Careening into Gabriel, I pull his face down onto mine, my hands artfully splayed across his cheeks to hide as much as I can. Just as his lips crash into mine, bright spangles of light burst against my closed eyelids.
"Oh!" I hear Bertha gasp. "Beg your pardon," she stammers. A wheel of heavy boots, a slam of the door, and she's gone.
"Sorry," I mutter, pulling back out of Gabriel's arms. "That was kind of sloppy. Not my best."
"I don't mind," he says, and his voice is this side of unsteady. Then he straightens his tie and smoothes the front of his suit jacket. "You're blushing."
"Yeah ... well, you're wearing lipstick now." I reach up to smudge it off him as best I can, trying not to let my fingers linger on the curve of his lower lip.
"Thanks. Ready?"
"No," I say, but he squeezes my hand and opens the door to the garden anyway. We spill out into a crowd of people. All of them seem to be drinking and smoking; the women are holding slim gold and ivory cigarette holders while the men puff on thick toffee-colored cigars or pipes. A swirl of color catches my eye. A woman wearing a feathery bronze headdress is holding court, her long eyes painted with purple eye shadow, her mouth a slash of scarlet. Torches staked into the ground provide a soft flickering light, and the cheerful sweep of a jazz quartet occasionally breaks through the swells and billows of conversation. An enormous white tent in the middle of the garden has been set up for dancing, and various couples move in and out of the twilight.
"See her?" Gabriel says to me in a low voice just as a waiter glides to a stop before us, holding out a tray. The man's eyes are steady on a spot between my shoulder and Gabriel's, and after we take two bell-shaped champagne glasses he moves off without even looking at us once. I begin to breathe a little.
"Not yet," I say, swigging my champagne.
"Easy on that," Gabriel warns, his eyes shifting past me. I turn to find a trio of girls, each dressed in pink, looking at us—or rather, at Gabriel—with what seems like admiration. Just in time I catch a smile flit across his face as he gazes back at them.
"Easy on that," I say, and after linking arms, we move into the crowd as casually as possible. I take my cue from the waiter and don't make eye contact with anyone in particular.
But we're discovered anyway.
"Darling," a woman's voice purrs into my ear, and I nearly spill my glass of champagne. "I have been looking for you everywhere. When did you get here?"
"Um ... a few minutes ago." I nod at her and try to move on, but her hand is wrapped around my arm. She is small and sharp featured, and her red hair breaks in glossy waves all around her head.
"Of course you did. How like you!" she exclaims, as if praising me for doing something very clever. Her black feather boa draped across her shoulder seems to be a living, breathing creature. I am staring at it, fascinated, when she leans into me and says in a loud stage whisper, "And just who is this beautiful man with you?" Without waiting for my answer, she winks at Gabriel and nudges between us. Her boa arcs through the air and wraps itself tightly around their hips.
I open my mouth, but just then a hearty voice booms out to my right. "Melora. Every time I turn around, you've disappeared. What is the meaning of this, really?" A massively florid man wobbles into view and slaps one meaty paw down onto the woman's shoulder in what is supposed to be a caress but looks more like a death grip. Melora's boa seems to wilt under his onslaught.
"Oh! Charles!" Melora says, and even though she's smiling, I can tell she's really trying not to shriek. "I just had to greet Cousin—" And here she shoots me a look.
"Agatha," I say blithely.
The man peers at me for a second, then blinks, shakes his head. "So many cousins," he roars jovially. "Cousin Agatha," he says and kisses me on each cheek. Ignoring Gabriel completely, he turns back to Melora and says, "Now, you really must come with me. There's something I want to discuss with you."
Distaste flutters across Melora's features, but she allows the man to begin leading her away, his hand still clamped on her shoulder. But in the next second the boa floats up again as if stirred by an errant breeze and winds itself briefly around the man's arm. With a surprisingly high-pitched yelp, he snatches his hand back and wrings it out once, twice. "Damn thing bit me!" he exclaims.
"No, lambkins," Melora coos, cradling his hand. "It absolutely did not." Then she looks sidelong at me and winks before they both disappear into the darkness.
