The Masquerading Magician (7 page)

Twelve

The area above the
stage was cast in shadows, and I couldn't make out the faces of the two figures who crept along the catwalk. Yet from the glimpses I caught of the long-haired man, he looked vaguely familiar.

As he stepped past a set of metal lights and into the dim glow cast by the Ghost Light, I got a better look at his face. I stifled my gasp. It was the elderly volunteer from the show the previous night. Wallace Mason, who'd played the Floating Lady!

Between Peter and Penelope's strange actions and the lurking figures above us, I was more confused than ever. What was going on here? Stage show “volunteers” were often planted in the audience, themselves performers who were part of a show. It was an easy way to be sure the volunteer would behave exactly as they were supposed to in a complex illusion. But Wallace and his accomplice weren't revealing themselves to Peter and Penelope. They weren't part of the act.

As soon as Peter lifted the lid of the trunk, I temporarily forgot about the men spying on the magicians. Stuck to the inside of the trunk's lid was a poster for the Queen of Magic, Adelaide Herrmann. That's who Persephone had reminded me of the previous night. Adelaide Herrmann was the first famous female magician who had equal billing. Along with her husband, Alexander Herrmann, she had captivated audiences across Europe and America in the late 1800s.

The two magicians removed a child-size backpack from the trunk, secured the lock, then left. A heavy door clanked shut. It echoed through the empty theater.

Dorian and I didn't dare move. Any sound we made would alert the other intruders to our presence.

“They're gone,” a somber voice said from above.

“Shhh.”

“You're too careful.”

“And you're not careful enough. I bet they've got it with them. There's no use staying here.”

“We might as well look around. Since we're here.”

The men climbed down from the rafters. They made enough noise on the rungs of the narrow metal stairs that Dorian and I nodded at each other and crept from our hiding spot behind the curtains. Dorian scampered toward the back door, but I hung back when I saw what he'd left in his wake. Another small piece from his left foot had fallen off and was rolling along the floorboards. Another claw? I had no idea if stone claws could grow back on their own, so I ran after it. If I was able to save Dorian's life, I wanted him to be as whole as possible.

Where had it gone? Footsteps sounded behind me. I didn't have time to find it.

I caught up with Dorian just inside the back door. He climbed back into the duffel bag just as the lights clicked on above us.

“I
told you
I heard something,” Peter's voice said. I turned and saw him and Penelope staring at me and Dorian.

“What have you got there?” Penelope asked, indicating the lumpy sack that contained Dorian.

“She's stolen something. Only I can't tell
what
would be that shape.”

“Stolen?” I said. “I wouldn't dream of it. I knocked and nobody answered, so when I found the door open—”

“The door is locked,” Penelope said.

“Maybe one of your crew forgot to lock up,” I said. “It was wide open. Try it yourself.”

“Why would we do that?” Peter said. “If it's unlocked, all it means is that you're a good burglar. Pen, why don't you search her for lock picks.”

Penelope crossed her arms and leaned against the black wall. She smiled as if she was watching an amusing television show she wasn't participating in. “If she's that good, Peter, I'll never find the lock pics. They could be under a fake scar, hidden in her mouth. She might even have swallowed them if she's a regurgitator.”

Dorian made a gagging noise as she spoke the word “regurgitate.”

I quickly coughed to cover up the sound, but Penelope looked to the duffel bag.

“I'm terribly curious,” she said, “about what you've got in the bag. We like our possessions to remain inside the theater. I'm sure you understand.”

“I'm sorry. I think we got off on the wrong foot. I live locally and run an online business called Elixir. We've got lots of really cool antiques that I thought could serve as props in your stage show. I brought over one of my statues to show you. Just to give you a sense of the kind of things I've got.”

I hoped Dorian was up for playing dead as a stone gargoyle. I unzipped the bag. Inside I found a stone gargoyle, his snout flared more than usual and his face set in an angry scowl.

“Remarkable,” Penelope said. “Peter, are you looking at this?”

He wasn't. He was tapping the screen of his phone. “Elixir, huh. This is your website?” He held up the screen.

“That's right.”

“You expect us to believe you make a living off this site? It's not even mobile friendly.”

“I set it up before smartphones,” I said.

“How is that possible? You can't be older than twenty-five.”

“I'm twenty-eight, actually.” That was the age I was when I accidentally discovered the Elixir of Life.

“We'll take him,” Penelope said.

“What?”

“The gargoyle. The reason you're here. We'll take him.”

“Oh! Oh. This is an example. A prototype. He's not for sale. You can order a custom carving through me, to your specifications.”

“We like this one.”

“Great. I can have one made that looks identical.” I named a price, hoping it would be too high.

“Perfect.”

“Perfect?”

“Is there a problem?” Penelope asked.

