“Unlike the men around here,” she added, “I know how to treat an assistant. Snapping orders and insults doesn’t work, but a little kindness goes far. Remember, once everything is over tomorrow night, I’ll personally drive you home.”
“You will?” I couldn’t figure out Jade’s relationship to Genevieve. Why had she agreed to be her assistant?
“I already promised I would. I’m sorry you’ve had to be away from your family for so long.”
“Can’t I leave sooner?”
“I’d let you if it were my choice. Arty’s lockdown rules are so ridiculous. No one allowed in or out until after Solstice—all to guard overrated secret rituals.” Her tone was light and mocking. “Those men are such little boys, taking this all so seriously. They blame psychics for their smaller audiences today and the lack of respect for stage magicians. They’re also paranoid that rogue magicians will expose their methods on TV. As if anyone would want to steal their outdated secrets. They should be more concerned with our secrets.”
She looked at me conspiratorially, as if waiting for some kind of response. But I had no idea what she was talking about, so I nodded—which seemed to be the right answer.
Genevieve turned a dimmer switch, which brightened the flickering light from the sconces. So the flames weren’t real after all, only an illusion. Even the smell of candles must be artificial.
Among the fakes, I fit right in, I thought ironically.
“Well … thanks for offering to drive me home,” I said, hoping to keep her talking so I could gather more information.
“I’ll take you right after the ceremony. The others might object, but I’ll insist,” she said with a laugh. “Never underestimate the magic of a persuasive wife.”
“I won’t,” I said, unable to be afraid of a woman who was so genuinely nice that even her aura radiated golden lights. It was impossible not to like her, and I had the feeling she’d help me if she knew about Grey’s threats to Josh. I was tempted to confide in her, but she was Arturo’s wife so I had to be cautious.
Genevieve walked over to a cherry-wood wardrobe and opened it to show rows of sequined, glittered, and flowing silk costumes. While her aura was light, the wardrobe oozed with a dark weight of history. When she called me over, holding out an electric blue spandex as small as a swimming suit, I found my legs going stiff with dread. I couldn’t move forward, although I had no idea why.
“Here, put this on.”
Everything seemed to be spinning … I could hardly stand straight. Colors and images blurred, and the walls tilted as if crashing down on me.
“Are you all right?” I heard Genevieve ask.
I held out my arms for balance, struggling to stand without falling. For a moment the dizziness calmed, and I nodded to reassure us both that everything was fine. But a heavy sense of foreboding gripped me. I shivered, staring into the wardrobe where the swirls of fabric hung like dead things.
“What’s wrong, Jade? You look … different somehow. Not like yourself.” She touched her finger to her chin, studying me. “Are you ill?”
Her words warbled from a far distance, although she was standing only a foot from me. Sounds, sights, smells …
my five senses now faded away, leaving only one. The real world smeared colors and shapes, distorting, until only the wardrobe lurked in dark smoky hues. Fear stabbed sharply into my soul, and I sensed a presence.
Darkness swirled and mutated into a feminine shape: long copper hair, sapphire eyes, and long slim fingers that clasped a jeweled wand. A smoky hand rose up, then a whirlwind of force slammed into me, knocking me backwards. Spinning, falling … the last thing I remembered before everything went black was the jeweled wand.
Not just an ordinary magician’s wand.
Zathora’s Muse.
“Jade!” a voice called from far away.
Hands tugged at my arms and lifted my head, and I smelled sweet lavender.
“Jade, wake up!” the voice persisted, which confused me because Jade wasn’t even here. My eyes fluttered open and I stared up at Genevieve’s pale, anxious face. Then it all came back to me, and I realized I was lying on the floor.
Groaning and rubbing my arm, I started to stand up, but Genevieve bent down beside me, her skirt brushing across my leg.
“Not so fast,” she cautioned. “Let me help you.”
She gave me her small but surprisingly firm hand and eased me to my feet, leaning in close—too close for my comfort.