"Did she just call him lambskin?" Gabriel asks, and we move back into the crowd. "This way," he adds, and we veer to the left and duck under the white tent, skirting the dance floor of polished wooden squares that seems to have been laid just for this evening. "Are you related to them?"
"I wouldn't be surprised if that turns out to be Gwyneth's grandmother. She had that nasty viper look."
Snips and snatches of conversation swirl toward me as we weave our way around clumps of people. "I tell you, they were right to finally start pulling in Roosevelt. Ever since the New Deal—"
"Darling, you promised. You know Cousin Lindel is a Roosevelt man. Why must you always bait him?"
"But I—"
Gabriel pulls me sideways. A figure with a white painted face undulates past us, turning silk scarves into birds and then back again. I blink, trying to figure out if he's Talented or merely hired entertainment for the evening, when Gabriel says softly, "There." We stop beside the garden wall in the shadow of a large magnolia tree. A young woman dressed in a mermaid-cut black dress and a silver fur stole is tipping back her dark head, laughing with wide white teeth. On her wrists diamonds glitter and flash like fallen stars.
"That's her," Gabriel says, but I find that I am staring at a girl who looks about my age, dressed all in white. She's standing close to Aunt Beatrice, and at first glance they appear to be deep in conversation, but then her eyes shift across the crowd, probing like two searchlights across dark water. Suddenly, she swings her head toward me and meets my gaze for one second—as if in acknowledgment—before turning back to Aunt Beatrice.
I feel a thump deep in my chest as if my heart has stopped and has just started again with a bang, and then the moment is gone. A light breeze stirs through the garden, rippling dresses and shawls. A pink curtain of magnolia petals veils my vision. When I look again, a tall, robust man is lighting Aunt Beatrice's cigarette.
"Can you ... sense the Domani?" I ask hopefully.
Gabriel shakes his head, saying nothing right away. His brows draw together, his fingers twitch, and then he looks down at me before saying with some frustration, "I don't know what I'm looking for. Needle? Haystack? Not the clock, obviously. What? What is it?" he says softly, more to himself than me. Absently, he reaches over, pulls a flower from my hair, and holds it to his nose. "Time," he says after a minute. "There's a ticking in my head."
I must look alarmed, because he smiles. "Not like a bomb."
"This is worse than a needle in three haystacks," I say glumly after a minute when nothing seems to be happening. "Why did I think we could do this?"
"Because we did do it. We just don't know how yet," Gabriel answers, and I smile at him, squeezing his hand. At that moment the band strikes up a slow, stately tune. "Let's dance. Dancing always makes me think better."
I give him a dubious look. "It does? And is that really a good idea?"
"Killjoy," Gabriel explains patiently, "I'm wearing a suit. You're wearing the prettiest dress ever. It's 1939, and who knows what's going to happen next. Come on, Tam-sin. It's the best idea I can come up with right now." And with that he leads me from the shadow of the tree onto the torch-lit dance floor, where we join the throng of other entwined couples.
"I can't dance," I mutter.
"This is a waltz," Gabriel says in the exact same way you'd say, This is an orange.
"I still can't dance."
"I can," Gabriel says and pulls me toward him. With one arm wrapped around my waist, he begins to whirl me around the floor so fast that I don't have time to think about how
I have no idea what to do next. Faces flicker in and out of the shadows over Gabriel's shoulder as we fly through the flower-scented air. The music swells softly until it becomes a part of my feet and suddenly we're moving in perfect step with each other. Just when I feel this could and should go on forever, the music stops and my dress swirls against my legs. I'm gasping lightly and my hair is coming undone.
"Ah, young love," a baritone croons to my left, and I see the tall, robust man who lit Aunt Beatrice's cigarette standing next to us. He beams at us, turns back to his partner, who I realize is Aunt Beatrice, and whispers something in her ear. She tilts her head toward his, one bejeweled hand reaching up to caress his face, her mouth budding into a tiny smile. Uncle Roberto, I think suddenly.
I arch on my toes. Beatrice's husband, I mouth to Gabriel. As we watch, Uncle Roberto reaches into his gray vest pocket and pulls out a shining gold pocket watch. The chain dangling from the watch gleams briefly.
