Born of Illusion (37 page)

I hear the smile in her voice and tears prick at my eyes. I want to tell her a million things—how much I love her, how angry I am at her, how wonderful she is, how selfish she is—but now isn’t the time. I may have to wait years for the right moment, but if I don’t get us out of here, that time will never come.

“Where is the guard? And do you have any idea where they’re hiding us?”

“The guard is right out front. As far as I can tell, we’re in an abandoned warehouse near the river. They blindfolded me, but I could smell the docks. We’re in a storage room, I think.”

Pride wells up inside. My mother had to have been terrified, but she still kept her composure enough to take notice of her surroundings. Our captors underestimated the Van Housen women.

“Is the door locked?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Are your hands and feet bound?”

“Yes. Rope.”

“You tied to anything?”

“No.”

I test the ropes that bind my wrists. Whoever tied them did a much better job this time. I might be able to release myself, but in the condition I’m in, it would take far too much effort and leave me unable to defend myself or my mother. “Can you come over to me?”

In answer, I hear the whisper of something scooting across the floor. “Owen was here earlier, but he left. I think it’s just the guard now.”

When she reaches my side, I lean closer. “My knife is tucked into the back of my trousers. We need to be back to back.”

“You’re wearing trousers?” is all she says as we move till our backs are leaning against each other. It takes her several tries before she can pull the knife free. Thank God I wasn’t searched while I was knocked out.

She places the knife in my fingers.

“Now lean away from me.”

Without asking why, she leans her body away as I flick my balisong open. “Now lean back, but slowly.” I want to cut the ropes, not her hands.

Feeling my way with my fingertips, I slip the knife in between the ropes and begin to saw. The rope isn’t thick and I make short work of it.

The effort winds me, though, and I lean against the wall as my mother undoes the bindings on her feet.

Then she kneels in front of me, touching my face gently. “My God, you weren’t kidding about the brick wall, were you?”

I shake my head and then wish I hadn’t as my temples throb in response. Without another word, she loosens the rope around my wrists and ankles.

“Hold on.” She stands up, stretching her cramped muscles carefully. “You need some water.”

She brings me a small tin cup and I take cautious sips, not wanting to get sick. The room keeps spinning and fear clutches in my stomach. How am I supposed to get us out of here when I’m not even sure I can stand?

I hear a ripping sound and then she takes the cup away for a moment. After putting it back in my hands, she dabs my forehead and the side of my face with a cool, wet cloth. I close my eyes and try to steady my breathing. It seems to help.

“Now what?” she asks.

I take another deep, careful breath. “We have to get out.”

“How?”

I’d smile, except my face is now hurting too badly. My mother doesn’t dither or waste time moaning. She may be many things, some of them rotten, but Magali Moshe is, above all, a survivor.

“We go back to our places and pretend we’re still bound. Divert his attention. Then we’ll play it by ear.”

She nods and scoots back to her corner, while I lie back down, careful to hide the ropes underneath me. I try not to think of all the things that could go wrong, if Owen is back or if the guard has a gun. Why didn’t I think to ask my mother if he had a gun? Too late. My mother gives me a nod and begins to sob.

Showtime.

I hear her inhale. “Joseph! Hurry! Please!”

Her voice is frantic, fearful. Sometimes I forget what a good actress she actually is. There’s a scraping sound of a key and then a squeak as the door opens. I blink against the sudden light.

A man in dark clothing comes through the door. “What are you whining about now?”

His voice is lightly accented and I recognize it as one of my abductors from the van.

“My daughter, I think she’s dead. I don’t think she was supposed to die? How are you going to get any money from her father if she’s dead?”

I almost startle but hold myself still. Of course, my mother would make it known that I am worth far more alive than not.

He turns toward me and my heart pounds. My mother’s face is white and terrified behind him, but also determined. I wait until he’s bending down toward me and then give her the signal with my outstretched hand, a fist and then three fingers, which always meant
now
in our shows.

In a silent flash she’s across the room and a rope is wrapped around the guard’s neck. I twist myself around and sideswipe his legs out from underneath him before he can react. Then I’m on top of him, my knife pressed to his throat.

“You say anything and I’ll cut through your vocal cords,” I whisper. “Understand?” He nods slightly and his eyes tell me he understands perfectly.

While Joseph and I are exchanging pleasantries, Mother is doing a neat job of tying him up.

Once he’s tied, I take the knife from his throat.

“You won’t get away,” he snarls. “The boss will be right back.”

Mother holds her hand out for the knife and I give it to her. Bending, she cuts a strip of material from her slip and balls it up. “You talk too much.” She shoves it into his mouth. Before she turns away, she hauls her leg back and kicks him in the ribs with all her strength. “Good-bye, darling.”

My eyes widen, but I say nothing, I’m too busy concentrating on staying upright.

“Can you walk?” Mother slips the knife into her pocket and puts her arm in mine.

“I think so.”

We pause at the door, listening. Nothing. Stepping out into the next room, I quickly take stock of our surroundings. It looks as if we’re in the office of an old warehouse. Several large desks dot the perimeter of the room and a long window runs down one wall, no doubt looking out onto the rest of the warehouse. A thick layer of dust covers everything.

“This way.” I nod toward a door to our right. “That probably goes outside. The other one probably goes down inside the . . .” I stop my heart leaping into my throat as I hear noises from outside.

My mother grabs my arms and pulls me to the opposite door. We enter the darkness and nearly fall down the stairs. I cling to the wall on one side and follow my mother downward. We pause at the bottom, instinctively shying away from the vast darkness; but at the shouts above, we plunge forward, immediately blinded.

