A Criminal Magic

by Lee Kelly

  Something about his guarded, double-edged words, his tone, that gentler look to his eyes—it all comes together. And with a slap of realization, I know. Stock was right all along, about Gunn and me—or at least about Gunn.

  I turn away from the man, my chest constricting, like I need air. The walls of my room feel too close, the space suffocating. How do you say no to a man like Gunn?

  Maybe in another life, if I was a different kind of girl, I could fall for a man like Gunn—maybe if I hadn’t already met a boy who showed me the freest, truest sort of magic—

  You need to stop, just focus on the next step. Just get through this demonstration.

  I give a small nod in acknowledgment to the floor while I compose myself, and then I meet Gunn’s watchful gaze. “Should I tell the troupe about the demonstration, sir?”

  “Not yet. I don’t want a word of this breathed to anyone until Colletto’s walking through our doors tomorrow.” He moves to my door. “It’s business as usual today. Pick an easy finale, one we’ve done before, just get the show over with, get us to tomorrow,” he says, like it’s a new concept, even though I’ve been running the troupe and our shows more with each passing day. And even more, we’ve been doing just fine without Gunn. “And tell them all I want a meeting tomorrow afternoon, to be ready to work at three p.m.”

  “Yes, sir.” I can already hear the griping I’m going to get from the team about working tomorrow, on a Sunday.

  * * *

  I’m rattled and distracted during practice. I try to focus, but my thoughts keep mutinying, between worrying about the demonstration tomorrow, the fifty gallons Gunn promised to D Street, and what needs to take place in between to make it all come together. Of course the troupe can tell something’s up—I can feel Grace probing me, reaching out with her magic to delve inside my mind, mine my secrets right out of me—but I’ve become an expert at defending against her advances. Even Billy quips twice that I look completely out of it. But I blame my spaciness on my shine hangover, do what Gunn says, tell them nothing. After all, I’ve become pretty darn good at keeping things inside.

  There’s one thing I know I can’t do for Gunn, though, and that’s stay away from Alex. Unlike the rest of the troupe, Alex doesn’t push me on what’s wrong, doesn’t question me. Instead he just nods when I explain that we’re going to run the Magical Dawn performance again, doesn’t talk back like the others, who say the immersion is too stale for a Saturday night crowd. Part of me wonders if what I told him last night, about Mama and my past, might have scared him off. But that all falls away at the end of rehearsal. Because as the rest of the troupe labors upstairs to get ready for our performance, Alex lingers by the double doors.

  “I’m not going to ask if you’re okay, because it’s obvious you’re not,” he says quietly, when I approach him.

  I just stand there, staring at him, not sure how to answer.

  “I’m also not going to ask you what’s going on, Joan. If you’ve got secrets you need to keep, I respect that.”

  He walks over to me slowly, and my body actually starts to hum. “But if you need someone to lean on, to help you get through whatever it is you’re clearly struggling with, I hope I can be that person for you.” He brushes my hair off my shoulder, studies me intensely with those clear blue eyes. Then he drops his voice to a whisper. “You must know how much I want to be that person.”

  I nod slowly. The skin at the nape of my neck, where his fingers gently rest, is needles and sparks, now positively sings.

  “Just don’t get too lost on your own, Joan.” Then Alex drops his hand and walks out the doors.

  * * *

  Eight p.m. comes on hot and fast. The crowd comes pouring in for our show, the jazz shrieks through the show space, and the stagehands start shaking their mixed drinks in silver shakers. As Alex and I arrange ourselves on either side of our glass stand for our trick, I think, If tomorrow goes as planned, this might be the last time Alex looks at me this way. This might be the last time we’re equals. And fear, anxiety, sadness—they all tug inside, threatening to unravel me—

  “Joan,” Alex calls from the other side of the stage. Through the glass, he smiles. “Remember—don’t get too lost.”

