Sleeping Beauty and the Demon

by Marina Myles

  Opening her eyes, she began her descent. When she refused to look below her, she found it easier. After what felt like an eternity, she managed to reach the dark alley. The achievement filled her with pride.

  Once her legs stopped trembling, she ducked around a trash bin and peered at the crowd of reporters. They’d quieted. Moonlight bathed their faces as they craned their necks upward. What on earth are they looking at?

  Unnoticed, Rose inched around the building’s corner and glanced up, too. High above the street lamp was a man suspended in space. Squinting her eyes, she realized the man was Drago—and that he was walking between his apartment building and another tenement on a laundry line!

  Will he fall and hurt himself?

  As he stepped over pieces of brightly colored clothing that flapped in the evening breeze, Rose’s heart leapt. He’s nine stories above the ground . . .

  Miraculously, Drago never faltered. When he reached the other building, he looked down at the crowd with a mischievous grin. He even caught Rose’s eye and held it for a moment.

  An instant later, he disappeared before everyone’s eyes—and a dove took his place.

  CHAPTER 13

  The next morning, the entire city was abuzz about Dragomir Starkov’s disappearing act.

  “I was right there,” Richard Bellum attested as he stood by Rose’s tiny newsroom desk. “For the life of me, I can’t explain how Starkov vanished from the clothesline!”

  Rose nodded. She was astounded too, but not to the same degree as Richard. The more time she spent around Drago, the more convinced she was that he was capable of anything.

  She watched Richard pace before her. She’d only been working with him for a short while, but she suspected that she could learn a lot from him. He was hungry for the truth, just like her. But in Drago’s case, Bellum’s hunger made him the most audacious kind of reporter.

  “What exactly did you see yesterday?” she played along.

  Richard frowned. “Dragomir Starkov disappeared right before my eyes. And the dove . . . I’m assuming he had someone release it from the rooftop, but I can’t be sure.”

  Drago’s magic was really beginning to bridge the gap between illusion and reality. Nobody could explain it. She’d mentioned the Salem witch trials to Patrick. Isn’t this how they started?

  Her blood chilled at the thought.

  “It was the damnedest thing I ever saw!” Richard pounded his fist on the desk. “That’s what makes Starkov’s challenge all the more maddening.”

  “Challenge?”

  “You know, the tagline he puts on every marquee.”

  Rose thought back to what she’d read on Drago’s poster: I have one secret that explains everything I do. I challenge you to discover what it is.

  The proposition was excellent publicity, but it was also driving a lot of people to frustration.

  “Are you determined to find out all his secrets?” Rose asked Richard. She wanted to know how far he’d take his curiosity.

  “Damn right, I am,” he replied. “Follow me. I want to show you something.”

  Rose followed him across the newsroom to his office. After yanking on his desk drawer, he pulled out a folder bearing past stories The Gotham Times had published. “The monster that attacked the three Coney Island women left the first two comatose. Then it literally crushed the third girl’s lungs and all of her bones.”

  “What those women suffered was horrible,” she remarked as she scoured the articles he’d handed to her. “But how do their attacks correlate with Drago?”

  Richard heaved out a breath. “I think those women had some sort of spell woven around them. Some kind of magician’s spell. Maybe this demon wanted to kill the first two women, but was interrupted. Furthermore, this demon was seen at Coney Island. A ten-year-old boy claims he witnessed the monster turn into a bird.”

  Rose remembered reading about it at the time. However, she’d chalked up the child’s claim to his imagination. But now that Drago may have turned himself into a bird . . .

  “The kid didn’t say what kind of bird the demon morphed into. Maybe it was a dove,” Richard said, his dark eyes flashing.

  “Are you insinuating that Drago was involved in these attacks?”

  “If someone puts two and two together, it only makes sense,” he insisted.

  She crossed her arms. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Look,” he said, stepping forward. She noticed that Richard would have been a handsome man except for the army of pockmarks that marred his cheeks. “The attacks started a few months after Starkov moved to New York City.”