Gabriel's hand tightens on mine. All of a sudden, I think back to that first night that Gabriel came home when we stood in the living room with Aunt Beatrice. She hasn't lost anything that I can find. I tried earlier. It was something about a pocket watch.
"Very well, my dear," the man says, "but I must tell the cooks to hold off for another fifteen minutes, then. They will doubtlessly be unhappy with me." He kisses her hand. "Of course, I'll take a thousand of their frowns for one smile of yours." As he moves off the floor, Aunt Beatrice touches three fingers to her lips and blows a kiss to the man's retreating figure before she sways through the crowd in the opposite direction.
"Do you think that's—"
"One way to find out," Gabriel says, and we follow Uncle Roberto.
TWENTY-ONE
"EXCUSE ME, sir," Gabriel calls to Uncle Roberto as he reaches the relatively deserted gravel path leading to the kitchen.
Uncle Roberto turns, smiles beatifically upon us. "Ah, young people. Are you enjoying yourselves this evening?"
"Oh, yes." I nod feverishly. "You and Aunt Beatrice always throw the best parties." This may be putting it on a little too thick, but as we step closer to Uncle Roberto, I realize with relief that he is more than a little drunk. His face has a moist all-over sheen to it and his eyes are benevolently glassy.
"So you're a relative of Beatrice's, then. I certainly would remember if you were related to me," he adds with a chuckle and a wink at Gabriel that's obviously meant to convey something in male language. I jab Gabriel in the side and he belts out a late laugh.
"Sir, we were wondering if we could see—" I start when Gabriel cuts me off.
"We were wondering if you'd like to see a card trick that you won't believe." From seemingly out of nowhere, a deck of cards has appeared in Gabriel's hand. I stare at him. This was not what we had planned. Truthfully, we hadn't planned much. We were just going to ask Uncle Roberto about his watch and hope that something vaguely providential occurred. Apparently, Gabriel hadn't thought much of this plan.
"Oh, now." Uncle Roberto gives us another gentle chuckle accompanied by a shake of his head. "I'm afraid the guests will be wondering when their supper is going to arrive and I must speak with the cooks. But my wife is fond of card tricks. Perhaps you should—"
"We did try it on several of your guests already. And Aunt Beatrice," Gabriel says smoothly. Then a note of pride enters his voice. "None of them, including your wife, could get it. But she said that you might. She said that no one can get a card trick past you."
Inwardly I groan. This is definitely laying it on too thick. Uncle Roberto is eyeing us with what I am sure is suspicion.
"How did you say you're related to my wife, again?" he asks softly.
My mouth goes dry, but Gabriel says with a careless laugh, "Oh, you know how this family works. People coming out of the woodwork all the time. Especially at parties. My father, may he rest in peace, was like you." And here he gives a subtle weight to the word you. "He was a great friend of Uncle Charles's, too. 'So many cousins' was their little joke between them." Gabriel riffles the deck with a casually confiding air. With his eyes on the cascade of cards, he adds, "It's anyone's guess how you guys really manage to put up with this family."
Uncle Roberto gives a bellow of a laugh that nearly jolts me out of my skin. "That's for damn sure. Your father, he was..."
"A self-made man," Gabriel fills in. "God rest his soul."
"Eh, now." Uncle Roberto steps closer. "I didn't know you folks believed in God. I mean, Beatrice's explained it all to me. How you practice white magic, so to speak."
I swallow my smile to hear it broken down in these terms. My grandmother and mother would have howled with laughter.
"Well, my father had a few things to say about that when it came time for my first Communion," Gabriel says, altar-boy earnest now. I try not to stare at him. Religious devotion does not figure into what little I remember about Gabriel's father, Uncle Phil. Unless he was a member of the Church of Boring Sports. In that case, I do remember a lot of Goddamns and thank you, Jesuses being shouted at the football and baseball games that flickered in and out of reception on the rickety television set my mother had placed in a small side room. That was where you could always find Uncle Phil ensconced—if you wanted to do such a thing. Most of us didn't.
