Girl in the Shadows Page 2

  The circle fan looked easy, done right. This was.

  The other boy cackled in response and nudged the brown-haired boy’s shoulder. To his credit, he stepped away from his howler monkey of a friend.

  “Name’s Desmond, but you can call me Dez,” he said, tipping his chin down to me before starting to walk away. “And that’s not magic,” he added, pointing at my cards.

  Yes, it was. It wasn’t what I was most proud of, but the hours of practice that single technique had required to master scrolled through my brain, the endless time spent training my fingers to find the right position automatically. I could count on one hand the number of magicians who could do it as well as me.

  “It’s impressive anyway,” he tossed over his shoulder.

  I stood in offended silence. He stopped and called back, “Auditions are this way, Girl Who Hasn’t Told Me Her Name Yet.”

  I could have introduced myself then, but I decided it was smarter to keep something up my sleeve. Still, I trailed them through the grass and vehicles, arrogant Dez and his cackling sidekick. Dez had one of the black envelopes in his left hand. I was curious what his act was.

  We reached a table set up outside the giant tent, where a few business-suited women were collecting invites and checking names off a list.

  I waited until Dez was done signing in before I approached. The petite woman taking names and dispensing numbers barely even glanced at the much-labored-over fake ID that provided me with a different last name. I hadn’t been able to resist giving it a showy flair, so my new handle was Moira Miracle.

  Mostly I didn’t want Dad to know I was here, which would be inevitable if people found out I was his daughter. I also worried my real identity would set expectations I couldn’t live up to.

  I handed her the black invitation.

  She squinted at it, then at her list, before frowning up at me. “This wasn’t yours,” she said. “We’ve already given this spot to its rightful owner.”

  Crap. This was something I hadn’t prepared for.

  “But it, um, found its way to me. So you might as well give me a chance?” I hated that it sounded like a question. That it was a question.

  The woman cleared her throat.

  And Raleigh stepped into view, dressed in his full stage suit and a top hat embroidered with a spooky skeletal head. “There was a lot of confusion when I showed up without my invite, Pixie. But now everything is clear to me,” he said, drawl more pronounced than usual. Raleigh never showed annoyance in an out-of-control way. “You picked my pocket.”

  I couldn’t believe this. “I thought you dropped it on purpose.”

  “I didn’t drop it.”

  “I’m not lying. I—”

  “Regardless,” the suited woman said, “you can only audition with an invite. There were a limited number distributed, and this one’s taken. He’s already been seen and hired. Sorry.”

  I felt like I’d been sucker punched. “Raleigh?” I had to stoop to pleading with him to help me.

  “Does he even know you’re here?” he asked.

  He meant Dad, of course.

  Dez appeared beside us. “Problem?” he asked, giving the woman at the table a smile I would’ve had to admit, if pressed by some instrument of medieval torture, was charming. And practically irresistible based on her eye-batting reaction to it. “I can vouch that she’s an incredible magician,” he said.

  Raleigh was giving Dez a who’s this guy? look.

  “He’s right,” I said. “And I’m guessing if Raleigh’s hired, then your main magic act is covered, though he might let me open?”

  Raleigh shook his head, and I rushed on. “But even if I can’t do that, I’d still like to audition to work the midway crowd. You’ll need people to keep them lingering instead of going to the main tent before it’s time. Close-up is what I’m most experienced at.” While I had my bigger illusion ready to go, I’d never performed it for a crowd. Getting a spot was my main goal, and I was sure I could convince Raleigh, given time.

  The woman glanced between Raleigh and me, and then at Dez, still smiling and charming her pants off for some reason.

  Please, please give me a chance. I considered holding my breath. Maybe if I went for four minutes, she’d be impressed enough to cave.

  “I’ll have to make a note,” the woman finally said. “But I’ll allow you inside, Miss Miracle. Without an invitation, you’d better be a miracle.”

  two

  I resisted the urge to leap into the air. A magician needs to cultivate a certain mystery.