Slowed by our inability to see, we make our way forward, hands clasped, until we find a wall. Then we search slowly, carefully, for a door.

My heart is racing and my mouth is dry. If we can’t find a way out, we’re as trapped here as we were in the little room. My shin rams painfully into something hard and I freeze as something metal clatters to the floor.

Suddenly the door above swings open wider and Mother and I still.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Owen singsongs.

Suddenly an electric lamp goes on overhead, bathing us in a golden glow. Above us on the stairs is Owen, a gun aimed right at us.

“Grab the handcuffs,” he orders someone behind him as he makes his way slowly down the stairs. “Let’s see her get out of those.”

When he reaches us, he doesn’t reach for me but instead for my mother. He holds the pistol to her head, his mouth twisted into a smile. He knows I won’t do anything as long as my mother is being threatened. I can’t believe I ever found him charming.

“Hands above your head.”

I slowly raise my hands, brushing my ear as I do so. With my hands on top of my head, I palm the picklock, never taking my eyes from Owen. My eyes widen as a woman with a gun runs downstairs. It’s the girl who was working for Mr. Darby.

“Cuff her,” Owen orders.

She grabs my arms and twists them behind me. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

“Shut up, Lorraine,” Owen snaps, and I see her mouth tighten.

“Take her mother upstairs and lock her in the room with Joe. He’ll like that.”

“My pleasure.”

I want to cry as Lorraine ties up my mother.
I’m sorry, Mama,
I think, trying to tell her with my eyes.

But my mother is coolly eyeing her captors, disdain written across every feature. “You’ll never get away with this,” she tells them. “You’re both too damn dumb to pull it off.”

Lorraine smacks my mother’s face and I wince.

“Meet us at the boat,” Owen orders, and turns toward the door only a few feet away from where my mother and I stand. So close.

Silently he opens it and pushes me through. The icy wind feels good on my swollen face. He leads me out onto a long dock as my mind races, trying to figure out anything that will stall him. Cole has to be coming. Or Jacques. Anyone! Then it flashes into my mind so hard, I stumble.
Cole!
I’ve never sent out a strand without something to connect it to, but I remember how Cole heard me screaming in his head after my nightmare. God, was it only this morning?

I frantically send out a strand but it’s hard to visualize because I don’t know where to send it. Maybe I should try something else. I quickly switch to imagining beams of light going in all directions, searching. As I concentrate, my steps slow, and Owen pokes me in the back with the gun.

“Hurry up.”

I send out another wide sweep.
Please, Cole, please
 . . . I have no idea if what I’m trying to do will even work.

“Why?” I ask reasonably. “Don’t we have to wait for Lorraine? Unless you’re going to double cross her.”

He just pokes me with the gun again and I continue walking.

“What are you going to do with my mother?”

“That’s none of your beeswax. Just keep moving.”

Owen’s voice is defensive and threaded with a regret that tugs on my heart. Why? Why would such a handsome, talented young man do something like this? Is it really about the money? Did he just get over his head? I push that out of my mind. I can’t afford to feel any sympathy toward him. I have to find a way to save my mother. Besides, he doesn’t deserve it. He made choices that led to this just as I did.

I concentrate on sending out more strands and suddenly something comes back at me. Cole! It’s only for a second, but it’s enough to keep me going. I know he’s out there, somewhere.

“Owen? Why are you taking me with you? You have your money.”

“It wasn’t just the money.” His voice is miserable but resolute. “I want you. Don’t you see? I want the fame and fortune that Houdini’s daughter can bring me.”

“He doesn’t even know he’s my father!” I say desperately.

“That’s what your mother said. Boy, she was sure surprised when I told her you’d snuck off to see him several times.”

So he or his wife had also been following me. I’m surprised they didn’t run into Mrs. Lindsay. We reach the end of the dock where a small boat is tied. My steps slow even further when I see the figure of a man step away from the shadows.

“Well done, Owen. Frankly, I wasn’t convinced you could pull it off, but you are to be commended.”

I freeze as a British accent floats to me on the breeze. I know who it is even before Owen says his name.

“Thank you, Franklin. I told you I could get her here.”

Twenty-nine

O
wen’s self-importance barely registers as I focus on the man behind him.

“I had serious doubts after your first botched attempt.”

The man comes closer. I sense, rather than see, his triumph. Why didn’t I figure it out before this? Dr. Finneas Bennett—Dr. Franklin Boyle. It was so obvious! Threads of panic unravel at the edge of my mind. If only I had trusted Cole . . . I take a deep breath. “Dr. Bennett. Or should I say Dr. Boyle? What do you want with me?”

Dr. Boyle tips his hat. “You may call me Dr. Boyle. I only go by Dr. Bennett at The New Church. And no offense, Miss Van Housen, but at the beginning, you were just a means to an end.”

Cole.

“If you had only stayed put in the milk truck, none of this would have happened. Franklin would have gotten the Limey and you would have been released,” Owen says.

“You turned out to be more resourceful than expected,” Dr. Boyle says, his voice surprised.

“So you kidnapped my mother to get to me to get to Cole? Isn’t that a little excessive?” This cannot be happening. I shut my eyes for a moment, hoping that when I open them, this will all disappear.

It doesn’t. Owen is still standing close to me, a gun in his hand, and Dr. Boyle is still waiting for Cole to show up.

“Young Owen here convinced me that Cole would never cooperate unless there was a very real threat to you.”

“Owen convinced you?” I ask bitterly. “More like you convinced him. We both know just how
convincing
you can be. You probably mesmerized him!”