  I mirror his nod as we both approach the glass stand. I can practically feel Alex’s concern beat through it. I want to let him in. I want him to be my person too. But every time I think about holding on tight to him, letting him share the load of everything that waits on the other side of tomorrow for me, I think again of Gunn.

  We each place one of our hands on the glass, whisper the words of power that divide the glass stand into two parts, and capture each other’s replicas. And then we begin our performance.

  I study my replica of Alex, want a way to show him how much he’s come to mean to me. And then, I remember our conversation from weeks ago, in the hall, when he was still working for McEvoy and I was just starting my secret venture with Gunn. When he conjured that little brass compass in his hand and told me that we all needed one, to keep us going in the right direction, and to prevent us from getting lost.

  I touch his replica’s forehead, and a gold cursive N appears over Alex’s skin. I move to the left shoulder of his tux, etch a gold W into it, and then move across his broad shoulders and paint the other side with an E. I draw a loopy S right into the center of his chest, and then a line from the N to the S, a needle, which wavers from side to side. I take a step back, admire my work, the truth of it pricking my eyes. Alex. Alex has become my compass, right along with Ruby and Ben. In an indulgent flash, I try to imagine what the two of them would think of him. Ruby would be head over heels, that much is certain. Ben might keep Alex at arm’s distance at first, but I think he’d fall in love with him too.

  Alex interrupts my thoughts by beginning his manipulation on the other side of the glass. The crowd exchanges whispers, nods, leans in to admire his magic. I take a few steps to the left side of the glass stand, watching Alex work, his hand moving quickly as he sketches over the canvas of my replica. He looks up and finds me. We switch places to judge the other’s magic.

  Staring back at me on his side of the glass is myself, of course. But over my black lacy dress, there now rests above my left bosom a gold, glistening heart. The four chambers glow and sparkle as the dim lights of the show space reflect off the replica.

  Joan Kendrick. With a literal heart of gold.

  The way he sees me is as sad as it is empowering.

  The audience gives knowing, almost tender sighs. But tonight, our double-sided trick feels less of a performance for them, and more of a conversation between the two of us. We keep running the trick, until the clock hanging above the doors chimes nine. And by the time I settle next to Alex on the right side of the show space, and Grace begins to pinch out the lights for our Magical Dawn finale, I’ve already made my choice.

  “That manipulation I pulled earlier? It was real for me,” I say softly to him. “You are my compass in this place.”

  He stops looking at the ceiling and meets my eyes. “It was beautiful, Joan. I remember our conversation so many nights ago, in the hall.” He runs his fingers along my palm. “You’ve become mine, too.”

  I want to be the girl with the heart of gold. I want to be the girl who deserves to be loved as much as she wants to love. I want to hold on to Alex, despite what happens, no matter what Gunn wants or expects.

  “This place can be tough, and lonely, Alex, despite how packed it is each night. And it sure as hell was a tough road to get here.” I watch Ral and Billy start to fade the textured darkness, slowly kneading the space above the audience’s heads, like they’re scrubbing it against a washboard and washing all the color out. “Last night, when I told you what happened back in Parsonage that brought me here?” I look at him. “It felt freeing, Alex. You do that for me. You make me feel light . . . and yet somehow you still anchor me to the person
I want to be.”

  Alex takes my hand. “I feel the same way about you, Joan.”

  “This place is so tricky. Everyone’s out for themselves, no one trusts anyone. I even feel it from the troupe. But I trust you. I want you to trust me.” I give a little laugh. “I don’t know what I’d do in this place without you.”

  Trust him. Protect him. Give him all of it. “Gunn wants me to tell you that there’s a rehearsal tomorrow afternoon.” I drop my voice. “But it’s not a rehearsal. There’s going to be a demonstration of our finale, along with a new product Gunn’s been working on. He doesn’t want any of the troupe knowing, thinks it could get out, back to McEvoy or the street.”

  “A demonstration?”

