Girl in the Shadows (7 page)

No, no, no. Don’t ruin this for me. Thurston’s watching. Everyone is watching.

I would not be humiliated in front of Dez—not again—and not after he’d made that stupid heart around someone else while I looked on. I’d have to get out of this quicker.

I wriggled as hard as I could, forcing one hand down to undo the bottom strap that looped around my legs. When my fingers slid flat, open-palmed, over my pants pocket, I detected the shape of the coin within it. Dez’s penny, not one of my prop coins.

Seconds from panic, my hands on fire, I sucked in another breath and fumbled the bottom buckle free.

“Is he okay?”

“Call a doctor!”

There were gasps in the crowd, and the heat coursed through me so much I was almost afraid to look. But they weren’t talking about me. Raleigh and Thurston were crouching over Dez’s prone body.

Dez had his hands over his chest, and he was shaking. Other people in the crowd moved, and it blocked me from being able to see him.

But my hands had greater play now, and it was about forcing them around with the intent and strength to undo the buckles on the back. The straitjacket loosened finally as I did so.
I can do this.
Escape the danger of myself. Find out what was happening to Dez.

I prayed.

The last buckle resisted for a second, my hand heating it. I forced it loose, and then whipped the straitjacket off, tossing it aside. The roaring in my ears became the roaring of the crowd. The fire of my pounding heart was like the fire in my hands.

But then that receded, and I was . . . back to myself again. I didn’t feel that distance, that sense of careening out of control toward something I didn’t want to happen, of flame flaring deep inside and devouring me whole. I could think and act without panic, and though I wanted to collapse in exhaustion, I didn’t.

The surge of magic seemed to have passed. I fought through the crowd, a few people applauding despite the fact that someone was obviously down among those gathered. When I reached Raleigh and Thurston, Dez was sitting up, waving them away. He looked scared, his face pale and covered in a light sheen of sweat.

“What happened?” I asked.

“We need to get you to a medic,” Thurston said to Dez.

“I’ll be all right,” Dez choked out. “Moira here almost gave me a heart attack.”

Had I?
I started to shake my head, and he added, “With her beauty.”

He gave a smile that was hardly convincing, but if he could say something like that, maybe he would be okay. The petite drill sergeant who seemed to run things around here showed up then and pushed us aside. “The doctor’s waiting,” she said.

Dez didn’t protest as she assisted him up and led him away.

“Good job, Miss Miracle,” Thurston said. “Nan was right about you.” But he cast a worried glance after Dez and the woman.

“Nice work, Pixie,” Raleigh said. “Next time you’ll get your applause.”

The crowd dispersed into the tent, because showtime had arrived. Thurston and Raleigh left too. I checked my pocket and took out the coin to see if I’d transformed Dez’s penny like I suspected I had.

Yes, it was different.

But not in any way I could have expected.

The misshapen copper now held the shape of an anatomically correct heart. No longer a smooth circle, it had rounded metallic muscles, and veins and arteries poking out.

What had hurt Dez was no mystery. Not to me. It was my out-of-control magic.

I sank to the ground, not caring if anyone saw. Dez could have been seriously injured—maybe even killed—and it would have been a complete accident.

My palm curled gently around the metal heart.

eight

I flipped onto my other side again in the darkened bedroom. With every move, the air mattress rustled beneath me.

No way I was getting any sleep tonight. Instead, I’d spent the last however-long tossing and turning, thinking about my magic. More than that, thinking about Dez. Word after the last show had been that the doctors hadn’t found anything wrong with him, but I hadn’t seen him again yet. My phone was beside the mattress, and I reached over and swiped to see what time it was. If it was after two, I’d stay put.

Only midnight.

I eased out of bed, grabbing my jeans and shoes from the floor. But I wasn’t quiet enough, because Dita sleepily said, “Moira?”

“Can’t sleep. I’m going to take a walk.”

There was enough light through the bedroom curtain from a security pole outside to let me see her shift onto her elbow. “You need company?”

“No, you stay here. I’ll be quiet when I come back in.” I paused. “Where am I likely to find anyone who’s up?”

“There’s usually poker or a fire pit at the edge of camp. Dad plays sometimes. But it’ll be mostly crew.”

Something told me that any hope I had of locating Dez was there. He didn’t seem the type to go to bed early
or
make a fussy distinction between performer and crew. I pulled the jeans on and tucked in the oversized T-shirt I’d been attempting to sleep in. At the last second, I went back to grab my jacket, in case it was chilly out.