“Thank you … I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to … well … fall.”
“It was a spectacular fall, although too dramatic for the fall you’ll do in my act.” She frowned, age lines cutting through her makeup so she looked older than I’d originally thought. “Are you all right?”
My head throbbed, but I nodded. A quick glance down showed that nothing was bleeding or broken. But the fall had shifted my wig, so my hair hung unevenly. I casually reached up to brush the bangs from my eyes, subtly adjusting the wig back into place.
“Jade, what happened?” Genevieve glanced at her wardrobe, its doors hanging open like broken wings. “You were fine one minute, then you screamed and fell.”
I almost told her, but being called “Jade” reminded me to be cautious. I couldn’t just blurt out that I’d seen a ghost. One major difference between Jade and myself was that I saw ghosts and she didn’t. Besides, Josh’s magician friends had a strong hatred for psychics and mediums. They’d never believe I saw a ghost—especially the ghost of a famous woman magician from over a century ago.
Blinking, I stared at a now-ordinary wardrobe filled with hangers draped with bright costumes. Had I really seen Zathora and her famous wand? I kept replaying the quick-flame memory, confused but not scared. Most ghosts were harmless, like Dominic’s mother, who’d asked me to pass on a loving message to her son, or the ghost of a jock, who’d begged me to help the friends and family he left behind.
Ghosts existed, especially for me. But this vision had happened too fast. Already the memory of it was fading, the way you wake up from a dream and can’t remember anything about it. The long hair and ethereal face were hard to visualize now. Only the wand stayed real in my mind, a spectral double of the one I’d gotten from Josh.
“Jade, please tell me what’s going on.” Genevieve peered around the room, shaking her head.
“I—I don’t know …” My words stumbled and died on my lips. There was nothing, no hint of a ghostly aura, only rows of sequined and shimmering costumes.
“But you screamed and fell back like you were terrified. What did you see?”
“It’s kind of embarrassing.” I faked a blush.
“What?” She put her hands on her hips, staring at me.
“A mouse. They freak me out.”
“Me too! Disgusting vermin! I hate mice.” Genevieve jumped nervously, her dainty ivory and gold heels click-clacking on the hardwood floor.
I assured her the mouse was gone, eager to forget the whole weird incident. If there was a ghost hanging around, no one would know if I didn’t tell them. Most ghosts were confused, lost in limbo until they found their way to the other side. If I had time before Jade sent help, I’d seek out the ghost and urge her to cross over to the light.
When Genevieve said we should begin practicing the act, I panicked because I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. Even the simple act of changing into the ridiculously tiny spandex costume she gave me was a challenge—because she didn’t say where I should change clothes. Did she expect me to strip down in front of her? It would be tricky enough squeezing into the rubber-band sized costume without messing up my wig or revealing anything about myself.
When I hesitated, Genevieve got a frustrated look on her face and gave me a push toward the closest door. So I went in, relieved to find an ordinary bathroom.
The sequins on the costume itched. I was smaller up top than Jade was, so I padded the fitted top with toilet paper.
When I stepped bac
k into the main room, Genevieve was leaning over a long, narrow table. She placed a bronzed goblet in the center next to a plain wooden wand with no jewels, only swirls carved into the handle.
“I’m ready,” I said uncertainly. “Now what should I do?”
“The usual.”
Like I knew what that meant.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to try something different?” I came up next to her, itching my arm where sequins rubbed.
“The act hasn’t changed since yesterday.”
“Could you show me again, so I can get it perfect?”
She frowned, irritated. “How can you forget something so simple, that you’ve already practiced a hundred times?”
“Only a hundred?” When in doubt, make a joke. “It was at least a million.”
“Am I working you too hard? Sorry,” she said, touching my cheek softly as if in apology. “But you know how important my performance is. If I don’t get it right, I’ll never get another chance. They don’t want me here.”
“They” had to be the other magicians.
