Black Arts, Tarts & Gypsy Carts

by Erin Johnson

  “Why don’t you inspect the sharpness of my blade?”

  The middle-aged guy moved toward it, and Scullivan cautioned, “Easy does it, fella.”

  The crowd chuckled, and the guy split the hair on the blade.

  Scullivan clapped him on the back, his hand clad in his fingerless gloves. Not sure I could ever find a man who sported fingerless gloves attractive. “Sharp, ain’t she?”

  The man nodded. Lights dimmed around the tent, the spotlight above the stage seeming brighter. “If you please, my dear?”

  Scullivan handed Riga into the box. She stood inside it, turning this way and that, waving her thin, graceful arms in their elbow gloves. Then, holding the sides, she lowered herself down, lying on her back.

  Scullivan closed the sides of the box, and asked the volunteers to assure the audience that Riga lay inside. Then he sent them back to their seats and closed the top, leaving Riga’s feet and head sticking out either end of the box, her long ponytail trailing to the ground.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards, you bear witness to this incredible feat. I will now cut my beautiful assistant in half.”

  I leaned over and whispered to Edward, “Human magicians do a trick like this.”

  He raised his brows over half-lidded eyes. “Oh? I didn’t know there were human magicians. Wouldn’t that make them wizards?”

  I grinned. “They’re not real, it’s fake.”

  “Drrrop!” Scullivan shot an arm into the air as he shouted the command. A gasp from the crowd, and the guillotine blade plummeted from the peak of the tent, lodging itself not only through the box Riga lay in, but plunging halfway through the heavy wooden table underneath. Screams and cries rose up around the tent, but I scoffed. I turned back to Edward.

  “They do it with two very flexible ladies. It’s Riga’s head, but a different lady’s legs, and they fold in half to fit in those boxes.”

  Edward’s mouth twitched to the side and his brows rose.

  “It is!” He didn’t seem convinced by my explanation, but I’d watched enough internet videos while procrastinating at work to know how magic tricks worked.

  With a wave of his hand, Scullivan pulled the enormous blade from the table and shot it back in the air. He opened the box, and Riga sat up and waved, all in one piece. The crowd erupted in applause. I didn’t know where the other lady had gone, but magicians here had real magic, so I was sure there was some spell for that. Scullivan waved at the crowd till it quieted.

  “Perhaps, my dear, they think there’s some trick to the box?”

  Riga batted her lashes at Scullivan, then at the crowd.

  He frowned at us with his dark-rimmed eyes, turning in a circle. “Is that what you think? It’s a trick?”

  The crowd murmured and I nodded.

  He jumped. “They think it’s a trick, my dear. Shall we do it again, to prove them wrong?”

  Riga giggled and shimmied her shoulders.

  “I think that’s a yes! Let’s do it without the box this time.”

  A wave of his hand, and the box vanished, leaving only the wooden rectangular table.

  “Lie back down again, will you?”

  Riga complied, the guillotine blade glinting in the light above her.

  “Are you ready?”

  Riga nodded.

  Scullivan turned to the crowd, his arms lifted. “Are you ready?”

  I inched forward in my seat as the crowd applauded for the grand finale. Unease sat heavy in my stomach. Scullivan sliced his arm through the air. I held my breath as the blade plummeted. What was the trick to this one? I yelped as the blade sliced through Riga and jutted out the bottom of the table. Cries erupted from the audience, and I pressed my hands to my mouth.

  “Look!”

  “She’s dead!”

  My eyes widened. Riga’s head flopped to the side, a trickle of blood running out her mouth.

  “I need a couple of volunteers.” The room went silent. Scullivan lifted his brows and grinned. “No one? I’ll do it myself then.”

  My stomach clenched and I thought I might be ill as he grabbed her limp wrists and pulled her top half away from the blade, then grabbed her ankles and did the same with her bottom half. I pressed a hand to my mouth.

  “What’s his plan?” Next to me, Edward’s eyes shone and he shook his head, his mouth slightly agape. He looked in awe of it all.

