Honest illusions(BookZZ.org) (18 page)

“Perhaps not. As we merchants conferred to complain about our troubles, it came out that someone we knew had been in the shop each time the losses occurred. Coincidence, perhaps.”

“Coincidence?” Max arched a brow. “An unlikely one to be sure. Why do you come to me with this, Madame?”

“Because the visitor to each of the shops was Roxanne.”

Madame pressed her lips tight as she saw Max’s face change. Gone, vanished was the concern, the interest, the obvious desire to help. In its place was a dangerous rage that burned out of his eyes.

“Madame,” he said in a voice no louder than a whisper and as frightening as a sword. “You dare?”

“I dare, monsieur, because I love the child.”

“Yet you accuse her of sneaking into your shop, stealing from those who love and trust her?”

“No.” Madame’s shoulders lifted. “I do not accuse her. She would not take what was mine when in her heart she knows she had only to ask to be given. She was not alone on these visits, monsieur.”

Battling rage, Max shifted to pour brandies for both of them. He waited to speak until he had offered a snifter to Madame and had taken his own first sip. “And who was she with?”

“Samuel Wyatt.”

Max digested the information and nodded. He only wished he could say he was surprised. Only wished he didn’t feel the inevitability of it. He had taken the boy in, done his best by him, but he had known, somehow he had known that it would not be repaid in kind.

“You will give me a moment?” He moved to the door and called for Roxanne. Still in costume, she came to her father’s dressing room. Her smile blossomed when she spotted Madame.

“You came!” She scooted over to kiss the woman’s cheek. “I’m so glad you did. You can see the new illusion. Luke and I did it for the first time to an audience in the early show. We did it well, didn’t we, Daddy?”

“Yes.” He shut the door, then crouched down to lay his hand on her shoulders. “I have something to ask you, Roxanne. Something important. You must tell me the truth, no matter what.”

The smile died out of her eyes, turning them solemn and a little frightened. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Daddy.

Not ever.”

“You were in Madame’s shop early this week?”

“On Monday after school. Madame read the cards for me.”

“You were alone?”

“Yes—when she read the cards, I mean. Sam went with me, but he left.”

“Did you take anything from Madame’s shop?”

“No. I think I might buy the little blue bottle, the one with the peacock on it?” She looked at Madame for confirmation. “For Lily’s birthday, but I didn’t have my money with me.”

“Not buy, Roxanne. Take.”

“I . . .” Her mouth quivered open as she understood. “I wouldn’t take from Madame, Daddy. How could I? She’s my friend.”

“Did you see Sam take anything, from Madame, or any of the other shops he visited with you this week?”

“Oh, Daddy, no.” The idea had tears swimming in her eyes. “He couldn’t.”

“We’ll see.” He kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry, Roxanne. You have to put it out of your mind until after the show, and be prepared to accept the truth, whatever it is.”

“He’s my friend.”

“I hope so.”

It was after one when Max opened the door of Sam’s room. He saw the figure under the covers and moved quietly to the side of the bed. Wide awake, Sam shifted, blinked his eyes sleepily open.

Moonlight slanted over his face.

“Feeling better?” Max asked.

“I think so.” Sam offered a weak smile. “I’m sorry I let you down tonight.”

“That’s a small thing.” Max switched on the light, ignoring Sam’s grunt of surprise. “I’ll apologize in advance for this intrusion. It’s quite necessary.” He walked to the closet.

“What’s going on?”

“There are two ways to look at it.” Max pushed aside hanging clothes. “Either I’m defending my home, or I’m doing you a grave disservice. I sincerely hope it’s the latter.”

“You’ve no right to pry into my personal things.” Sam leaped out of bed in his underwear and grabbed at Max’s arm.

“By doing so I may save your reputation.”

“Come on, Sam.” Embarrassment evident by the redness in his cheeks, Mouse stepped into the room to pull Sam aside.

“You fucking creep, take your hands off me.” Sam jerked and bucked, and Mouse held firm. The fury that always bubbled beneath the surface burst out of Sam when he saw Max reach for a box on the closet shelf. “You goddamn bastard, I’ll kill you for this.”

Calmly, Max took the lid off the box and studied the contents. Cash was neatly stacked and bound with rubber bands. Some of the trinkets on the list Madame had given him were there as well. Others had probably been sold, Max assumed. There was a heaviness around his heart as he looked over at Sam.

