by Marina Myles
Rose stopped in the middle of getting dressed and turned to Olivia. “There is something odd about him. He speaks as though he’s from a different century. And when he kissed me, I felt the earth move. How does he do that?”
“Forget your libido for a minute.” Olivia continued to protest. “He doesn’t seem normal, Rose.”
“Maybe not,”—Rose’s expression turned solemn—“but I think he can help me with my curse.”
That silenced Olivia.
For her job interview, Rose chose a fashionable apricot day dress with a mini-train and a braided collar. A fitted jacket and matching gloves completed the ensemble.
After she dressed, she looked at Olivia. “I wasn’t going to tell you, but Drago shared one of his illusions with me last week.”
Olivia’s eyes brightened. “Tell me all about it!”
She shook her head. He hadn’t sworn her to secrecy, but Rose didn’t wish to betray his trust. “I can’t tell you more than that, but the point is: Drago isn’t a warlock or a sorcerer of the dark arts. He swears there’s an explanation for every trick he performs.”
“Do you really think there is?”
“Yes.”
Olivia sighed. “It seems you’ve got it bad for him, Rose. If I can’t talk you out of avoiding him, promise me you’ll be careful.”
Grateful that Olivia cared so much, she gave her a smile. “I promise. Now, how do I look for my interview at the paper?”
“Very professional. The Gotham Times will be lucky to have you as a journalist’s assistant.”
“Richard Bellum is interviewing me himself. Turns out he needs a helper. I only hope I’ll be promoted to bona fide reporter someday.”
“You know you don’t have to work at the newspaper. My father offered you a post in his import company.”
“And it was very generous of him. But I think I’ll leave the pasta business to the true Italians.” Rose laughed. “Besides, you know me better than anyone. I’ve always been a truth seeker. Do you remember when Frank Del Gado stole your lunch sack in fourth grade and said he didn’t?”
Olivia giggled, too. “Of course I remember. You investigated his whereabouts, interviewed the other children, and didn’t give up until you got him to admit he was guilty.”
“Exactly. And I’ve used those skills to research Richard Bellum. Let’s see.” She ticked off the facts with her fingers. “He’s worked for the newspaper for three years, is an avid collector of historic artifacts, and smokes like a fiend.”
“Well done!” Olivia clapped her hands together. “Now you need to uncover more about Dragomir Starkov.”
Rose rolled her eyes. “That may be more challenging.”
“Best of luck,” Olivia said. Glancing down at the clock pendant pinned to her blouse, she gave a little start. “Now off you go! The Printing House Square isn’t close by and you don’t want to be late for your interview.”
Rose hastened into the bright daylight and considered her conversation with Olivia. She was honest when she promised Olivia she would be careful. On the other hand, she lied when she claimed Drago didn’t frighten her.
The worst part was she yearned for more of his magical wiles.
Drago awoke with the taste of Rose on his lips. Moonlight streamed through the cracks of the dark curtains and he wondered if he’d been too bold with her in his workshop last week. Had he scared her off with his forwardness? But wasn’t that impossible? She was, after all, under his spell.
What she couldn’t have faked were her moans of delight when he kissed her. Furthermore, he could read her body language. She was ready to become a woman. And his kiss had set her every sense aflame.
To win her over, Drago decided he must do something about her beau, Patrick O’Leary. He’d known about Patrick before, but he’d feigned ignorance at dinner. He wanted to hear what Rose had to say about her ardent suitor.
Drago pulled himself out of bed and reached for his tuxedo. No doubt this Patrick was a man with many allies—so Drago needed to be careful.
I won’t allow any real harm to come to him.
After all, the young man was innocent enough. Still, Drago could certainly arrange for the policeman to become disenchanted with Rose. How? By convincing naïve O’Leary that she has become interested in me instead.
It was deceptive, yes . . . but the burning need to have Rose was an utmost priority. It pulsated through his veins like an insane craving.