  “There is a record of him coming here?” she asked. “I thought there was no documentation at Ellis Island.”

  “There’s no formal documentation, but I’ve tracked Drago’s past myself. The only thing I managed to pinpoint is the year he began working at Coney Island.”

  “That’s not enough proof.”

  Richard paused. “But it’s interesting to know the police consider Dragomir Starkov suspicious enough to investigate, too. Isn’t it?”

  “With all due respect”—Rose crossed her arms—“I think you’re grasping at straws. Besides, Drago would never hurt anyone.”

  “No?” Richard replied. “He pummeled your boyfriend into a bloody mess last night.”

  She shot him a contemptuous look. “They both walked away alive.”

  Ignoring the comment, Richard slid into the chair at his desk and hoisted his feet up.

  “And let me make it clear,” she said. “Patrick is not my beau.”

  Leaning back, her boss smiled smugly. “Do I sense an attraction to this Romanian mystery man instead?”

  “No,” she stammered. Either way, it’s none of your business.

  “If you’re falling for him,” Richard urged, “I suggest you end your relationship right away. This Starkov fellow is sinister, even dangerous. You’d be wise to stay away.”

  I can’t stay away.

  When she didn’t respond, Richard stared at her again. “Still unwilling to heed my warnings? Let me show you something else. Something that will convince you Dragomir Starkov is a man to be feared.”

  Bellum took her by the arm and guided her out of his office. Down the hall they went, to the photo lab of the newspaper. Once they entered it, he reached into a cabinet and withdrew a large envelope. “I developed this myself,” he said as he thrust a hand inside the envelope. “Afterward, I was so shocked that I hid this photo away until I can decide what to do with it.”

  A nervous knot formed in Rose’s stomach.

  “Before I reveal my little secret,” Richard said, “let me tell you that during the fanfare of Starkov’s tightrope act on the laundry line, the police arrived—as did Starkov’s manager. Starkov must have some members of the NYPD wrapped around his fingers because Archibald McMillan confiscated all the reporters’film. Except mine. I fled before he saw me.”

  Slowly, Richard twisted the photo around so that Rose could view it. When she looked at it, her eyes fluttered shut in a panic. Stammering something inaudible, she put a shaking hand to her mouth. Richard helped her into a chair and brought her a glass of water.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said. “I just can’t believe he’s not there.”

  “I took the photo through the window of a neighboring building—while Starkov hovered over the street on the laundry line.”

  Rose glanced at the photo again. The line was sagging from somebody’s weight, but there was no magician in sight. “There has to be some logical explanation for this,” she finally said as she sipped the water. “Maybe the wind . . .”

  “Not possible. I’m sure it’s one of Starkov’s tricks, but I can’t figure it out.”

  Rose pushed herself out of the chair and handed Richard the empty glass. “Have you shown this to anyone else?”

  “No.”

  “Please don’t. We need time to contemplate what to do with it.”

  “Look, Rose. I know you an
d Starkov are closer than you’re admitting. I’m sure you want to protect him.”

  She nodded.

  “But there is no ‘we’ in this decision. I’m your boss and I want you to get close enough to him to blow this whole thing wide open.”

  She recoiled in disgust. “You want me to spy on him?”

  “If you want to call it that.” He put a finger under his collar and tugged.

  “I won’t do it.”

  “I think you will.” His eyes narrowed. “Because it will be your first, official reporting job.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Rose hesitated outside the Marconi home. Her resentment for Richard built as she grasped the iron newel on the front railing. Her boss wanted her to spy on Drago, but she hadn’t given him an answer yet.

  “I can always quit the newspaper,” she’d said before she stormed back to her small desk and pretended to work.

  Now, looking up at the façade of the Marconis’ brownstone, a chill filtered through her. Patrick is here. I can feel it. He was the last person she wanted to see, but she knew she had to.