The night was cooler than the day had been but still sticky with humidity. I kept the jacket on anyway, like it was armor.

I’d hurt Dez—without even the slightest intention. I’d been completely out of control again.

I crossed the moonlit grounds, winding between RVs and campers, toward what I thought was the camp’s back edge.

So far, my magic gave me no warning. The first time had been during my audition, so while performing, and Nan Maroni had said it was woken up by something. The second time had been when I touched her supposedly magic tarot cards, when she’d been explaining to me how magic was real. The third, obviously, when I caused Dez to fall to the ground, creating a heart I suspected might be an exact replica of his—I had no idea how that was possible, but right now
anything
seemed possible—out of the penny he’d given me. So while performing again.

Not a good sign that two out of three had been while doing my preferred kind of magic.

What was I capable of now? Anything except making the magic come when called. And learning how to control it, like Nan said I had to for safety.

Passing into a shabbier part of camp, I detected voices in the distance, and some laughter. I followed the noise and came to a portable fire pit, just as Dita had predicted. A scattering of people stood drinking from cans or bottles on one side, and on the other a small folding card table had been set up. Several guys sat around it on flipped-over waste cans.

Dez was one of them.

Breathing. Alive. Appearing to be well.

I approached the table. Brandon was the only other person I recognized. A man with a short devilish beard was shuffling, in a dark suit jacket that struck me as overly formal. Particularly given that one of the other players wore a wifebeater with nothing underneath. Dez’s attention was glued to the shuffler.

I needed to hear from Dez that he was okay. And . . . to know what he’d felt. I walked around the table and crouched beside him. “Can we talk?”

He did a double take in surprise. “Not a good time,” he said, low.

A spike of irritation shot through me, but I had no right to that.

The man with the beard said, “Desmond, give her your seat. I’ll deal her in.”

“Um.” I hesitated. “I’m not staying.”

“Have a seat,” the man said.

“She can take mine,” Brandon said, hopping up from his perch on Dez’s other side.

Dez shrugged at the man, but his voice was tight when he spoke again. “Do you know the rules?” he asked me.

Please,
I wanted to say.
I’m from Vegas.

The man said, “She can pick it up. I said I’d deal her in.”

Dez’s shoulders set, but he said nothing. No quip. That was a first.

I went to Brandon’s overturned can. “I’m a quick study.” I figured a single hand of poker couldn’t take that long.

The man in the suit coat began to deal us out hands for five-card stud. A basic variation of poker at best. The only problem was, he was using a mechanic’s grip on the cards, holding them just so, his finger curled around the side. Also a basic variation—a cheat.

And an easy one to spot for anyone who knew cards like I did.

“You have a lot of practice dealing?” I asked.

The man smiled at me, teeth glinting, and didn’t answer.

Dez couldn’t get too close, so he leaned over a little. “Just play. What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see how you were.”

“Cute girl,” the man said. “But remember, Desmond, you’re here for a job.”

There was something about him that made my skin want to peel off and crawl far, far away, and the cheating wasn’t even it.

“Oh, I won’t forget, Rex,” Dez said. But with no hint of his usual grinning good humor.

The other players picked up their cards, so I did too. He’d dealt me two pairs. A glance around the table told me no one else was very happy with their cards, though of course they all tried to hide it. But part of a magician’s job is to read people. A carefully neutral expression can tell you as much as a grin or a grimace, in the right circumstances.

All I wanted to do was talk to Dez, but now this Rex guy was making me angry. Somehow I could sense that I had the only competitive hand. He was trying to lure me into betting big, at which point he’d let me win, lure me in for another hand, then take my money. I probably read “rich girl” to him, just as he read “weird creep” to me.

Not so fast, weird creep.

I watched him as the others began to throw their money into the kitty. No way I was going along with this, and I just happened to have a regulation deck in my pocket. I always did. It wasn’t hard at all to quickly palm one each from the pairs and replace them, no one the wiser.

The man leaned forward slightly when the betting came around to me.

“What’ll it be, girl?” he asked.

“I got nothing,” I said. “I fold, I guess.”

And I tossed my cards on the table, faceup—against the rules, but I wanted him to wonder where his scheme went wrong. No pairs in sight.

“Funny,” he said. He alone had a chair with a back, I realized, when he leaned into it. He rested his hand on the table, the deck still in it. “I thought you’d put in something good. I’ve heard of some monster gambles at the circus. I was just telling these boys earlier . . . I know stories about things won and lost that would make you curl your toenails or claw out your eyes. Things that a man would kill for.”