“Watch carefully this time,” Genevieve told me.
She stretched out her arms in a graceful welcome and smiled wide, as if facing an imaginary audience. Then she lifted the goblet to her mouth and pantomimed drinking. Suddenly her body stiffened and she gave a shrill cry. Throwing up her arms, she sank to the ground. It was quick, graceful, and so real that for a moment I almost ran to help her. But before I could move, she jumped to her feet and tilted her head at me with a now-it’s-your-turn expression.
I wondered about my role in this performance and why fainting was so important. But Jade would already know this, so I didn’t ask.
After practicing fainting a few times (which didn’t hurt much once I mastered falling on the softer parts of my body), I learned more about Genevieve. She wasn’t just Arturo’s wife and assistant, but a magician, too. I encouraged her to say more, and discovered she boiled with resentment toward the “brotherhood” who didn’t take her seriously. Remembering Henry’s comment about women not belonging here, I didn’t blame her. She’d been Arturo’s assistant for decades but now wanted to perform on her own. Arturo had resisted at first, but then agreed to allow Genevieve to prove herself to the others.
Her act was based on the fairy tale of Sleeping Beauty, and she showed me her costume: flowing purple velvet with gold trimmings, a white satin lace-up bodice, and a glittering crystal crown. The costume I’d wear once we did this for real was gorgeous too: a pale green panne chiffon gown with gauzy ruffles that fell like silky petals to my ankles. I would have been nervous about performing as an assistant, except I felt sure that it was not actually going to happen. The police or Dad would show up before then … although I was starting to wonder why it was taking Jade so long to send help.
When we finished practicing and I changed out of my costume, I hesitated before opening the wardrobe. But it was just a closet full of clothes.
Genevieve told me to rest in my room until dinner.
Problem: I didn’t know where Jade’s room was.
Solution: There were only two bedrooms downstairs, and when Genevieve went into one, I went into the other. And wow—what a room!
A mural of a medieval scene, complete with villagers, crude cottages, a forest with wild beasts, and a moat circling a castle spread across the walls. It was so intricate and lifelike that I felt as if I’d been transported back in time. The room’s furnishings were impressive: white-gold dressers, an old brassbound trunk, beautiful woven rugs, a four-poster bed with a lacy canopy, and two glass bookshelves. I scanned the old books, recognizing many classics. I picked up a dust-jacketed copy of Heidi’s Children that I hadn’t known existed, but apparently it was the third book in a series about Heidi.
“Amy would love this,” I thought. Even on modeling shoots my little sister could be found with her nose stuck into one of the vintage books from her collection. She loved the crackle of old paper and the smell of history.
Thinking about Amy made me a little sad. I missed home and felt completely shut off from my real life.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself, a snippy voice said in my head.
The book tumbled from my hands to the bed as I gave a start.
“Opal!” I cried, quickly closing my eyes and seeing her. Over three hundred years old, she didn’t look a day over thirty. “I’m so glad you’re here!”
Speak with your thoughts, not audibly, Sabine, Opal cautioned, a finger to her deep-red lips. Despite your capabilities, your naiveté renders you unable to comprehend when a situation is beyond your control.
I smiled, confused by her words yet reassured because I wasn’t completely alone anymore.
“What should I do?” I asked silently. “Everything happened so fast and I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”
You sought to assist a loved one, which is a true measure of your heart, and a choice I would never deter you from making.
“A loved one? You can’t mean Josh!”
As usual, you jump to conclusions, allowing your emotions to confound your common sense.
“Can’t you just tell me what to do minus the snarky attitude?”
Snarky? I do not recognize this uncommon term.
I chuckled. About time I confused her a little with my language.
But even in my mind-image, she didn’t smile. Three hundred years must really kill a sense of humor. “Can you just tell me how long before help comes and I can go home?” I asked her.
I cannot impart information not within my knowledge.
“You could have just said no.”
