Authors: Nikki Jefford
“Can I look now?” Gray asked after her
friends maneuvered her inside the theater. Cool air prickled her
bare arms as they moved inside.
“I think it’s safe,” Hannah replied.
Gray was not only grateful for the return of
her sight but for the free use of her face now that Hannah’s hands
weren’t clasped over her.
Marco led the procession down the theater
aisle. Down, down, down they went until they approached the edge of
the stage. Gray’s eyebrows shot up as Marco turned to grin with
self-satisfaction. “Front row.”
Gray followed Marco into the aisle and took
the seat beside him, Hannah on her right. “How did you manage
this?”
Marco stretched his legs out in the space
between his chair and stage. “My contact saw to it.”
“I thought we agreed no contacts.”
“You. Not me.”
Marco tapped his foot on the floor and began
humming softly. Hannah turned toward Will, who whispered, “They say
he’s one of the best, if not The Best.”
Gray sighed. “You brought me to see a
comedian, didn’t you?”
“He’s not a comedian! Just wait and see.”
Gray slouched in her chair and stared at the
curtain.
Marco poked her in the shoulder.
“¿Cómo te
sientes?”
“
Mucho mejor
,” Gray replied. And it
was true. Carlo had just been a distraction; at least it helped
when Gray explained it to herself that way. Even when she had been
with the Spaniard, there had been a clock ticking in the back of
her brain, causing her to wake early each morning with worries
about the future.
If
Señora
Contreras
agreed to let Gray stay longer, she could settle in. Barcelona
could become her home for a time.
Gray didn’t realize she and Marco were
conversing in Spanish until Hannah leaned over and asked, “Why are
you speaking in Spanish?”
Gray shrugged as Marco answered, “We should
all be speaking together in Spanish. English is not my first
language.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “Sorry, Marco, but
you’re outnumbered.”
The lights dimmed and the clatter around them
quieted. Even Hannah grew silent.
A tall, slender man in a purple suit walked
to the edge of stage, coming to a stop between the curtain and
audience. He spoke into a microphone, center stage, and speaking in
Catalan, welcomed them all to the evening’s performance. His words
poured out so fast, Gray could hardly make them out. But two words
didn’t require translating.
Adrian Montez.
When the curtain rose, it was like a
tablecloth being pulled out from under dishware, only instead of
staying in place, the plates, cups, and utensils came crashing down
to the floor below.
Someone please tell Gray she had not only
heard wrong, but was HALLUCINATING . . . or having a very bad
dream.
It couldn’t be.
She had not traveled halfway around the world
to end up in the front row of Barcelona’s Teatre
Poliorama
to see Adrian Montez live
on stage.
Applause erupted around Gray after Montez the
Magician was announced as the evening’s live entertainment. Hannah
hooted beside her, clueless that her attempt to cheer Gray up with
a night of festivities was crashing down with each footfall Adrian
made across the smoke-filled stage.
At first Gray could only make out the pleated
bib of his tuxedo and white gloves. The rest of his body was
shadowed in the dim light. An eerie tempo cranked through the sound
system. Adrian stopped to light a cigarette, his side profile
silhouetted in the dim haze. When he faced the audience a spotlight
slowly illuminated his face.
Smoke now clung to his legs thick as London
fog. The set, complete with a Victorian gas lamp, looked like
something straight out of a Jack the Ripper horror flick.
Maybe this really was a nightmare.
Except when Hannah pinched Gray’s arm in
excitement, she did not wake up.
Now that Adrian was illuminated, Gray could
see his dark hair parted and slicked to one side. He held a top hat
in one hand and a cane in the other. The cane he twirled in his
fingers before lighting one end with his cigarette. After it caught
fire the flame traveled up. Adrian’s hand followed the flame as
though guiding it, twisting his cane till the end pointed toward
the ceiling. When the flame reached the end he grabbed it and fiery
sparks erupted in his hand. The fire turned to wings as a dove
appeared and landed on Adrian’s fingers.
The theater thundered with applause. Adrian
took a slight bow and lifted his arm. The dove took to the air then
perched on the gas lamp. Adrian secured his cane and hat against
the lamp pole and walked forward.
Little did the riled-up crowd realize that
the man before them was no magician, but a warlock—and a dangerous
one at that.
Hannah turned to Gray, mouth widening in that
pleased way that showed off all her molars. “Isn’t this brilliant?
When we saw that an old-school magician was in town we couldn’t
resist. And he’s an American.” Hannah nudged Gray with her
elbow.
Yes,
huge
comfort that.
On Gray’s opposite side, Will smiled as big
as Hannah. They really had no idea the suffering they were
inflicting on her. Gray tried to catch Marco’s eye. Surely the
suave Italian had dragged his heals when presented with the idea of
watching a hack performer, but Marco’s eyes were glued to the
stage, and he clapped along with the rest of the crowd.