  “Of a new shine. And it’s a game changer, Alex, it’s going to light this world on fire.” I look at him. “I’m telling you because I trust you. And because the audience is D Street. And I think you need to know that before you walk in there.” I watch his face become creased with worry, but he keeps his mouth shut. “I couldn’t believe it either when I heard from Gunn, but it’s true. And I know your complicated past with them, but Gunn doesn’t miss a trick. If he thinks you’ve got a problem with them, he’ll take care of it.” He’ll take care of you. I look away, hoping Alex has become as fluent in the vague threats of this world as I have. “So show Gunn, tomorrow and going forward, that you’re completely in this. That you’re willing to do whatever it takes. He’ll respect that.”

  Alex lets his fingers dance on the underside of my arm. “Does he know about us?”

  “No. In fact, Gunn doesn’t want me anywhere near you.”

  “Because he wants you for himself,” Alex says matter-of-factly. But there’s a distinct note of jealousy.

  The memory of Gunn in my room, his loaded words, that look in his eyes—I don’t deny what Alex says, but I sure as hell can’t bring myself to confirm it either. “It doesn’t matter what Gunn wants,” I whisper. “After this deal, I’m telling him about us. He can’t control my heart. He can’t do anything about it. Gunn needs me, same as I need you.”

  “Why exactly does he need you, Joan?” Alex says softly.

  But I don’t want to get into the caging spell with Alex, not right now. I can’t think about what I’ve given to Gunn, what I’ve yanked out of the past and sold like a door prize. I only want to focus on the future, a future that I can’t imagine without Alex in it.

  “All you need to know is that we’re going to be rich, Alex,” I say it for him as much as I say it for myself. “Over the moon. You’ll see. You just need to do what it takes to make that happen. You need to show Gunn what he wants to see, and we’ll have a future together here.”

  Alex takes my chin in his hand, rubs my jawline softly. Above us, Tommy and Rose’s clouds float by like pockets full of dawn.

  “I promise I’ll do what it takes,” he says. “And thank you for trusting me.”

  We both turn our attention back to the finale and begin our own indoor sunrise.

  CALLING IT IN

  ALEX

  I don’t want to leave Joan, for a number of reasons, not just because I don’t want to arouse her suspicion. But because the time we have together never feels like enough. Because the act of taking what she just shared with me and running with it like a prize to the Feds feels like the purest form of betrayal, whether I’m right in doing so or not.

  “Tomorrow’s a big day. Lots to iron out,” Joan says to me after we’ve brewed our group shine on the stage. “I should check in with Gunn.” Then she pauses. “But I’d rather sneak away again with you.”

  She wants me, like I want her. She needs me, like I need her. She trusts me, and as much as I want her to, Joan shouldn’t trust me, shouldn’t choose me, not at all.

  I turn around, lean my back against the altar, and look her in the eyes. “Our troupe’s performance is going to wow D Street, especially with you at the helm more these days. You know this troupe better than anyone, can get things out of us that Gunn never could. And all of us know it, whether they tell you that or not.”

  She gives me an embarrassed smile and looks at the floor. And then, before I let this go any further, make me feel any guiltier, I squeeze her hand and walk away.

  I burst out the double doors, wind up the stairs, hit the street, and walk a few blocks before I begin frantically searching for a phone. I spot one on the corner of M and 19th Streets and duck inside the booth. I dial Frain’s home number, the one I’ve memorized, my only link to the outside world. My fingers move fast around the dial, because I have a strange feeling that if I slow down, I’m going to do something insane, like turn around and walk right out.

  This is about you, your job, your purpose. Months and months leading to this deal—think about all the monsters you’ll put away, the safer streets, the win for you and the Unit. Now bring it home.

  Frain picks up on the third ring. “Frain here.”

  “It’s Alex.”

  Sleepy, strained whispers are exchanged in the background. “Alex, what’s the word?”

  The significance of what I’m about to pass along finally and fully settles over me. If all goes well, this might be the biggest score in Prohibition Unit history. We nail this deal, and we take two of DC’s largest crime rings down.