  Just how angry would he be at her decision to leave the theater with Drago last night, instead of him?

  With a dry lump in her throat, she entered the house and made her way to the front parlor. Patrick was standing by the window. He had his back to her, while Anthony was reclining on the sofa. The breadth of Patrick’s shoulders emphasized his narrow waist and his blond hair edged attractively over his collar, but the sight of him didn’t charm her today as it usually did.

  She greeted him.

  “Rose.” He wheeled around and revealed a battered face awash with rage and frustration. “As you can see, Starkov broke my jaw last night! I just got out of the hospital—and now you owe me an explanation!”

  When he began to take quick strides toward her, she became afraid of him—more afraid than she’d ever been of Drago. But she didn’t show it. They stood practically nose-to-nose while Patrick’s moss-green eyes blazed with indignation and the massive bruises he’d received from Drago deepened in color.

  “Anthony told me you didn’t come home until late last night.”

  “Thanks, Anthony,” she muttered angrily.

  “What were you doing with that crackpot late into the night?” Patrick asked. His voice sounded strange—and then Rose realized that the right side of his jaw was wired shut.

  “I wasn’t doing anything with him,” Rose said. She wasn’t about to tell him they had been in the throes of passion.

  “Anthony said you smelled of cologne when you returned. You were with him.”

  She shot Anthony an enraged look. “It’s none of your business.”

  Her adoptive brother surged to his feet. “I was worried about you, Rose. What were you thinking? Going about New York City with no chaperone—with that lunatic?”

  “It’s none of your business,” she repeated. “And I’m surprised at you, Anthony. You’ve become quite the snitch. Only police officers appreciate those.”

  “We’ve had our differences in the past,” Anthony retorted. “But you know I care about you.”

  Rose flashed him a doubtful look.

  “That’s a low blow,” he continued.

  She made no reply.

  “Rose. Just answer the question,” Patrick urged. “Where did you go with Drago?”

  She turned to him. “We had no choice but to run from the reporters. Drago has an aversion to the press.”

  Patrick’s eyes seemed to sink back inside his head. “It doesn’t matter where you went. The point is you’re not to go with that sorcerer again.”

  “Sorcerer?” Rose asked stoically. “Aren’t you being melodramatic, Patrick?”

  “Have you seen the papers?” He cried. “The man vanished into thin air!”

  “He says that all of his tricks can be explained.”

  “He’s probably been feeding you a whole line of bullshit,” Patrick brooded.

  “Take that back!” she said.

  “I’m sorry. But I don’t want you to see him again!”

  “You can’t tell me what to do, Patrick.”

  “I’m concerned,” he said as he moved closer. He tried to take her hand, but she retracted it. The action seemed to cause him pain.

  “This conversation is over,” she said.

  Patrick continued to glower—and she realized she’d never seen him this mad.

  “It’s over when I say it’s over,” he said sternly.

  She looked him directly in the eye. “You’re not acting like yourself.”

  “I wonder why.” Sarcasm edged his voice. “Maybe it’s because I’ve been publicly humiliated—and refused by you, without being given a chance.”

  Guilt escalated inside her. They’d been friends for a long time and she hated to spoil that friendship, but she had no desire to be courted by him.

  “Don’t you care that Starkov hurt me last night?” Patrick shouted. “Fractured my jawbone?”

  “Of course I do . . .” her tone softened.

  “Dragomir Starkov pounded me like a madman, Rose!”

  “You struck him first.”

  He winced at the truth.

  “I’m sorry if I humiliated you,” she said quickly. “I’m also sorry that you got hurt.”

  Anthony walked over and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Rose has apologized, mate. Let’s go.”

  Patrick seemed to come to his senses. He stepped back. Tugging on his vest, he looked embarrassed as he ran a hand over his hair to smooth it. “I’m sorry too, Rose. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I just wanted to prove a point.”

  “I’m going to say this as kindly as I can. I don’t care for you the way you care for me.” Rose’s eyes began to mist. “I’m going to return the necklace you gave me.”

