one of the countless card tricks in my repertoire.
Then I realize something. Vlad didn’t comment on how I made the seven of clubs disappear from my hand. Does that mean I was so good that even a vampire can’t catch me? I was using a combination of backward palm and a few moves that I invented myself, and it’s great to know it works so well.
“I think she’s telling the truth,” Vlad says after a long pause. Was that a tinge of frustration in his voice?
“So, are we back to not knowing how she did what she did?” Rose looks at Vlad, and I could kiss her for her logical fallacy. She thinks that if he was wrong about one element of the effect, he was wrong about all of them.
“Can you do the whole thing again?” Vlad says, now definitely frustrated.
“That would be so anticlimactic.” I wink at him. Then, realizing Rose might get jealous, I also wink at her. “Besides, as they say in my business, ‘once is magic, twice is education.’”
“It’s probably for the best,” Rose says, getting up. “I wanted to take another stroll.” She loops her hand through Vlad’s elbow. “To help digestion.”
“I better go too,” I say, and make my escape before the two love birds get it into their heads to start making out again.
I
nstead of going home, I walk around and do a little food shopping for later.
When nature calls, I make my way to the ladies room, place my shopping bag on the sink under the mirror, and try the door on the nearby stall.
The door is locked, as is the one next to it.
I feel a slight wave of uneasiness.
Is my phone about to ring again?
Instead, there’s a clicking sound of someone else’s phone behind the door, followed by some giggles.
Are teenagers texting on the toilets now?
No wonder manufacturers are so intent on making electronics waterproof.
The last stall is free, so I push away the uneasy feeling and use it quickly—not tempted in the slightest to pull out my own phone as I take care of business.
I’m washing my hands and looking at myself in the mirror when the two stalls swing open.
Staring at the girls who step out, I instantly understand the source of my unease.
I know these girls, though I can only recall the name of one of them.
Roxy.
The second one is either Maddie or Ashley, but the name doesn’t matter. The key is that she, along with Roxy, is part of the clique of bullies from my Orientation class.
They’re literal bitches—as in, female werewolves.
Roxy sees my face in the mirror, and her smile transforms into a lupine scowl.
Clearly, she’s still upset about the other day, when I saved Maya by playing Russian roulette with Roxy and her b-hive.
Unfortunately, I don’t currently have a gun, and we’re the only ones in the bathroom.
They can turn into their wolf shapes and attack me at their leisure.
Something in their eyes tells me an attack is exactly what’s about to happen.
Without a second thought, I bolt for the door.
Chapter Four
My shoes slide on the tiles as I rush past the sinks.
I grab the germ-infested doorknob, yank the door open, and dart through, then slam it shut behind me—right into Ashley/Maddie’s smug face.
Not looking back, I sprint for the nearby escalator.
In the reflective surface of a column I pass, I confirm that they’re chasing me in their human form.