Holy shit.

“Huh,” was all I managed.

“You’re not supposed to show your cards,” Dez said. “Not until the end of the game.” He made a scoffing noise. “Sorry she ruined this hand, guys. I better walk her home.”

He didn’t move, though, despite my jumping to my feet, more than ready to go. The man inclined his chin. “Probably best. But come on back, Desmond. Throw your hands back in, boys, and I’ll redeal. Night, princess.”

I resisted the urge to make a face, mostly due to the way he made every hair on my arms stand up with that eye-clawing, man-killing remark. Brandon and Dez could be called boys, but the others in the game were grown men. I wondered why they didn’t protest being called otherwise.

Dez got up quickly and took my hand. He practically pulled me away from the game and away into the night.

“Who is that guy?” I asked. “Does he work here?”

Dez stopped and whirled to face me. “No . . . He’s visiting. A family friend,” he said. The RVs were a maze in front of us. We hadn’t quite reached them yet, and we were far enough from the fire pit for privacy. “Do you know how stupid it was for you to try to cheat him?”

“I wasn’t trying to cheat. He was.”

“Moira,” he said, reaching for my hand again. I let him take it, though I didn’t understand why.

“I don’t want to talk about that,” I said. “How are you? What happened before? In front of the tent?”

“Oh, that. Nothing. Doctor called it an ‘unexplained cardiac event.’ I signed something and refused the rest of their tests. I feel fine.”

I wished I had a better view of his face. “What did it feel like?”

“This is going to sound wussy,” he said.

“There are worse things.”

“Like somebody set my heart on fire,” he said. His thumb stroked across my hand. “Maybe it was you.”

A strangled noise escaped me, and he went on. “It hurt a lot. But I’m fine now. Over as quick as it started.”

He sounded certain, but . . . “You’re sure? Maybe they should run the tests.”

“Fate has its plans, and it doesn’t consult us. Why bother?” he said. Then he tilted his head to one side. “And here I thought you were mad at me.” He was getting closer. “I thought you wanted to talk about what happened before that.”

He released my hand and put his over his heart, something I was beginning to recognize as a go-to move. It reminded me about the now-heart-shaped coin, and that he was probably right about not needing any tests. The coin was still in my pocket.

My heart beat harder. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You wound me, my lady.”

“We’re doing Shakespeare now? You’re only mad north-north-west?”

“You’re the one who’s mad.” He said it like simple fact, indisputable.

“Why would I be mad?” Was that why I’d transformed the penny? Why my magic had reached out for Dez?

That surge of magic seemed to come when I was upset, and this boy could definitely upset me. I knew I should get out of there. Get as far from him as possible and stay that way. It couldn’t happen again.

“You’re mad because I lied to you,” he said. “I don’t blame you. But I wanted to explain. I was coming to find you when . . . unexplained cardiac event.”

Okay, so it stung that he’d figured out seeing him make the other heart had hurt me. Stung like a cut from a sharp little knife. He had no right to figure that out. We didn’t even know each other.

You could’ve killed him.

But my regret didn’t speak. My pride did. “You think I didn’t know it was a lie? That you don’t make a pretty knife-heart for every girl you meet?”

The girls at the theater had warned me more than once about the danger of charm. Beware the smooth-tongued boys, the ones flattery comes easy to. There’s nothing wrong with
wanting
to believe it, even with believing what they say is true—you are beautiful, you are smart, you are unique—but it’s foolish to assume it
means
anything.
Sweet nothings
was an apt phrase. Taken seriously, sweet nothings became bitter regrets. The girls were certain of it.

Dez sighed. “I wanted it to be true when I told it to you.”

“That’s not how the truth works. Something either is or it isn’t.”

“You’d know more about that than me. The truth doesn’t come easy to me,” he said. “It’s not like throwing knives. It isn’t part of the world I come from. Lying is always easier there, how you get what you want.”

Just like the girls at the theater had said. I was intrigued, despite myself. “That’s an awful way to get what you want.”

“Probably,” he said.

His hand cupped the side of my face and he leaned in for a kiss. And for whatever stupid reason, me and my beating heart kissed him back. His lips moved softly against mine, and blood roared in my ears.

What was I doing?

A warmth spread through me, and I worried it was the beginning of a flare of my magic. I couldn’t risk it.

I pushed him away.

“Moira?” he asked, his breathing unsteady.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” I said.

I fled into the night, fully aware that it was silly to be disappointed that he let me go without a protest. The weird creep had ordered him to come back, after all.