As the newly-married Greek couple next door broke into one of their heated arguments, Drago shaved. Every line and groove of his own face was familiar . . . even memorized. Yet his inability to cast a reflection bothered him to no end. He was tired of paying barbers to cut his hair in the latest, ridged style, away from the mirror, during closed hours.
Once he finished dressing, he splashed cologne over his cheeks and smoothed his hair with a palm-full of pomade. Then he exited his ninth-floor apartment. As he galloped down the stairs, he wondered what kind of man Rose desired emotionally. It was something he was looking forward to discovering.
Stepping out of the building, he joined the bustling pedestrians as they moved along the sidewalk. Then he closed his eyes for a moment, knowing that if he concentrated hard enough, he could literally compel Rose to come to tonight’s show. And this time he would urge her to bring her unknowing suitor.
CHAPTER 11
“What would you like to do this evening to celebrate your getting hired at the paper?” Patrick asked, his green eyes full of pride at her accomplishment.
“Maybe we should celebrate here,” she replied.
While Rose sat with Patrick in the Marconis’ parlor, the aroma of sizzling garlic reached them from the kitchen. She was about to rise and help Elena prepare dinner when a strange sensation washed over her. She put a hand to her temple.
Come to the theater district, a voice commanded. Bring Patrick with you.
“What on earth?” she said sharply.
Patrick grasped her hand. “What’s wrong?
Do as I say, Rose.
“There is it again,” she cried.
“What?” Patrick look perplexed.
Rose quickly shook her head. He wouldn’t believe she’d heard a voice, so she decided not to tell him. While Patrick sat there studying her face, an internal war pulled her in opposite directions. She wanted to see Drago’s show, but she knew it might be dangerous. Yet, in the end, the stronger force got the upper hand.
“Patrick, since you’re always saying you’d like to take me out, I’ve changed my mind,” she broached the subject as best she could.
Confusion shadowed his face.
“Tonight I’d like you to escort me to the magic show Olivia and I attended on my birthday.”
His eyes flashed with displeasure. “You mean Dragomir Starkov’s show . . . the one you lied to everyone about attending?”
“Yes,” Rose replied. “I want you to see that he’s no crackpot.”
He dropped her hand and stood. Obviously frustrated, he began pacing the length of the room in long strides. “I don’t understand. What is it about this magician you find so enthralling?”
Now it was her turn to look flustered. “I don’t find him enthralling. I simply enjoy watching his fascinating illusions.” The look on Patrick’s face, however, told her that he wasn’t buying her story. She decided to try a different approach. “You’re clever, Patrick. Perhaps you’ll be able to come up with a good explanation for the tricks.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re missing the point, Rose. I have no interest in figuring out any of Starkov’s cheap tricks. I’m a skeptic when it comes to magic. I don’t believe in anything that I cannot see, hear, touch, taste, or smell. To me, nothing is real until it’s actually proven to be.”
Rose knitted her brow. Patrick was no fun at all. Besides, she must see the show tonight. If Drago was trying to contact her, she knew her attendance was of the utmost importance. “What do you have against magicians?”
/> He sighed as he sat next to her. “I don’t have anything against magicians. My suspicious nature is rearing its head.”
Rose folded her hands in her lap, her eyes downcast. “I suppose that’s what makes you such a good police officer.”
“Maybe.” Patrick seemed to be buying into her flattery. “Look. I did a background search on Dragomir Starkov. There is no record of him anywhere. No registration of him entering Ellis Island and no record of him residing anywhere previously.”
“He isn’t a ghost.” She laughed.
“But don’t you find his ghost-like existence disturbing?”
“Some people want to make a fresh start. Maybe Drago changed his name in the process.”
“Drago? You two are on a first-name basis, are you?”
Rose softened her expression. “You have nothing to be jealous about.”
His face flushed. “Rumor has it that this mysterious illusionist is in league with the devil.”
Her lungs hitched at the suggestion. Had the forces of black magic given Drago his seductive powers? She couldn’t fathom it.