“Of course not,” I stammered, thinking I would have been better off letting them think I was a thief. Where was I going to find someone who could make a cast of Dorian? “I'll come by on Monday with some paperwork and to discuss materials options.”

“We look forward to it,” Peter said.

I cringed when the exit door squealed as I departed, even though there was no longer any need for secrecy. In the alley, I hesitated. Why hadn't they called the police? Isn't that what people would do if they found a burglar in their place of business? Unless they really did have something to hide.

But there was something more important than worrying about the magicians' motives. To hide, Dorian had turned himself completely to stone. Would he be able to bring himself back to life?

As I lugged the duffel bag to my car, I got my answer. The bag kicked me.

“That hurt,” I said.

“Not as much as it's going to hurt me to have a plaster cast made of my body,” the bag mumbled.

“You're lucky they didn't see you moving.”

An older woman passing by on the sidewalk gave me a strange look. Better wait until we were inside the car to say anything else. I squeezed the bag into the space in front of the passenger seat on the floor of the pickup truck. Once we were both safely inside, I leaned over and unzipped a few inches. A pouting gargoyle looked up at me.

“You okay?”

“Why,” he said thoughtfully, “did they not call the police when they saw you inside their theater?”

“That's what I was wondering.”

“And why did you not tell Monsieur Silverman you know him to be an alchemist? This was the point of our expedition!”

“Hey, what are you doing? You need to stay inside the bag until we get home.”

“I am attempting not to get out of the bag, but to stretch. I cannot move my legs.”

My own legs felt weak at that news. “Let me get you home.”

“
Non
!”

“What do you mean,
no
?”

“Do not worry about my present state. It is not what happens to me
today
that matters. The feeling is already beginning to return to my legs.” He wriggled inside the bag. “It becomes more difficult each time, Zoe. You must confront the magician.”

“You're forgetting something.”

“I forget nothing. I simply do not say everything at once. I am a civilized Frenchman,” added the face peeking out from the old duffel bag.

“The two intruders,” I said.

“Yes. I recognized them as the volunteers from the performance last night.”

“There was only one volunteer. The man with the long gray hair was The Floating Lady.”

“The other man,” Dorian said, “was the friend with whom he sat in the audience.”

Where had the other trespassers gone? What were they after? And what was the item Peter and Penelope had removed from the trunk that Wallace and the other man had noted?
I bet they've got it with them,
he had said.

“I'm not going to rush off and confront anyone without knowing what's going on,” I said. “I've got a better idea.”

Dorian didn't experience heat and coldness the same way people do, so I left him inside my locked truck, hoping he didn't stretch so forcefully that he'd rock the truck and draw attention to himself.

I was in luck. The box office was opening. Opening night had been sold out, but I hoped the early box office hours meant there were still tickets left. I approached the ticket office and bought myself a ticket for that night's performance.

Thirteen

It had been a
long day already, but it was only mid-afternoon when I heaved the heavy duffle bag containing Dorian up my driveway. I set it down abruptly when I saw who was waiting for me at my front door with a bag of groceries in his hand.

“Max!”

“I thought you forgot about me and our barbeque plans.”

“Of course I didn't forget about you,” I lied. I had missed Max while he was gone in China more than I'd imagined I would, but now that he was back, I didn't have time for him. Dorian's dilemma was taking up all of my energy—both mental and physical. I felt a wave of anger, immediately followed by guilt for being so selfish. It wasn't Dorian's fault. I wished the world was a different place, one where I could tell Max where I'd been. One where I could have brought him with me. I knew he'd be able to help, and more importantly, he would understand me on the deeper level I wanted. Maybe I could—

“Did you want to say something else?” he asked. “Your expression—”

I shook my head. “I feel bad that I lost track of the time. That's all. You know how I get caught up in nature when I go on a walk.”

“You drove up, Zoe.”

“Of course.”
Damn.
“That's because I drove to River View Cemetery to go for a walk
there
. I like some variety.”

Max's relaxed stance stiffened. “I thought most of that place was roped off after the mudslides. It's dangerous up there.”

God, I was awful at lying. I kept digging myself deeper and deeper. “It's so beautiful there. And only part of it is cordoned off.”

“You didn't go to the unstable steep parts, did you?” Max asked as he came down the porch steps, a grave look on his face. I knew he was conditioned to be a stickler for law and order, but the concern on his face was far greater than the situation called for.

“Why the third degree?” I eased the heavy bag containing Dorian onto the front lawn.

“It's nothing. Can I help you with that … sack?”

“I'm fine. It's just one of my antiques. I was having it cleaned. I, um, picked it up on my way home.” I needed to change the subject. “Let's see what you brought with you.”

“Fresh from the farmer's market.” Beet greens poked out over the edge of the brown paper bag he held. Several bunches of asparagus rested on top, and I spotted purple garlic and Brussels sprouts underneath. It was a bountiful spring harvest.