  “I will be entirely miraculous,” I said, smiling. “And thank you.” I wanted to thank Dez, but he grinned at me and disappeared back inside the tent. Leaving me to face Raleigh, who took my elbow after I accepted my audition number.

  “You’ll be last,” the woman said.

  I awkwardly pinned it on my lapel one-handed as Raleigh steered me through the people gathered outside the tent: a tattoo-covered contortionist bent backward in wheel pose, one leg pawing the air; a man with bulging muscles twirling a thin woman over his head; a guy playing music on a theremin for what could only be some kind of modern freak show. Most of them would have been right at home at an audition for Cirque du Soleil.

  “Moira,” Raleigh said, releasing me, “what are you doing here?”

  “Auditioning. Dad’s going to force me into college this fall. I can’t convince him—you saw that—so I have to prove he’s wrong. I have to go after this another way.”

  “Moira,” he said again, “you shouldn’t be here. I have to call him.”

  “Please. Don’t do this to me.”

  “I never had family who wanted to protect me, Pixie,” Raleigh said, giving the impression of lightening up, even though I was sure he hadn’t.

  “Or to hold you back. You risked everything. You know my mom’s never been in the picture and so Dad is overprotective. He’s going to overprotect me right out of what I want to do.” I put a hand on Raleigh’s arm. “I won’t be any trouble, I promise. Besides, I’m eighteen now. Technically I can do whatever I want.”

  “Playing the motherless-child card is low.” Raleigh sighed. “You still have to audition, and it’s a tough crowd. And if you do make it, the minute you’re in trouble, I’m calling him.”

  I gave a little leap in the air. So much for my air of mystery. “You won’t regret this. There won’t be any trouble.”

  “Wrong, but I seem to be doing it anyway,” he said. “Let’s go in.”

  The stands inside the tent were half-full, and a panel of four judges occupied a table between the audience and the center ring. One of them was the Cirque’s owner, the famously wealthy Thurston Meyer. I recognized another as Jules Maroni, the wire walker who’d become a huge star almost overnight, but then botched the last show of the season. I’d seen playbills for a competition featuring her when I was in Paris with Dad over the summer. And here she was back for the new season, which I respected. The other judges were an older woman with a polka-dot scarf knotted at her neck and a girl with short hair wearing a man’s suit and bow tie.

  I scanned the stands to find a place to sit and pretended not to see Dez wave from where he sat near the middle. He patted the bleacher beside him.

  Raleigh nudged me toward the end of the second row, then ticked his chin up in Dez’s direction. “You know that guy?” he asked.

  “No, but I owe him one.”

  “Be careful how he collects,” Raleigh said.

  “Ew,” I said. “But thanks for the Cro-Magnon response and the fake-big-brother act.”

  “Don’t forget you owe me too,” he grumbled.

  What I hadn’t thought about was that venturing inside meant watching the rest of the auditions before mine. They hadn’t been lying. It was a tough scene. Everyone was so good, and some of them still didn’t make it. The judges deliberated after each performance and made their decision on the spot. The tent slowly cleared out of people there to audition and filled with circus perf
ormers hanging out and watching. I tapped my fingers on the stands, getting more and more nervous. By the time the older woman turned and nodded to me, I was sprung as tight as a gun cocked to fire for a bullet catch.

  I stood up, taking a few deep breaths on my way over.

  Thurston Meyer smoothed back a swoop of brown hair. “It’s a good thing we’re not the same size or we’d always be wearing the same outfit,” he said.

  It took me a few pounding heartbeats to understand what he meant: he was wearing a T-shirt now, but in the promo photos his ringmaster’s costume was similar to my modified tux. “Right,” I said, trying to sound like I was in on the joke. “That would be awkward.”

  Not as awkward as this moment, but . . .