"Good man," Uncle Roberto grunts. "I might have a few things to say about that, too, if Beatrice and I ever ... well ... that's not talk for a party, now is it?" Then he shakes away whatever he was thinking, steps forward, and claps a hand on Gabriel's shoulder. "Let's see this trick. But this is a real trick, right? None of your..." He swallows and I suddenly feel a pang of sympathy for Uncle Roberto. Apparently, there is some truth to what Gabriel said about not knowing how he tolerates the family.
"None of it at all. Not my Talent, anyway," Gabriel says, honest at last, and the cards snap in his hands and suddenly the movement of his fingers is too fast to follow. After a few seconds of complicated shuffling and rearranging, he fans the cards and holds them out to Uncle Roberto. "First pick one card, any card." Uncle Roberto does so and holds it in his hands expectantly. "And you can look at it, but please do not show it to me or my assistant."
Uncle Roberto nods, his face going carefully blank as he takes a quick peek at the card. "Now place it in your left pocket," Gabriel instructs. "Good, excellent. Now pick another, whichever one you'd like. And look at it, please, but again don't show it to anyone ... Perfect. Now hand it to my assistant face-down so I can't see it. Perfect. She's going to place it in your right vest pocket." I step forward, my heart suddenly thwacking my rib cage. Hoping that Uncle Roberto won't notice that my fingers are trembling, I reach for the second card. The slick plastic feels cool to my fingers, and as I step closer to Uncle Roberto, I can smell the sweet perfume of alcohol and after-shave coming off him.
"Sorry, sir," I mumble as my fingers slip against his chest.
"You did this trick on ladies, too?" Uncle Roberto says with another bellow of laughter.
"That's why I have my lovely assistant. So no one can complain," Gabriel says, his voice magnanimous and light, betraying no hint of the nerves I know he must be feeling. "Okay, Ta—er, Agatha. Place the card in his front right pocket now. Now," Gabriel coaxes me, and suddenly, just as I realize that he has nowhere to go with this trick, Uncle Roberto takes the card from me and places it in his own pocket, smiling kindly at me.
"I think your assistant needs a little practice," he says gently and then turns with an expectant look on his face. "And now what, my young man?"
"And now..." Gabriel says and pauses for what must seem like a dramatic flourish, but really I know it's his way of buying time. "And now, please take the first card out of your pocket and look at it again." As Uncle Roberto fumbles for the first card, Gabriel sends me a look that clearly reads as what the hell is wrong with you and I send him a look back that I hope conveys I'm sorry!
"Now what?" Uncle Roberto says, holding the card aloft, looking at each of us in turn. He rocks back on his he
els a little, smiling happily.
"It's still the same card?" Gabriel asks.
"That it is."
"Are you sure?" Gabriel says, stepping closer.
"I am," Uncle Roberto replies with the first hint of impatience. "Look—"
"But what about your second card? Please, allow me," Gabriel says, and before Uncle Roberto can react, Gabriel steps in smoothly, inserts his hand into Uncle Roberto's pocket, and flicks the card free. It tumbles to the ground, landing face-up. The queen of hearts winks at me.
"That's not your first card?" Gabriel says with a swagger.
"No, it certainly isn't," Uncle Roberto says with a grin. He thinks he's beaten the trick. "I think it's not just your assistant who needs a little practice."
"Maybe so," Gabriel concedes with a disarming smile and then adds, "But I'm not so sure. Let me see what other cards are in here."
"Oh, ho!" Uncle Roberto says, clearly willing to give us one more second.
"Gabriel, don't," I say with a catch in my throat as he leans forward and draws out the pocket watch from Uncle Roberto's pocket. He is holding it by the chain, his fingers not quite touching the watch face.
For one second, one minute, one eon, nothing happens, and then Uncle Roberto steps back, a frown creasing his face. "See here, what's this about?"
It's not it, I think with a sinking heart, and then Gabriel gives a short, sharp twist and the pocket watch comes free of the chain and spins through the air, its face gleaming and glittering. With a flash Gabriel puts out his right hand and catches it just before Uncle Roberto does.
"Tamsin," Gabriel gasps. "This is—"
"Idiot," I moan. Silvery ribbons are snaking up from the watch, entwining themselves with a sinuous fluidity all around Gabriel's hand before shooting up his forearm.
Once a Witch Page 17