“For heaven’s sake,” she said. “The Salem witch hunts have been over for centuries. Dragomir Starkov is a very talented magician. That’s all. And frankly I believe your ignorance is rearing its head along with your suspicions.”
“Do you?” he asked sourly. “How?”
“By speaking of things you haven’t seen first-hand.”
She knew from Patrick’s expression that she’d made a good point.
“Very well,” he conceded. “I’ll take that as a challenge. I’ll accompany you to the show, then we can discuss Starkov’s viability.”
Olivia rushed into the room. “Two tickets just arrived.”
“Tickets?” Patrick echoed.
“Yes, a messenger handed me these.” She subsequently passed them to Patrick.
His face drained of color. “What the hell? They’re for Dragomir the Magnificent’s eight o’clock performance at the Sunshine Theater.”
Rose’s heart beat to an insane rhythm.
“How did he know we wanted to go?” Patrick clenched his jaw.
“Magic,” she replied softly.
Patrick and Rose said goodbye to the Marconis before departing for the auditorium. The windless, muggy night air pushed at them before they found themselves inside the Sunshine Theater. Patrons droned on excitedly about Drago’s astounding talents as Patrick located their seats in the second row. Stepping aside, he allowed Rose to shuffle across to seats B7 and B8.
Just before the curtain rose, Patrick glanced around. “All of these people are obviously under this man’s spell, just like you.”
A rousing overture signaled the start of the show, so Rose gave him a “Shh.” The heavy, burgundy curtains parted with a gentle sway and an empty stage was revealed. Just then, a familiar voice sounded from the rear of the theater.
Rose turned in her seat to see Drago moving gracefully down the center aisle. The audience gasped—then erupted into a chorus of confused murmurs.
“Ladies and gentleman, my name is Dragomir Starkov, better known as Dragomir the Magnificent. I’m beginning my show this way to prove an important point. We, as humans, should never expect the expected. Rather, we should free our minds and open them up to the possibility of what can be. Trust me. It makes for a more satisfying life.”
Once he reached the barrier of the stage, Drago trotted up the side staircase with tantalizing elegance. As she watched him, Rose couldn’t help but notice how his muscular legs flexed beneath his snug-fitting trousers and how the cut of his jacket emphasized his wide shoulders.
He made a very attractive figure on stage.
She glanced at Patrick to gather his impression of Drago—only to see him glowering.
“Why doesn’t he just get on with it?” He hissed without taking his eyes off the stage.
“It’s all part of the theatrical anticipation,” she whispered, “to prolong the wonderment of what he’ll do next.”
Patrick crossed his arms defiantly and watched the majority of the show with a scowl. When it came time for Drago’s final illusion, he looked as if he couldn’t wait to go home.
“Only one more trick,” Rose said gently.
“Ladies and gentleman,” Drago announced, “My lovely assistant, Katherine, will now wheel in the apparatus I require for my final illusion. This is a trick I haven’t practiced frequently, but I assure you it’s perfectly safe. You’ll know what I mean once you witness it.”
He did a tiny bow toward the crowd then turned his attention to Katherine. She positioned the twelve foot high, draped apparatus just behind him. With the flourish of a professional, Katherine whipped the red drape off the structure. Rose gasped. It was the guillotine she’d seen in Drago’s workshop!
“Please don’t ask me or Patrick to volunteer,” she murmured under her breath. But it was too late. Drago had already singled Patrick out. “You, sir. Would you be so kind as to join me onstage?”
In response, Patrick pointed a finger toward himself and mouthed the word: “Me?”
“Yes, you. The man in the seersucker jacket. I believe your name is Patrick O’Leary. Is that right?”
Patrick nodded, then looked at Rose. “I’m going to prove this fellow is a fraud.”
Finding herself speechless, Rose watched him hasten up the steps and take a spot next to Drago.
“Thank you for participating, Mr. O’Leary,” Drago said. “That is your name, isn’t it?”
Mouth agape, Patrick nodded.
Without wasting any more time, Katherine bound Patrick’s hands with a rope while Drago explained the stages of the trick for the audience’s benefit.
