When the Curtain Rises (4 page)

The room went black. When the lights came up
again, the man who had introduced himself to me
on deck stood on a raised platform at the front of the
lounge. I watched, spellbound, as he performed one
trick after another. He tossed a birdcage with a live
dove inside it into the air, and the bird and cage both
disappeared. He put tiny plants inside hollow tubes and
withdrew mature rose bushes. Beneath the magician's
skillful fingers, the roses disappeared, reappeared and
changed color.

For his final illusion of the evening, Mr. Kellar
allowed himself to be bound, gagged, tied to a chair
and locked securely inside a wooden spirit cabinet. There was only space for one person inside the small
cabinet, but it became clear almost immediately that
the magician had been joined by some ghostly presence. Mr. Kellar's assistant knocked on the cabinet door, and
in response we heard a low moan, and the curtain that
hung in the cabinet's window began to ripple slightly. A ghostly arm appeared through the window, and as it
was withdrawn we heard the sound of a horn, then the
clanging of a bell, then the crashing of a tambourine,
then all three instruments together.

When Kellar's assistant opened the door a few
moments later, the magician appeared before us again,
still gagged and tied to the chair, every rope in place.

I sprang to my feet instantly, overwhelmed by what
I'd just seen. “Bravo,” I called out. Kellar flashed the
audience a crooked grin and bowed once he had been
freed.

The scene ended, and Chloe became aware of her surroundings again. She shook her head and blinked. It had all been so clear, as if she'd been watching a movie. She wanted to read more, but the warm breeze playing over her body and the soft burble of the fountain beside her made the words on the next page blur together. Her eyelids had grown impossibly heavy. She put the book down and let her head drop onto her outstretched arm. A moment later she was asleep.

She was walking through a hallway lined with mirrors. From the neck down, her body was reflected accurately, but a different face peered out at her from every panel. When she stopped in front of the last mirror, she saw her own face reflected in the glass. Then the glass rippled and a stranger's face shimmered into view. The woman in the mirror spoke, but no sound escaped the glass. Chloe thought she saw the woman's lips form her name, but as hard as she tried, she couldn't make out anything else.

Chloe woke up suddenly, the stone bench hard against her back. For a moment she thought she heard a woman whispering nearby, but it was only the soft hum of some bees in a honeysuckle vine. She stretched her arms and sat up.

“Come join us, dear,” Kitty called from the front veranda after supper.

Chloe took a seat at the wicker table. Her great-aunts and their housekeeper sipped their tea and chatted as the sun sank in the sky, turning the canal across the street candy-floss pink. The night air was warm, but a cool breeze from the water kept the veranda from getting stuffy. Throughout the evening, passersby of all ages smiled and waved up at the women on the porch. Many of them paused to exchange a friendly word or two as well.

“Do you know
everyone
in Little Venice?” Chloe asked. “You must have introduced me to half the town already.”

“Your great-aunts have been fixtures in this town for almost a century,” Abigail told Chloe proudly. “Anyone who's been here more than a week knows the famous McBride sisters.”

“Famous?” Chloe asked.

Bess raised one eyebrow. “Abigail's laying it on a little thick. She does that.”

“I do not,” the housekeeper insisted with a sniff. “Your great-aunts were famous stage actresses, Chloe. People traveled from miles around to watch them play all the starring roles at St. Mark's Theatre.”

“Nothing we loved more than being on the stage,” Kitty said, her eyes sparkling. “Born performers, both of us. It runs in the family, you know—there's no escaping it.”

“What about my grandfather?” Chloe asked.

“Henry would have ended up on the stage too if he hadn't died so young—just after your father was conceived. He was going to be a magician, just like his father. And then there's
your
father and his saxophone.”

“And Chloe McBride.” Abigail beamed. “Future concert pianist!”

“Or teacher or diplomat,” Bess added quickly, frowning at the housekeeper.

Chloe tried to appear indifferent, but she could feel the color rising to her face. She lifted the napkin from her lap and placed it beside her empty teacup. “I'm a little tired. I think I'll go to bed now.”

“I'm so sorry,” said Abigail, lifting her fingers to her mouth. “I didn't mean to upset you.”

“I'm fine,” Chloe insisted, forcing a smile. “I just haven't adjusted to the time difference yet.”

“Of course, dear,” said Kitty. “You go on in. We'll see you in the morning.”

C
hapter
F
our

I
t took Chloe a few seconds to remember where she was when she woke up the next morning. Sunlight was streaming through the window, and Dante's book lay open on the floor where it had fallen in the night. Chloe picked it up before going out to find her great-aunts.

“Were your dreams sweet, my dear?” Kitty asked as she poured Chloe a glass of orange juice.

“They were different,” Chloe said as she accepted the glass. “I dreamt I was on a ship in the middle of a storm. And then somehow I wasn't on the ship anymore; I was trapped inside the painting on the landing.”

Kitty put the pitcher of juice down. “Interesting. Your father used to dream that he was inside the painting too. He loved that picture so much that we hung it on the wall across from his bed when he stayed with us. But then he started having dreams about it every night, and we thought it would be wiser to move it back to the landing. He was becoming obsessed with it.”

“Did he ever mention anything strange about it?” Chloe asked as Kitty offered her a plate of toast.

“Strange?”

Chloe looked across the table at Abigail, but the housekeeper's eyes were fixed on the toast she was buttering. “I don't know,” said Chloe. “Like, did it ever seem to change slightly? As if the people in it had moved, or the sun was in a different place?”

“Abigail,” Bess interjected, glaring across the dining room. “Have you been telling tales?”