  Her gaze switched to Anthony as she said, “I’ll go to my bedroom and get it right now.”

  Turning on her heel, she heard Patrick throw something against the wall. She flinched from the loud crash but kept walking.

  “You wouldn’t be so loyal to Dragomir Starkov if you heard what he said to me during his magic show!” he yelled behind her.

  Shoulders tensed, Rose tried to shut the door before she heard another word. But she caught, “Drago claimed you’d never be mine! Even if he had to murder someone and take you from this world to do it!”

  Rose was horrified at the words. As she rode a streetcar to the Sunshine Theater, she became more and more afraid. Had Drago really threatened Patrick that way? Does he actually mean to kill Patrick—and then me?

  She gave her hat a straightening. I won’t leave until I get the truth.

  The streetcar clattered and rumbled while a conversation between a middle-aged man and woman snagged her attention.

  “I can’t believe what the papers are saying about that magician.” The woman folded her hands primly in her lap.

  “What magician?” the man asked.

  “Dragomir Starkov.”

  “I’ve heard of Harry Houdini, but I haven’t heard of him.”

  “Houdini, while he’s talented, is merely an escape artist,” the woman, who Rose presumed was the man’s wife, replied with an air of importance. “On the other hand, Dragomir Starkov has talents only the devil could deal out. He wills animals back to life and transports himself to a different location right on stage. He even disappears into thin air.”

  “Unfortunately, Josephine”—the man patted her chubby arm—“the press sensationalizes everything.”

  Josephine, a solid woman with frizzy red hair, held up a copy of The Gotham Times and shook it. “My dear husband, it says right here that Starkov vanished off a clothesline as though he’d never been there. If you’re such a genius, tell me how he did it.”

  Hemming and hawing, the man shrugged. “Must have been mirrors, I’d say.”

  “Mirrors, Murray? Nine stories up?” The woman folded her beefy arms across her bosom.

  “I dunno. It’s a mystery.”
<
br />   Josephine pointed to the newspaper again. “Apparently, Dragomir the Magnificent has been wooing a young woman. That girl must be crazy! If I were her, I’d be terrified. One argument and she might go up in a puff of smoke.”

  The couple laughed while Rose slouched in her seat. I’m not crazy. I’m being controlled by the amulet Drago gave me.

  The streetcar stopped in front of the theater. Rose jumped off and knocked on the side door. When there was no answer, she remembered what Drago told her about the time he spent in the basement workshop.

  “I come here every day—right before my show.”

  Rose glanced at her pin watch. It was six-thirty. She knew he was here.

  Someone who looked like a member of the stage crew exited the building. Exhaling with relief, she stopped the door with her foot and hastened inside. Cheeks flaming, she descended the staircase to the basement—where the sounds of tinkering and Drago swearing under his breath filled the air.

  Rose entered the workshop, but Drago didn’t seem to notice her. When he finally swiveled around, his mouth quirked with surprise and concern.

  “Rose,” he greeted. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to discuss something with you.”

  He stalked her way and her pulse thumped wildly. Under his dark gaze, it would be so easy to fall into his arms. But what was it he’d said inside his apartment? “I’m a bad man.”

  Gad. She couldn’t believe how the statement flushed desire through her, even now. Still, she needn’t melt like ice cream on a hundred-degree day. It was important to find out why Drago had threatened Patrick.

  “You really shouldn’t be here,” he said gently.

  “I’ve been doing a lot of things I shouldn’t lately,” Rose admitted. “Such as trusting you.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “That hurt.” After a moment he said, “Did you see any reporters outside?”

  “Forget the reporters, Drago. They seem to come with the territory.” She paused. “If they want to learn something, nothing will stop them.”

  His brows drew together. “Perhaps.” Then he smiled. It was the same sultry, mysterious smile that made her go weak at the knees. “All right. Now that you’re here, discuss away.”