“As you can plainly see, Katherine is incapacitating Mr. O’Leary. His head will then be placed inside the guillotine. You must remember that the device was, and still is, the only official method of execution in France. Personally, I view it as the ultimate death machine. Rulers such as King Louis XVI and his beautiful wife, Queen Marie Antoinette, lost their heads to its razor sharp blade in 1793.”
Drago paused as he checked the rope’s knot. He nodded with approval. “And we can only wonder, what were those unfortunate royals thinking as they marched to their deaths? Did their entire lives flash before them? Did their regrets burn at their souls—too late to undo?” He paused. “Maestro, a little marching music for Mr. O’Leary.”
A solemn drum roll ensued. Wide-eyed, Patrick moved behind the frame of the guillotine at Drago’s instruction. A moment later, he was seated straddle-style over its narrow bench. Katherine helped maneuver his head into a nestled position.
Rose glanced at the blade suspended above him. The way it caught the light sent her stomach into a roil. What was about to happen?
Common sense told her there was no such thing as real magic. Yet her entire body hummed with fright.
The crowd remained on edge as a transparent screen descended over the stage, leaving the three people behind it in shadowy outlines. Drago, now garbed in a black executioner’s mask, grasped the rope that governed the rise and fall of the blade. Rose went into full-panic mode. Would Patrick be harmed—or even killed? Should she leap out of her seat and stop the trick?
The dangerous obsession she’d witnessed in Drago’s eyes made her think he was capable of violence.
Before she could stand up and protest, Drago leaned over and said something to Patrick. Then, with a wild slicing noise, the blade dropped to meet its cruel ending point. Screams filtered through the crowd as what appeared to be a head rolled off and fell to the floor. The body it had been attached to was gone!
The buffering screen lifted. Drago strode forward, grasping a head of lettuce. He removed the executioner’s mask, then raised the round object above his head. In response, the crowd exploded in applause.
“Thank you, ladies and gentleman,” he said, as a sly smile spread across his face. “Are you wondering what happened to our brave Mr. O’Leary? If the usher at
portal five will open the door to the lobby, you’ll see that he’s perfectly intact.”
The usher, looking as surprised as anyone, pushed the door open. In stepped Patrick. Face flushed with rage, he raced forward, holding his neck with one hand “You bastard!” The severed rope hung from his wrist. “How dare you threaten me, then scare me out of my wits!”
Before anyone had the chance to stop him, Patrick leapt onstage and began pummeling Drago to the ground.
“Patrick!” Rose bolted out of her seat and charged up the staircase. The two men at center stage were in the middle of a violent brawl—and no one was making a move to stop them. “Somebody get the police!” she called out.
Falling to her knees, Rose tried to pry Patrick off Drago. But it was no use.
As the men rolled about with ruthless ferocity, blood began to fly. Rose stepped out of the way. Praying that the brawl would stop soon, she clutched her chest. Luckily, an officer bounded up the main aisle and blew his whistle.
“What’s goin’ on ’ere?” the cop asked in an Irish accent. When he reached the stage, he halted. “Is that you, young O’Leary?”
“Yes, it’s Patrick!” Rose responded. “Stop them, officer!”
“See ’ere, ya two maniacs. Stop yer fightin’ or I’ll arrest ya both.” The red-faced officer managed to pry Patrick away from Drago. When the enemies stood apart, they wiped the blood from their lips with the backs of their hands.
“Who started this nonsense?” the policeman asked.
Patrick remained silent. Drago, on the other hand, pointed at his opponent, his breath too ragged to speak.
“Is it true?”
Ashamed, Patrick hung his perspiration-soaked head. But then he seemed to get his second wind. “This lunatic nearly killed me. And he has every intention of stealing my girl away!” He started at Drago again with clenched fists.
“Hold on there, young man. Let’s get some fresh air, shall we?” The policeman didn’t wait for an answer, but took Patrick by the jacket lapel and started to yank him away.
The audience remained fixated in their seats, entertained as much by the brawl as they had been by the magic.