“I haven't told her anything,” Abigail said, her cheeks flushing. “Chloe saw what she saw.”

“I don't know that I saw anything,” Chloe said. “I'm sure it was just my imagination.”

“There's a lot of superstitious nonsense floating around about this house,” Bess told Chloe. “Don't let yourself get swept up in it. That's exactly what it is—superstitious nonsense.”

After breakfast, Chloe crossed the road to the canal path and walked into the center of town. She had no particular destination in mind. She let her feet carry her down one street and up another until a tantalizing smell lured her into a shop with a bright pink and white awning. She came out a few minutes later with a generous scoop of raspberry ripple ice cream in a huge waffle cone.

Chloe retraced her steps to the stone bridge that crossed the canal. She took a seat on the edge of the wall to watch the water while she ate. She was just finishing the last few bites of her cone when a girl with sandy blond hair peeking from underneath her bike helmet braked abruptly a few feet away from Chloe. “Hi,” said the girl.

“Uh, hi,” said Chloe.

“You're Chloe, right?” the girl asked, resting her elbows on the handlebars of her mountain bike. “I saw you on the McBrides' porch last night. Kitty told my father you were coming to stay this summer.”

“Just for a month,” said Chloe, not sure what else to say.

The girl took off her sunglasses, and the corners of her wide mouth turned up in a grin. “Sorry. I'm Nyssa. You're probably wondering why Kitty was talking to my father about you, right?”

“I kind of get the impression that she's told half the town about me.”

Nyssa laughed. “Probably. Anyway, Kitty was talking to my father about the vaudeville festival he's organizing at the theater at the end of July. It's an annual thing in Little Venice.”

“A vaudeville festival?”

“Yeah, you know—like the old traveling shows with minstrels, comedians, magicians. Stupid animal tricks, stupid human tricks, the whole bit. It's kind of corny, but it's fun.”

“My great-grandfather was a magician,” said Chloe.

“I know,” said Nyssa. “Your great-aunts taught me a few of his tricks to perform in the junior talent show. That's why Kitty was talking to my father about you. She wanted to know if it was too late for you to enter.”

Chloe felt a familiar knot forming in her intestines. “She didn't mention it to me.”

“Well, it's not too late. My father said he'd be happy to add your name to the program.”

Chloe shook her head. “I can't. ”

“Kitty says you're an awesome pianist,” said Nyssa. “I know a junior talent show doesn't sound like much, but the prizes are pretty decent. First prize is a five-thousand-dollar scholarship.”

“Wow. That's like—wow.”

“I know. Some old rich guy willed a lot of money to the festival a few years ago. Pretty amazing, eh?”

“I still can't,” Chloe said as her teeth found her lower lip.

“Why not?”

“I'm not really—it's just—I'm sorry,” said Chloe, fumbling for a way out of the conversation. “I'm supposed to be back for lunch in ten minutes. It was nice meeting you, though.”

Nyssa shrugged. “You too. I'll catch you later, I guess.” She lifted her feet to the pedals of the bike and began to cycle away. “Hey! Think about it,” Chloe heard her call back over her shoulder.

Chloe slipped out into the back garden after supper that evening, made herself comfortable on one of the benches and began to read the next chapter of Dante's memoir. It wasn't long before the story took hold of her again.

I was walking on the upper deck of the ship the morning
after Mr. Kellar's performance when the magician suddenly came up behind me.

“Well, what did you think?” he asked.

“It was like nothing I've ever seen!” I said. “I
couldn't sleep! But I was troubled by the spirit cabinet,” I admitted, crossing myself quickly. “It's not right to
summon things from beyond the grave!”

Kellar exploded in laughter. “Oh, my boy! I'm a
magician, not a spiritualist! It's all illusion, every last
bit of it. I picked up that particular trick when I was
not much older than you, as a matter of fact. That it
fooled you is the sincerest compliment you could ever
pay me.”

I felt my face flush. “Of course. I just meant—could
you tell me how to become a magician?” I found myself
asking in a rush.

Kellar stared at me. “How serious are you?”

“Very.” My hands were trembling, but my gaze was
steady.

Kellar nodded. “So, magic has claimed another
victim. That's the way it was with me. One show and
magic reeled me in.”

“Can you teach me, then?”

“I don't think you understand what you're asking,” Kellar said. “Magic isn't something you learn over
night. There's a difference between knowing how a trick
is done and knowing how to do it, and learning that
difference takes years.”

He must have seen the disappointment in my face. He hesitated for just a moment before smiling and clap
ping his hand on my shoulder. “I can't give you years,
but assuming the weather is favorable, we have eight
days before we disembark in Montreal. I could teach
you a trick or two, give you a few pointers to get you
started. After that it's up to you.”

True to his promise, while our ship steamed across
the Atlantic, Kellar showed me how to make coins
appear and disappear and how to make handkerchiefs
vanish up my sleeves. I practiced day and night.

“Not bad,” said Kellar. “But if you're serious about
making it in this business, you'll need a new name. Something more impressive for the stage.”

A new name seemed appropriate for the new life I
had chosen, and so I immediately re-christened myself
Dante Magnus.

On the seventh day of our voyage, Newfoundland
came into view. We docked in Montreal a few days
later. I begged Kellar for permission to go with him
on his North American tour, but he turned me down,
saying only that he already had more help than he
needed. Instead he offered me a letter of introduction to a man named Dickey in a traveling show near
the prairie city of Winnipeg. I took the train west and
found the show set up on the banks of the Red River,
just south of the city.