“I took you into my home,” Max said slowly. “I don’t expect gratitude for that since you worked for your room and board. But I trusted you with my child, and she trusted you as her friend. You used her, and in such a way that you’ve stolen a piece of her childhood along with these. If I were a man of violence, I would kill you for that alone.”

“She knew what I was doing,” Sam spat out. “She was part of it. She—”

He broke off as Max struck him hard across the face with the back of his hand. “Perhaps I’m a man of violence after all.” He stepped forward so that his eyes were close to Sam’s. “You’ll take your clothes and leave tonight. I’ll give you what pay you have owed to you. You’ll not only leave this house, but the Quarter. Understand me, I know every inch of the Vieux Carré. If you’re still in it by dawn, I’ll know.

And I’ll find you.”

He turned and, taking the box, started out. “Let him go, Mouse. See that he packs his things and his things only.”

“You’ll pay, you bastard.” Sam wiped at the blood on his lip. “I swear to Christ, you’ll pay.”

“I have,” Max said over his shoulder. “By subjecting my family to you.”

Sam grabbed a pair of jeans off the back of a chair. He sneered at Mouse while he tugged them on.

“Get your rocks off watching me dress, faggot?”

Mouse flushed a little, but said nothing.

“I’ll be glad to get the hell out of here anyway.” He pulled out a shirt. “The past couple of months I’ve been bored out of my gourd.”

“Then get moving.” Luke stood in the doorway. His eyes glittered. “It’ll give us time to fumigate the stink in here from a creep that uses a little kid to cover his ass.”

“Don’t you think she liked to be used?” Grinning a challenge, Sam stuffed his remaining clothes in a denim laundry bag. “That’s what females like best, asshole. Just ask Annabelle.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Well now.” Sam shrugged into the jacket Lily had bought for him. It would keep him warm through the winter. “Since you ask, maybe you’d be interested to know that while you were being the good little trouper tonight, I was busy fucking your girl’s brains out.” He saw the fury on Luke’s face, and the disbelief. His lips spread over his teeth. “Right on that ugly flowered couch in the living room.” Sam’s grin was hard and cold as ice. “I had her out of those red lace panties in five minutes. She likes to be on top best, doesn’t she? So you can give it to her real deep. That mole under her left tit’s sexy as hell, don’t you think?”

He braced, eager for a fight, as Luke leaped at him. But Mouse moved fast, grabbing Luke and dragging him toward the door. “It’s not worth it,” Mouse kept saying. “Come on, Luke, let it go. It’s not worth it.”

Sam’s laugh echoed after them as Mouse shoved Luke toward the stairs. “Go out and cool off.”

“Get the hell out of my way.”

“Max wants him to go.” Mouse stood firm at the top of the stairs. He would, if he had to, knock Luke down them. “That’s all he wants. You go outside, take a walk. I gotta make sure he goes.”

Fine, Luke thought. Dandy. He’d go out all right. And he’d wait for Sam. He stormed down the steps and out into the courtyard. His blood was up, boiling Irish in his veins. His fists were already curled and ready. He planned to wait on the street, follow Sam for a block or two, then beat the shit out of him.

But he heard her crying. He was turned toward the street, his body braced, his mind full of violence. She was crying as if her heart were broken, curled up on a stone bench by the dormant azaleas.

Perhaps if she’d been given to tears, Luke could have ignored it and gone about his business. But in all the years he’d lived with the Nouvelles, he’d never once heard Roxanne cry since her bout with chicken pox. The sound of it reached inside and took him by the heart.

“Come on, Roxy.” Awkward and out of his depth, Luke walked to the bench and patted her head.

“Don’t do that.”

She kept her face pressed against her knees and sobbed.

“Jesus.” However reluctant he was, Luke found himself sitting beside her and drawing her into his arms.

“Come on, baby, don’t let him make you cry like this. He’s a bastard, a freaking creep.” He sighed and rocked and found himself gradually calming. “He’s not worth it,” he said half to himself, realizing Mouse’s

words had been right on target.

“He used me,” Roxanne murmured against Luke’s chest. She had control of the sobbing now, and nearly felt strong enough to stop the tears. “He pretended to be my friend, but he never was. He used me to take things from people I cared about. I heard what he said to Daddy. It was like he hated us, like he’d hated us all along.”