“I'm glad you brought food. Since I lost track of time, I didn't have a chance to go to the market.”

“And this,” he said as he handed me a bag of fragrant tea, “is the tea I mentioned last night. Hey, are you okay?”

I self-consciously tucked my hair behind an ear, careful not to tug too hard and pull out any more clumps. “What do you mean?”

“Last night, I thought it was the light of the theater, but you've got dark circles under your eyes. And your skin is pale.”

I inspected the bag of tea, ignoring Max's skeptical gaze. “It's spring. I've got allergies. Nothing to worry about.”

“This is the tea I brought back from China, but I'm getting my own spring garden started now, even though it's a little late. You'll find that one of the nice things about living in Portland is that we get enough rain that plants often thrive even during extended vacations.”

I smiled at Max. “My secret is elderberry. You know it looks out for the other plants, to help them out.” I turned to look fondly at the plant that used to be thought of as a garden's “protector,” then looked at Max with equal fondness. “I'm glad you're back. And I'm glad you're here.” I'd told him far too many lies in the last five minutes, but that statement was true. Even though I couldn't tell him as much as I wanted to, his very presence was comforting. I held out hope that one day I'd be able to tell him more.

“I missed sitting with you in my garden,” he said softly.

“While the sun set.”

“Then watching the night-blooming jasmine come to life.”

“You know,” I said, “you never revealed your secret for getting it to bloom off-season.”

“You want to know all my secrets?”

“A little mystery is a good thing, but you could at least tell me how your grandfather's birthday party was.”

“Didn't I? I told you he appreciated having his far-flung family gather around him one last time.”

“But what about
you
? How was the visit for you?”

“Visiting China. It was … Let's just say it's relaxing to be home, Zoe.” He took a step toward me, then abruptly jerked back. “What the—? Is that a battery-operated antique?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your sack. It made a noise.”

“There might be something else in the bag. Something with, er, batteries, like you said. I'd better get this bag inside. You can take the food into the kitchen.” I sighed. “I'll meet you there in a minute.” I let Max into the house before stepping back outside to retrieve Dorian.

“Set me in front of the hearth,” the sack whispered as I heaved it up the porch steps.

“I'm taking you to the basement,” I whispered back.

“I wish to stay upstairs,” he whined.

I closed the rickety front door behind us. “That's not a good idea, Dorian.”

“I do not trust that man in my kitchen.”

“Did you say something?” Max called from the kitchen, poking his head into the living room through the swinging door.

“Just the creaking floors.” I waited until Max disappeared back into the kitchen, then lifted Dorian's stone form from the bag and set him in front of the fireplace. It was a spot he liked, because even in his stone form he could see everything. I didn't feel good about leaving him in stone form for too long, but I couldn't have an argument with Max there.

When I stepped into the kitchen, the farmer's market vegetables were stacked on the kitchen countertop and Max was holding a mason jar containing one of my latest transformations—a sun-
infused healing lemon balm tea I was drinking daily to stave off the effects of helping to cure Dorian.

“It's a solar infusion,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Steeping dried herbs in the sun, rather than the kitchen, to unleash their healing powers,” I explained. Alchemy draws upon all the forces of nature, the planets being some of the strongest forces. Alchemists generally consult planetary alignments before they begin any transformative processes. The more complex the operation, or the greater the desired impact, the more important that alignment becomes. Each planet also has an associated metal, such as lead for Saturn, quicksilver for Mercury, silver for the moon, and gold for the Sun.

“I know what a solar infusion is. My grandmother did something similar when I was a kid. You'd get along great with my extended family. It's never made sense to me why it's worth all the effort. Especially moon infusions she'd steep under a full moon, thinking it was possible to harness the moon's power.”

“Max. You make your own tea. You have one of the most unique gardens I've ever seen. And not two minutes ago we talked about night-blooming plants!” If my hair wasn't so weak from the backward alchemy quick fix I'd been performing, I would have tugged at my hair in frustration.

“That's different.”

“Is it?”

In Max, I saw someone who'd once believed in all the possibilities of the world, but who couldn't break free from what he'd become. I hadn't realized it so clearly until that very moment. Max was walking on a tightrope, caught between two worlds: his childhood, with his herbalist grandmother who was an apothecary, and his adult life, working as a detective with a set of procedural and scientific rules that dictated his understanding of rationality. I knew it was nearly impossible to change a person if they weren't ready to change, but I believed Max could recapture the openness he'd once known. It didn't have to be a choice between two extremes. Once he realized that, I could open up to him, and we might have a chance for a future together.

I took the mason jar from his hands and set it back on the counter.

“Can we change the subject?” Max asked.

“What did you have in mind?”