As well as you could have spoken in common terms, excluding the “snark.”
“Opal, you are priceless.” I longed to lift out of my body so I could hug her in astral form. Only that took too much energy and wasn’t a skill I could control.
Priceless? I am not following you.
“But I’d love to follow you—right out of here,” I confessed. “I can’t keep pretending much longer. Josh and Grey will know I’m a fake.”
Avoid the one called Grey—there is much darkness within his soul and you must not allow him close contact. But your connection to Josh goes back many lifetimes and there is much owing between your souls. Repair deep hurts by seeking him out.
“Some hurt is beyond repair.” I sighed. “Josh hates me.”
Hate is married to love, a window into the heart of opportunity.
“I have no idea what that means. I just know Josh won’t ever speak to me again.” And admitting this saddened me. Josh and I had been through a lot together. My psychic skills, buried under years of denial, had awakened that day at school when I’d saved Josh from a horrible auto shop class accident. He’d repaid me by offering his love—and I’d repaid him by betrayal. I couldn’t help my feelings for Dominic, but I’d try to help Josh now.
Before I could ask Opal how to find Josh, her energy pulled away.
I replayed everything she’d said, searching for answers but only getting so sleepy I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I curled up against a velvet pillow on the four-poster bed. I fell asleep and dreamed of Dominic.
He was peering down at me from the tree house, holding his hand out to help me up. But I shook my head and gestured to my shoulders, where my backpack had morphed into two wings. And I fluttered up to the tree house, my wings folding into my skin and Dominic’s wonderfully strong arms wrapped around me. It was like a Disney movie, with birds singing and wild animals sweeping the floor and making lunch. A deck of cards sprang up like an army and marched up to the table, shuffled themselves, then flipped into neat piles. Dominic and I played for hours, and he won so often that I joked he must be cheating and as a penalty, he owed me a kiss …
He leaned toward me, grasping my hands and pulling me against his warm chest. I could smell a fresh outdoor odor and hear his heart speeding up. I lifted my chin and tasted his sweet breath as he parted his lips …
But before his l
ips could touch mine, a monstrous bird swooped through the window and clawed my hair and flew away. “Dominic, Dominic!” I screamed.
Then my eyes snapped open. I looked around, disappointed not to see tree tops. If only I could slip back into the dream … with Dominic.
“So who is this Dominic?” Genevieve stood over me, clearly amused.
“Um … just a friend. How long have I been sleeping?”
“Three hours. You must have really been tired. Come on, it’s time for dinner.”
It had been forever since breakfast, a quick cream-cheese bagel before I started my drive up to the mountains. I should be starving, but my stomach was too knotted with anxiety.
I followed Genevieve outside and down the path toward the mansion. Walking past the forbidding statues of long-dead magicians and up the steps, I paid close attention to my surroundings so I could find my way out if I needed a quick escape.
My heart quickened when we entered a huge, narrow room lined with long wooden tables. Men in capes and robes crowded together, talking and laughing. Platters were passed from hand to hand and the magicians reached out, helping themselves to bread and steaming meat. Flagons of wine were filled and refilled. I felt like I’d stepped onto a movie set.
I was both guest and captive here. The men mostly ignored me. I scanned faces, seeking the one I’d once loved. I didn’t see Josh, but it was easy to spot Arturo right away, front and center, his face rapt with attention as he spoke to a slender, dark-skinned man with hoops in his ears. The Amazing Arturo oozed charisma. Gazes were fixed on him, and everyone near him was captivated by whatever he was saying. No one glanced up as Genevieve led me to a small round table by the kitchen.
“Why aren’t you sitting with Arturo?” I asked, glancing up as a waiter in a brown apron set heaping bowls on our table.
“I wondered when you’d ask.” Genevieve grimaced in the direction of her husband. “As merely the assistant to the Amazing Arturo, I used to be relegated to eating in the kitchen. So this table is quite an upgrade.”
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