  “Ta-da!” Scullivan removed his top hat and swept it toward Riga. He then turned and pantomimed scratching his head. “Oh dear.” Scullivan planted his hands on his hips and pouted. “Looks like two dead women in two days on this table.” He clicked his tongue in his cheek.

  The crowd stayed hushed, uneasy. Scullivan tilted his chin to the ceiling. “What to do, what to do….” He spun, slowly, giving everyone in the tent a clear view of the tattoo on his throat. As he turned toward me, I saw why.

  A white skull wrapped in black thorny vines stretched around his neck. Madame Zerna’s description of her killer replayed in my mind. “The pale man with a skull upon his throat shall murder me.”

  I gulped.

  Scullivan gave a wicked grin. A flash of light made me blink; mist enveloped the stage, and then the tent went dark. Only the circle of runes and symbols around the stage glowed, an icy blue. I pointed it out to Edward.

  “I saw a circle like that at the crime scene under the straw,” I whispered.

  He nodded. “It’s a protective circle.” He leaned close, the curled ends of his mustache brushing my ear. “It contains a spell—often used when working death magic.”

  I shuddered. As the lights rose again and the mist cleared, I made out two figures on the stage. Could it be? The mist parted to reveal Scullivan and Riga, standing side by side, arms raised overhead.

  She smiled and waved, completely whole and alive again. I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. The crowd erupted, jumping to their feet. Scullivan and Riga took their bows.

  I held my cardigan in my arms and folded them across my stomach. Edward and I stood outside the main tent, the still chattering audience flowing out past us.

  “Can you believe it? How’d they do it?” Two women, arm in arm, chatted together.

  “Do you think he killed Madame Zerna? Did you see his tattoo?” A young man with fire dancing around his shoulders spoke with a young woman with iridescent wings folded against her back.

  Edward and I turned to each other. He blinked, slowly.

  “Thanks for saving me a seat, again.” I rocked on my heels. “It would’ve been a lot less impressive if I’d been standing around the outside.” I held my hand over my eyes and pretended to peer at the stage. “I think that one blob got cut into two blobs.”

  Edward shook his head, but grinned, his half-lidded eyes on me. “Anytime. See you for lessons tomorrow?”

  I nodded. Today I’d been able to reveal the hidden object every time, in seconds. But I also knew what to reveal. “Tomorrow, can you not tell me what it is I’m looking for? So I can practice revealing things when I’m not sure what’s hidden?”

  He nodded. “You got it.” He raised his brows. “Well, I’m off.”

  “Oh. I, uh—” I bit my lip. “I’m going to stay and ask the magician’s assistant a few questions.”

  He huffed out a laugh. “Considering a new career path?”

  “Ha. No. I don’t think I could pull off that sequined leotard.”

  He chuckled.

  We stood there a long moment as I considered asking him to go with me. I felt nervous about speaking with Riga and would feel safer with a muscled bodyguard. Then again, she might not feel safe enough to answer questions with him looming over her. While I debated, Edward decided for me.

  “I’m off to perform—care to watch another show?”

  I grimaced. That’s right, he still has to go on tonight. “I wish I could, but I need to speak to her.”

  He lifted his chin. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. Good night, Imogen.”

 
; I waved back and he turned and disappeared into the crowd milling down the pier. I blew my bangs out of my eyes and turned to head back into the tent, shouldering past the exiting crowd.

  I stood among the mishmash of chairs as Scullivan and Riga signed autographs and chatted with groups of fans. After nearly all the people had cleared out, Riga wiped a gloved hand across her brow, mumbled something to Scullivan, then moved off the stage so quickly it took me a few moments to realize what she was doing. She disappeared through a tent flap in the back, into what I assumed was the dressing room.

  I followed her, winding through the maze of kitchen and lawn chairs. As I stood outside the opening and took a breath to clear my throat and ask if I could come in, Scullivan suddenly bounded into my path, throwing an arm in front of me and blocking the entrance.

  He flashed me a toothy grin, his black handlebar mustache pulling up at the corners. “And how may I help you?”

  I swallowed, trying to keep my eyes off the skull tattoo on his throat. Though looking into his eyes, surrounded by a ghoulish ring of black, wasn’t much more pleasant. “Um. I hoped to speak to your assistant, actually.”