  “Tomorrow.” I keep my eyes trained on the abandoned street in front of me. “What we’ve been waiting for, working for—Agent Frain, it’s all coming to a head. Apparently there’s some new type of shine, something that the Shaws and D Street are actually breaking bread over. And if Harrison Gunn manages to secure the deal, he’s got the support of most of the Shaw underbosses to confirm him as boss,” I say in a rush. “If all goes according to his plan, they’ll take McEvoy and anyone left by his side out.”

  “My God, wait, but Colletto murdered Gunn’s father, Danny the Gun—the murder set off a war between the gangs,” Agent Frain sputters. “You’re sure about D Street? You’re serious?”

  “Dead serious. I heard some of it directly, and the rest is straight from a reliable source.” And then I pause. Because “source” is such a tricky word. Because somewhere deep and sober inside me, of course I know that Joan has to be the source of more than a tip. She has to play some crucial part in this: she’s the head of the troupe, has Gunn’s ear, somehow knew about the deal and that D Street’s on the other side of it, and knows far more than she’s giving me in pieces, of that I’m sure. But I can’t think about her being so essential to all of this, that to protect her would be to cut some of the heart out of the score. Even if she’s got a hand to play in this, it’s not her game, I remind myself. Joan’s a pawn, nothing more. There’s no need to give her up right now. Focus on one step at a time.

  I turn back to the phone. “I don’t have details on the shine yet, but I will. There’s a demonstration for Colletto and D Street tomorrow. I’ll report back after.”

  “And McEvoy? Is he right on your tail? Can you shake him?”

  I think about my last joyride with McEvoy, the Jackal lit up with paranoia from the dust. “I managed to sidetrack him. I told him that one of his loyals was staging a secret deal with an island gang at some bender of theirs out on Magic Row,” I explain. “I think he bit. He should be out of the city and out of our way for a few days.”

  “I’ll loop the coast guard in”—I hear the scratching of Frain’s pen in the background—“and we’ll take McEvoy down on his way back to the city. Alex, if this comes together, it’s a hell of a win you’ve managed to set up for us.” Agent Frain’s words, his support, they ignite me, center me—remind me of everything I’ve sacrificed, but also everything I’ve managed to achieve. “Right after the demonstration, find a way to reach me,” Frain pushes. “You do what you need to do, get me the details of what’s going down between the gangs, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  “Understood. I’ll get it done.”

&n
bsp; “We’re so close, Alex,” Frain says, his voice near ecstatic, crackling with electricity through the phone wire, “all thanks to you. Now bring us home.”

  DEMONSTRATION

  JOAN

  Sunday morning. The beginning of a new era with Gunn at the helm of the Shaws. An era that promises to be full, red, and rich. An era of shine. My shine.

  Instead of telling the troupe last night about today’s practice, I waited until this morning. Less time for questions that way. Besides, I wanted to enjoy our last show before the demonstration together, and not ruin it by bringing it all back to Gunn.

  “What do you mean, we’ve got a practice today?” Billy cuts in, after I do a round-robin and knock on everyone’s doors along the hall around ten. “Today’s the day of rest,” he adds with a mumble. “We get one day off. Already sold my soul to the man, Gunn sure as hell doesn’t deserve my Sunday.”

  “You sure this isn’t about something else, Joan?” Ral says.

  Grace leans against her own door frame. “You don’t have to keep it all on your shoulders, you know,” she presses, looks at me with almost pleading eyes. It’s been a long, long time since I confided in her. “You can trust us. We’re your team.”

  “Once upon a time, anyway,” Billy digs, as Tommy and Rose slowly saunter out, half-clothed, into the hall.

  “What’s all the commotion about?” Tommy says as he rubs his eyes.

  I close mine to collect myself, and remind myself that in part, this demonstration is for them. That if today goes off without a hitch, there’s going to be more money funneled into this place than any of us can imagine. From what I figure, I’m the only troupe member who will get a cut of the deal, but I won’t forget who helped make it possible. I’ll make sure they’re all taken care of somehow, in some way. Not that I can share any of this—at least not now.