  The older woman shook her head the tiniest fraction, her hand coming up to the scarf at her throat, and consulted a list in front of her. There was handwriting beside one of the names on it. She leaned over to exchange a whisper with the girls next to her. Jules Maroni looked me up and down, almost like she was trying to place me. The girl in the suit did a survey too, though she smiled apologetically at me. Jules said something back to the older woman. The woman handed Thurston the sheet of paper.

  “Aha, the invitation thief,” he said. “I don’t think your behavior should be rewarded. We sent scouts all over the country to make that list. Those spots were earned.”

  I swallowed. “Give me a chance to earn one now.”

  “We should,” Jules chimed in.

  The owner didn’t react to that, other than to give me a hard assessing gaze, not unlike one of Dad’s when he was sizing up a girl new to his show. “Act name?” he asked.

  “The Miraculous Moira. I want to do close-up magic for your crowds, with an escape twist.”

  He crooked his head to where Raleigh sat. Raleigh, who didn’t bother to speak up in support. But it must not have mattered. “Since you seem to know the magician we’ve already hired, let’s see what you can do,” Thurston said.

  The tent had grown silent, more than it had for the other auditions so far, and I scanned the stands. Dez grinned at me and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen him audition yet, even though I was supposed to be last.

  You came all this way. You can do this.

  “Miss Miraculous?” Thurston prompted.

  I took the handcuffs out of my pocket and held them up, dangling. I removed a deck from my pocket with my other hand. My fingers trembled, which they never did.

  I gave a stiff smile to the panel of judges. Thurston and the older woman already seemed bored, but the girl in the suit continued to smile and Jules seemed interested. I closed the cuffs around my wrists with an audible click, and that perked them up.

  “Playing cards have existed since at least the ninth century, which we know from a record set down by the writer Su E, telling of Princess Tongchang using them in imperial China. And yet the mysteries any ordinary deck of cards can present are still vast. The ability of simple cards to amaze is undimmed.” I walked toward them, shuffling the cards, handcuffs and shaky hands notwithstanding. It had taken an age to find cuffs that allowed enough movement for me to do this, and another age to learn how to work with the cards while wearing them.

  “Pick a card,” I said, holding them out. “Each of you.”

  Each of them did. I motioned for them to reinsert their cards back into the deck, looking away so I didn’t see where. Something was . . . off. The feeling could just be nerves, but I had the sensation that I was hovering outside my own body. And not only that, specifically hovering way up high in the top of the tent spire above us. Like some force was pulling me there. Was it stage fright? I could have all the skill in the world, but it wouldn’t matter if I sucked at performing.

  “Good,” I said as I backed away, trying to ground myself. “Keep the card at the forefront of your mind. Let it be the only image there.”

  I shuffled several times, cutting the deck again for good measure, but it was like a puppet was doing it for me. I controlled the movements, but I wasn’t in control of them. I almost dropped the cards when a shuffle went wide, and I had to pull against the cuffs.

  Time to wrap this up.

  I advanced a few steps closer, holding the deck flat on one palm, waving the shaky fingers of my other hand over it like a diviner. Someone in the stands laughed, but I refused to look in that direction. I picked up the card on top of the deck. “Is this your card?”

  I flipped the card to show its face and held it up at Thurston, and without waiting, flipped the next, showing it to the older lady. “And yours?” Then the third to the nice girl. “And yours?” And then to Jules.

  There was dead silence.

  Thurston exchanged a look with his fellow judges. “I’m afraid not. Thank you for your—”

  It was like I’d plunged from above back into my body. I gave a flourish and was out of the handcuffs, had them stashed back in my pocket.

  “Not yet!” I raised my hands.

  I’d come so far. Failing would mean Dad was right and I couldn’t be a magician.

  I steeled myself, pretending it was only these four judges and me. But I didn’t believe it. I refused to look over and see Raleigh’s no-doubt-disappointed face. What if he told my dad about this? He’d think I was an amateur, overpromising; no one did card tricks in handcuffs.

  “One more chance?” I asked.

  “Wow us,” Thurston said. “The cuff trick was good. The card trick was amateur hour. We’re here to be wowed, just like the patrons of our shows.”