“As lovely and complicated as this solar infusion of herbs is, it's not anywhere near as lovely and complicated as the woman in front of me.” Max stepped closer and ran his finger along my jaw. His breath smelled of fresh lavender and peppermint.

Max's dark eyes were different than those of anyone I'd ever known, because of what they showed me about his soul. I've known a lot of people in my lifetime. Faces blur together in my memories, but I've never forgotten people's eyes. Before the advent of photography, it was usually only wealthier people who had their likenesses captured through portraits, so I didn't retain physical reminders of many of the people I'd known. I remembered their eyes not because of a unique color or shape, but because eyes are tied to an outward expression that people themselves are unaware of.

“Last night,” Max continued, “I was hoping that we could pick up where we left off.”

“I'd like that.”

For a fraction of a second, I was self-conscious about my cracked lips and frumpy clothing. But with his eyes locked on mine as he stroked my cheek, I quickly forgot all about my own failings.

A faint knocking sounded. The front door? I couldn't be entirely certain it wasn't my imagination. Max either didn't hear it or chose to ignore it as well.

“Yo, Zoe!” Brixton's voice called from the backyard. “You in there?”

I pulled away from Max.

“I thought we were barbequing for just the two of us,” he said.

“I thought so too.” I opened the back door of the house, on the far end of the kitchen.

Brixton and his friends Ethan and Veronica stood in my backyard garden. Veronica's gangly frame towered over the boys. Her sleek black hair flowed past her shoulders, and I was pleased that she looked much more comfortable in her skin than she had even months before when I'd first met her.

“Hi, Ms. Faust, Mr. Liu,” she said.

“What's up?” I asked.

“Your face is flushed,” Brixton said. “Are you feeling sicker?”

“Sicker?” Max asked.

“He must mean my allergies.” I turned back to the kids. “Max and I were just getting a barbeque started.”

“I love barbeque,” Ethan said.

Veronica elbowed him.

Max laughed. “There's plenty.”

The miniature charcoal grill I kept in my trailer was only big enough to cook for two at a time, but there was enough food in my kitchen to feed an army, along with their counterparts. I asked Max to get the grill started while I collected ready-to-eat goodies. I pulled a carafe of iced tea from the fridge, selected an assortment of nut milk cheeses and breads, and washed an assortment of vegetables.

Because of Dorian, I kept my curtains drawn most of the time. Now that he was hiding in his stone form, I pulled open the kitchen curtains. I looked out the kitchen window and watched as Max began grilling two dozen asparagus spears along with full garlic heads wrapped in aluminum foil.

I was about to leave the kitchen to carry statue-Dorian into the basement so he could change out of his stone form, when Veronica opened the back door. She joined me inside while the boys stayed outside with Max.

“Now that Blue Sky Teas is serving my cooking,” I said to her, “I can't figure out your real motive for coming over.”

Veronica blushed. “We didn't come over
just
for food.”

“No?”

“Brix knows you've been working too hard lately,” Veronica explained. “What with getting up in the middle of the night to cook for Blue Sky Teas and managing your online business, Brix said you were bummed you didn't have time to fix up your spring garden like you wanted to.”

“That's why he invited you two over?”

She gave a shy smile. “Yeah, but he also promised Ethan you'd cook for us. Your pastries are so popular at Blue Sky Teas that they're usually gone by the time we wake up on the weekend.”

“Ah.” I looked on through the window as Brixton pulled back a giant stalk of fennel and let it go, snapping it directly into Ethan's face. I'd taught Brixton enough about gardening and plants for him to know the weed-like plant was hearty enough for roughhousing. He wouldn't dare mess with the dwarf lemon trees that were still finding their footing.

“Really?” Ethan said to Brixton, then sneezed. “That's the best you got?” He broke off a thick fennel stem and held it like a sword. The impact was diminished by the fact that the tip was a bunch of yellow flowers. Brixton snapped off a stem of cabbage left behind after I'd harvested the edible portion. As faux weapons went, Brixton's was a much better selection.

“So, um, Ms. Faust?” Veronica sat on a countertop with her cell phone in her hand. “Can I talk to you about something else?”

“Of course.” With the grim look on her face, I wondered what could be on her mind. Was she worried about how Brixton would react if she started spending more solo time with Ethan? I'd seen how things were headed with the trio of friends.

“It's your website,” she said somberly. “It isn't mobile friendly. Like, at all.”

“My
website
?” Was it really that bad? “There was no such thing as a smartphone when I built the site,” I said for the second time that day.

She gaped at me. “But how do you expect to sell anything?”

“I don't think my buyers are shopping on their cell phones.”

Her confused expression deepened. “Um, I could help you with it. You know, if you wanted. I'm kind of good at stuff like this.”

“I couldn't ask you to—”

“It's fun, so I'd be happy to. You don't have to use it if you don't like it, but I could play around and see if you like what I come up with. You at least need to fix your SEO.”