  He rubbed his free hand over his mouth. “About what?” he said through his fingers.

  “A-bout….” You’d think I’d have thought up an excuse. “Becoming a magician’s assistant. Is there a trade school? How’s the benefits package, that sort of thing.”

  One dark brow rose on his pale face, his long hair brushing his collarbone. “Really?”

  I let out a heavy sigh. “No.” I shook my head. “I’m here investigating Madame Zerna’s death.”

  He chuckled and leaned closer. “You a private eye?”

  “Something like that.” I stood taller, trying to seem as tough as I could in wedges and a summer dress. “I, uh—I’d like to ask her a few questions.” I lifted a brow and jutted out my jaw. “About some handwritten letters.” I searched his face, ready for a dramatic reaction.

  Instead, he merely pressed his lips together. “Letters, huh? Yeah, I guess you’d have to ask Riga about those.” He leaned closer to the tent flap and called, “Riga. You’ve got a gal here who wants to ask you some questions about Zerna. You cool with that, doll?”

  “Sure,” Riga called from the other side.

  I glared at him. “Why are you being so cooperative? Aren’t you afraid I’ll suspect you of killing her?” I nodded toward the tattoo on his throat. “She described you as her killer in her show the other night.”

  He spread his arms wide and cocked a brow. “Hells no. I had nothin’ to do with that loony broad’s murder, and neither did Riga. We have nothing to hide. Besides, if I could talk to her now, I’d thank her. It’s been great for business. Our show got upgraded to the big tent, since Zerna’s not performing. And everyone wants to come see the murder table and the guy with the skull tattoo on his neck after what she said. People is people—and all people love a good morbid fascination.”

  His logic made a twisted sort of sense.

  “Shall we?” He swept his arm toward the tent flap.

  I stepped forward, glancing back to keep an eye on Scullivan. Definitely should’ve asked Edward to stay.

  15

  Riga

  I blinked, an image of the huge, round lighted vanity mirror floating behind my lids. I rubbed my eyes to clear them, glancing over my shoulder as Scullivan slipped past me and stood behind Riga, placing his hands on her shoulders.

  She sat perfectly still at the vanity on a tasseled stool as Scullivan dipped to whisper in her ear. As he straightened, she turned and raised a dark brow at me.

  “You want to ask me about my mother?”

  My jaw dropped. “Madame Zerna was your mother?”

  She pressed her dark plum lips together and raised her brows.

  Holy cow. I ran through my memory of Madame Zerna trying to speak with Riga outside the tent. That certainly explained how she knew her and Scullivan. And how awful—it looked like they’d been in a fight, and now her mother had been murdered. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  She raised her brows and lowered her lids, barking out a harsh laugh. It sounded strange coming from someone so petite and sparkly. “Don’t be. I’m not.”

  My chest tightened. “But—” I swallowed, then licked my lips. “But your mother’s dead. Aren’t you upset?”

  Scullivan leaned against the vanity top, fiddling with a basket of what appeared to be mannequin hands. Totally normal. “Theys weren’t exactly close.”

  I folded my arms. “Apparently.”

  Riga slammed down the bottle of perfume she’d been spraying herself with and glared at me. The various glowing bottles on the vanity rattled. “I’m sure you’re super close with your mom, and she packed you lunches and tucked you in at night. Not all of us have that luxury.”

  I looked down at my feet. My adopted mom— Shoot, I always did that. I sighed. I’d always thought of my family as my adopted family, though they’d been the only one I’d ever known and never treated me differently. It was just that I’d always felt different.

  And while my adopted mom had packed me lunches and tucked me in at night and done all the other things a mom should do, I’d always felt, deep down, that she wasn’t my real mom. I felt I didn’t belong. And having discovered I was a witch weeks ago, it turned out I was right. Still—I would be incredibly upset if anything ever happened to her, or my adopted dad or sister.

  I looked up at Riga preening in the enormous round mirror. I couldn’t imagine being so uncaring. Maybe she was grieving in her own way? I frowned as she winked and kissed at her reflection. Or not.