  I launched into some patter, feeling more on solid ground. I’d go simple and do the circle fan again, but double it for difficulty. “The circle is a familiar and comforting shape to us. It can represent a planet, a life. The circle is a whole, not unlike the ring I stand in.” I swapped my smaller deck for two slightly larger ones, which felt more substantial in my hands. Both had roulette-wheel backs.

  I made an infinity symbol, a figure eight, swooping my arms through the air and ending with them straight out to each side. The fans began to form, my hands arranging the cards into their red, white, and black wheel pattern. I willed the judges to be impressed.

  “A circle leaves nothing to chance,” I said.

  Except . . . I couldn’t quite complete the circle on one side for some reason. My hands started to tremble again. And I started babbling. “A circle’s like, uh, a rainbow joined with another one, surrounded by gold . . . on all sides.”

  A flood of heat burst through me like I was at the center of a fire, standing inside a flame so large it filled the entire tent. When it was gone, my hands could have been burning. I glanced over at my right hand and dropped the cards in both. They flew everywhere.

  But not before I saw that the backs of the ones on the left side had changed. They were a rainbow of colors as they landed on the ground around me, a rainbow of colors edged in a thick band of gold. The others were the same as they’d been at the beginning, roulette pattern in place.

  I stood there, gaping down at the transformed cards until Thurston said, not unkindly, “Thank you. That’s a wrap on—Oh, wait, somehow we have one more act to see.”

  I didn’t move. My fingertips were still hot. I’d freaked out and failed miserably.

  I was also either hallucinating or I’d just done actual magic.

  three

  Fighting to breathe, I bent to gather the cards I’d dropped with such epic clumsiness. I ran my fingers across the smooth surface of the transformed back of the first one I picked up. A check of my fingertips—which felt normal again, not overheated—revealed nothing unusual. No paint came off the cards. But the backs were definitely a rainbow bordered in shiny gold. How?

  My hands were shaking again, but I finally assembled the cards into a stack and shoved it inside my coat pocket. I took another deep breath and started to walk out of the tent. Outside in the sunshine, I could try to figure out what in the world had just happened.

  Magic was
n’t real.

  “Approach the table,” the older woman judge said, her words stopping me. She beckoned with red nails.

  I scanned the tent. Everyone was looking at me, most with pity. Raleigh stood behind the judges, with the grace to seem confused by my floundering. The girl in the suit at the table wore an expression like I’d told her I was dying.

  It’s okay. I’m not. I already died during my act.

  “Come to the table,” the older lady prompted again, waving me over.

  “Of . . . of course.” The words barely made it out. I bit my lip against a panicked smile and walked toward her. This whole thing really might be a hallucination or nightmare. As I walked, I pinched the skin on my arm inside my jacket sleeve, hard, since that’s what people always did in these situations in movies.

  Ow. So much for being asleep. Then again, I hadn’t slept that much for the last few days, so that could explain it . . .

  I stopped in front of the judges and shrugged off my coat. The air was a welcome hit of cool on my sweat-soaked shirt.

  “I’m sorry I wasted your time,” I said.

  Dez joined us at the table, stopping in front of Thurston. Great.

  At least I’d given a fake name. If Raleigh stayed quiet, it could be like none of this ever happened. I could slink back home and tell Dad I’d decided against summer at Cornell. He’d be so happy to have me back home for a few more months that he wouldn’t question it much. Hopefully, I wouldn’t start hallucinating like this all the time.

  But the elegant older woman wasn’t ready to let me go yet. Her eyes narrowed, considering. “Let me see one of those cards,” she said.

  I blinked at her.

  Dez leaned a hip against the table, and his leg made a dull bang when he did. Silver knives were held in place by sleek leather straps on his forearms, along his torso, and down the thighs of his pants.

  “Nan?” Jules Maroni frowned at the older woman. They did resemble each other.

  The older woman ignored her. “I would like to examine one of your cards. Now.”