A Criminal Magic (31 page)

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.”

“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.

“Gunn's calling a mandatory meeting, a practice,” I say. “Be downstairs before three. And wear something nice, but plain, if you can.”

Everyone mumbles annoyances but turns back to their rooms. As I'm about to do the same, Grace steps out of her doorway and grabs my arm.

“Joan, come on. It's me you're talking to here—enough dodging. Is this related to what you've been doing, during all your time with Gunn?”

“Grace, I seriously can't talk about it, all right? You'll see soon enough.”

“It's not something dangerous, is it?” She tightens her grip. Her eyes flick down the hall, then back to me. “I'm worried about you. You barely come up for air anymore.”

Grace's forehead is creased, her hand still wrapped around my forearm. I know she's trying to help. I know she wants to make sure I'm not in over my head. But the questions are too much, feel more like persistent jabs than a helping hand. Even more, I feel the pressure of her trying to mine inside again, pluck my thoughts right out of my head. And right now, I'm too tired to keep my walls high enough to block her out.

“Grace.” I take her hand and gently pry it off my arm. I step back, making sure I break our connection. “If you really are concerned about me, please stop trying to worm your way inside.”

I don't mean it to sound harsh, but it must, 'cause she takes
a few steps back too, as if I've slapped her. “Hell, Joan. I'll stop worrying about you, if that's what you want.”

“I swear, I'm not trying to keep things from you. Trust me, you'll understand—”

“Oh, I understand. You're doing what you need to do,” she says flatly. A pause as we stare each other down. “You've always done what you needed to do, though, right? That's been crystal clear from the beginning.”

“Grace, come on.”

“By the way, for the record? You're now as hard to mine as he is.” And then she turns around and slams her door.

*    *    *

My morning passes by in a flurry of strategy sessions with Gunn and underboss Win Matthews. Some of the conversations I can weigh in on (
Which finale is the troupe's strongest and most impressive? Should I spellbind all the sorcerers' shines, or just my own? Where should the celebratory toast take place after our performance?
). And of course, a lot I can't (
Where should the dividing line between gang territories fall? Will it really be profitable if D Street gets a monopoly on distributing our product?
). But still, I stay behind closed doors with them for hours. They manage to iron everything out around two thirty, and then Gunn and I leave Win and wait for the troupe in the show space.

Grace, Billy and Ral, Tommy and Rose all file in from the hall. Alex comes through the double doors a couple minutes later. My heart starts fluttering on seeing him, and so I look away, focus on Gunn. He's studying our troupe one by one, giving us each a little approving nod. The staff of stagehands has already filtered in too and begins to prep trays of shot glasses for our shine demonstration. A few of them start to rearrange the room into a seating area of benches in front of our stage.

The troupe shifts around me uncomfortably. I can almost
feel their panic, over the not knowing, over being part of a performance they've never rehearsed.

“I apologize for the subterfuge to get you here,” Gunn finally addresses our troupe when the room is set, “but when you realize what today is all about, I believe you'll appreciate my decision to be cautious.” He pauses. “In a few moments' time, a man named Anthony Colletto will come through that door with some of his men, and he'll be looking for an unparalleled performance, and an even wilder shine.”

There's a tiny gasp from Grace, mumblings between Ral and Billy. Of course they all know the name Anthony Colletto. Of course they realize Gunn's saying that we're performing for the Shaws' sworn enemy tonight. The troupe's faces are pinched with concern, and confusion, but either Gunn doesn't see them, or doesn't care.

“And we're going to show Colletto a shine that's not only the highest-grade, strongest magic contraband available . . . we're going to seal it, use magic to work around the limitations of sorcery, and let him ship it around the country for us. And together, we're going to take over the goddamned world.” Again gasps, sideways looks. I close my eyes as I feel Grace trying to meet my gaze—

“This is possible, in part, because of all of you,” Gunn persists over their reactions. “I knew, back in that clearing in the middle of nowhere, that through the magic of seven—the magic of
you
—we were going to achieve extraordinary things.”

And like always, despite the fear and confusion that has taken hold of the crowd, with Gunn's words, something else starts to churn within the troupe. An undercurrent of pride. Despite having been left in the dark, Gunn's assured them they
matter
.

He always knows just what to say. Gunn's good, far too good, at getting what he wants
.

As Gunn walks toward the back stage, he says, “I want you to
perform the finale that you ran last night, the Magical Dawn, for Colletto and his men. And then I want you to stand up here”—he points to the back-stage altar—“and brew your heart into your shine. Joan will take it from there.”

My cheeks flush, just a bit, as all eyes glance to me, wondering, judging.

“Everything is riding on this deal—your future, my future, the future of the Shaws. So give me everything you have.” Gunn lets his gaze fall on each of us again, those ice-blue eyes never wavering, blinking, or doubting that we—that
he
—could fail. “Take your places.”

Without another word, the troupe whispers and divides. The energy pulsing through the show space is anxious, electric.

Alex comes up to me without a word. I feel his tension, his desire to speak, to compare notes with me.

But there's no time. Because as soon as we're settled, like a stage cue, the double doors to the show space open.