  She caught me staring and raised a perfect brow. “You come to stare? ’Cause you can pay for that privilege.”

  Someone was a little full of themselves. “No. I came to ask you a few questions.”

  Scullivan gave me a slippery smile. “Let’s get on with it shalls we? It’s nearly our bedtime.”

  They gave each other bedroom eyes. Gross.

  “Right. So… you and your mom, Madame Zerna, weren’t close? Why was that?”

  “Nosy.” Riga picked up a tissue and wiped away some of her dark eyeshadow. “But I’ll tell you anyway. I don’t care who knows. My mother only cared about herself. I inherited her talent for necromancy, though we differed in our views on it.”

  “How?” I stepped closer.

  She wiped at the other eye. “Necromancy is a power that should be honored and considered sacred. Raising and speaking with the dead has the potential to deeply heal both the living and the dead. But my mother made it a great big show—all she cared about was fame and fortune. She dishonored her power.”

  I frowned. Strange for a showgirl to disagree with a career in showbiz.

  Riga sighed and wiped at her forehead. “She put her fame above everything and everyone else. Including me. She was never around and could barely tolerate me as a child, diva that she was. As I grew older, she wanted to control me, wanted to force me into the family show business—though she’d barely bothered to know me or raise me.” She shook her head. “And then I met Scullivan.” She batted her lashes at him.

  I cleared my throat. He was sort of attractive, in a piratey way—the eyeliner, the boots, the swagger. But he also came with pirate-esque greasy hair from a lack of bathing, and questionable morals. At least he didn’t have scurvy. Hopefully.

  “Mom disapproved, of course. Me showing love for anyone but her was unthinkable.” Riga returned to her reflection, her big dark eyes heavy. “So I ran away with him and joined the carnival circuit.”

  Oh, the glamorous carnival circuit. “But weren’t you trying to avoid going into show business?”

  She shrugged her slim shoulders. “It wasn’t show business that bothered me, it was profiting off death and loss. I like being Scullivan’s assistant. And his wife.”

  My brows jumped. “Wow. You two are—married?”

  “We eloped.” Riga pulled off her huge, sparkly earrings.

&nb
sp; “We don’ts wear our rings during performances.” Scullivan twirled a severed mannequin hand at me and pointed at its naked finger. “Lets the crowd fantasize theys could be with us.”

  I found that—unsettling. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I did not see the magician’s appeal. I could see why Madame Zerna would have been upset at their elopement.

  Riga sighed. “After I ran off with him, Mom and I didn’t talk.”

  I thought of Rhonda’s vision. “What about letters? Did you two write?”

  Riga paused and stared at her own reflection. She blinked, her brows drawing together. She looked down in confusion, her chest heaving with quicker breaths. Scullivan held up a finger to me and leaned over, whispering something in her ear. Riga sat bolt upright, her composure regained. “Yes. Yes, she did write letters.”

  “What did she say?”

  Scullivan winked. “We’ve gots them around here somewhere. You can take a look-see for yourself.”

  Oh. I hadn’t expected that. Scullivan was being unexpectedly helpful. Shockingly so.

  A bookshelf stood to the right of the vanity, stuffed with books and papers, a rolling clothing rack beside it. Scullivan moved past those to a weathered trunk, and threw open the lid. As he rummaged around, I glanced back at Riga.

  She stared at her reflection, without narcissism this time. Almost as if she didn’t recognize herself. She turned her head left, then right, then leaned closer and lightly touched her forehead. She scrubbed at the skin there, revealing a patch of her bare skin amid the caked-on makeup. I blinked and leaned closer.

  I couldn’t be sure in the darkness of the room, with the blindingly bright globe lights ringing the mirror, but it looked as if her skin had a greenish glow to it. That couldn’t be right, could it? Scullivan appeared in front of me, startling me. I pressed a hand to my heart.

  He winked and held up a stack of opened envelopes bound in string. “Found ’em.”

  Keeping my eyes on him, I took the letters, and the magician took his place again at Riga’s side, gripping her shoulder. I pulled out a letter, two pages long. Sparkles glittered on the thick paper, the ink a shimmery purple. It seemed like something the diva madame would’ve written.