“Maybe he did. What do we care?”

“I brought him home.” She pressed her lips together. She wasn’t sure she could forgive herself for that.

“Did he—did he really do that with Annabelle?”

Luke let out a breath and settled his cheek against Roxanne’s hair. “I guess he probably did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“If she’d let him, just like that, I don’t think she was really mine anyway.”

“He wanted to hurt you.” She stroked her finger down Luke’s arm, comforted. “He wanted to hurt everybody, I guess. That’s why he took things. It’s not like what Daddy does.”

“Uh-uh,” Luke said absently, then froze. “What?”

“You know, stealing. Daddy wouldn’t steal from a friend, or from somebody who’d get hurt because of what he took.” She yawned. The crying jag had tired her out. “He takes jewels and stuff like that. It’s always insured.”

“Jesus Christ.” He pushed her off his lap so that she landed hard on her rump on the bench. “How long have you known about all that? How long have you known what we’re doing?”

She smiled indulgently, her swollen eyes sparkled with moonlight. “Always,” she said simply. “I’ve always known.”

Sam left the house, but he didn’t leave the Quarter. Not when he had a score to settle. There was only one way he could have been found out so completely. Roxanne had ratted on him.

It was easy to convince himself that she’d known what he was doing from the beginning. She’d waltzed into those shops, and had waltzed out again, making it all so slick. And then, she’d turned on him, so that he’d been kicked out of a warm bed, humiliated. She’d have to pay for that.

He waited for her. He knew the route she took to school. He’d even walked her there himself from time to time, trying to be nice to her. Trying to be nice, Sam thought, grinding a fist into his open palm. Look how she’d paid him back.

He spent several cold hours huddled in an alley trying to keep out of a thin, chill drizzle. He hated being cold.

It was one more thing she’d pay for.

He spotted her and drew back a little. There was no need for the precaution, he noted. She was dragging along, her knapsack over her back, her eyes cast down. He waited, and when she was close enough, pounced.

Roxanne didn’t even get out a scream when she was grabbed from behind and yanked into the alley.

Her fists came up—she was a natural fighter—but they lowered again when she saw Sam.

Her eyes were still puffy. She resented that. Resented that he’d driven her to tears. But they were all used up. Her chin leveled, and her eyes, perfectly dry, gleamed dangerously up at his.

“What do you want?”

“A nice little talk. Just you and me.”

There was something in his face that made her want to run, something she hadn’t seen in it before. There was hate, yes, but there was a dullness about it. Like a rusty razor that would infect as well as slice.

“Daddy told you to leave.”

“You think that old man scares me?” He shoved her, surprising more than hurting her as she slammed back into the wall. “I do what I want, and what I want right now is to settle up with you. You owe me, Rox.”

“Owe you?” Forgetting surprise, forgetting the ache where her shoulder had bumped stone, she pushed herself away from the wall. “I brought you home. I asked Daddy to give you a job. I helped you, and then you stole from my friends. I don’t owe you jack.”

“Where are you going?” He shoved her back into place when she tried to stalk past him. “Off to school?

I don’t think so. I think you should spend some time with me.” He slid a hand around her throat. She would have screamed then, loud and long, but she couldn’t draw enough air. “You ratted on me, Rox.”

“I didn’t,” she managed to whisper. “But I would have if I’d known.”

“Same thing, isn’t it?” He shoved her again so that her head knocked painfully into the wall.

Fear had her reaching up, without thought, without warning and raking her nails down his face. He howled, his grip loosened. She nearly made the mouth of the alley before he caught her.

“You little bitch.” He was breathing hard as he sent her sprawling. There was anger, there was pain, but there was also excitement. He could do whatever he wanted with her, anything, everything, and no one would stop him.

Her head was swimming. She saw him coming as she pushed herself up on her hands and knees. He was going to hurt her, she knew, and it was going to be really bad. Aim low, she told herself, and hit him hard.

She didn’t have to. Even as she was bracing for the attack, Luke flew into the alley. He made a sound in his throat as he leaped on Sam. A sound Roxanne could only describe as wolfish.

Then there was the thud of fists against flesh. She managed to gain her feet, though her legs wobbled.