Gray now wished she’d confided in Hannah
about why she left home. At least then her friend would know why
she was fidgeting in her seat, eyeing the theater’s exits.
Gray had not put forty-eight states and the
Atlantic between herself and home only to end up face-to-face with
one of the reasons she’d left.
Well, not exactly face-to-face. Maybe Adrian
would continue to look over her head rather than directly down into
the blasted front row her friends had so cheerfully procured.
“Good evening,” Adrian said. He cast his
voice across the audience without ever approaching the microphone.
“I am Adrian Montez, world famous magician, and tonight it is my
pleasure to show you wonders that will dazzle your senses.”
A Catalan translator standing on the far
right of the stage spoke hastily after Adrian finished.
Gray momentarily forgot both Spanish and what
little Catalan she’d learned. It hummed merrily like a familiar
tune without the words. Only Adrian’s speech registered. Although
he addressed the audience, his words moved directly from his mouth
to her ears.
He removed one of his gloves and tossed it
into the air where it turned into another dove that flew to the gas
lamp to join his friend. By the time the first act was finished,
Adrian had set no fewer than fifteen fires and produced six
doves.
Gray was beginning to think she’d make it
through the performance when Adrian switched gears halfway through.
The lighting became brighter, the music and set more whimsical. The
audience laughed when Adrian swallowed a sword, pulled it out, and
moved his lips around as though removing a bad taste.
“I think it’s time someone else went under
the blade, don’t you agree?”
The audience hooted. At that point, they
probably would have cheered if Adrian suggested setting the
auditorium on fire. Two men wheeled a table with a casket-sized box
on top. Gray knew exactly what it was. Apparently a handsaw wasn’t
impressive enough for Adrian. The circular blade attached to the
far side of the table had a five foot wide girth and razor-sharp
teeth.
Gray pitied Adrian’s unfortunate assistant
even if it was just an act, but no woman in sequined leotard
appeared.
Adrian grinned across the stage. “Now I need
a volunteer from the audience. . .”
Before the translator could open his mouth to
repeat Adrian’s words, Hannah was yelling, “Here! Over here!”
pointing frantically at Gray.
Hannah missed the desperation behind her “No”
and before Gray had a chance to run for the nearest exit, the
spotlight blinded her. Gray didn’t realize she’d been crouching.
Her chair wasn’t going to swallow her up no matter how much she
wished it. Gray straightened and squinted into the light—a deer
caught in the headlights.
“Wonderful! Come on up, young lady.”
There wasn’t a hint of recognition in
Adrian’s voice. Maybe he couldn’t see into the audience. Stage
lights could be blinding.
Gray grabbed Hannah’s arm quickly. “Go up for
me.”
“No way!”
“Hannah . . .”
“I think someone is experiencing performance
anxiety,” Adrian said.
Laughter.
“Go on! Everyone’s waiting!” Hannah said.
She’d never spoken that harshly to Gray before.
As Gray stood, she had to bite down on her
lower lip to keep it from trembling. Little did her friend know she
was sending Gray up to the executioner’s block.
“Here she comes,” Adrian said as Gray slowly
made her way up the stairs on the side of the stage.
Gray was shaken, not just to see him, but
that someone from her past stood not eight feet away in a country
so lively yet unbearably lonely at times—a personal connection to
her former life, albeit an unwelcome one.
Adrian betrayed no signs of familiarity.
“What is your name?”
Gray glared at Adrian. His expression
remained annoyingly neutral. From below, Hannah and Marco yelled,
“Gray!”
Adrian smirked. He turned to his audience. “I
don’t know. She doesn’t look gray to me.”
The audience laughed. Worst of all, she heard
Hannah giggling the loudest.
“Now then, Miss Gray, if you will step this
way.”
Gray wasn’t about to step anywhere near the
table with its giant saw. Adrian noticed her hesitation and said,
“Don’t be afraid, my dear. I’ve done this a thousand times . . .
and only lost one volunteer.”
The audience laughed.
Adrian reached his gloved hand out. Gray
looked from the white palm of his hand to his gleaming eyes and
took a step back.
“It appears the young lady is
frightened.”
“Don’t be scared, Gray!” Marco yelled.
“There is nothing to fear,” Adrian called
out, sweeping an arm toward the table.
“Go on, Gray!” Hannah hollered.
Could Gray come up with a plan in the ten
steps it took to reach the table? Apparently not. She refused
Adrian’s hand and approached the box warily.
There was no teleporting herself out of this
one. Se
ñ
ora Contreras would never allow
Gray back to the sanctuary, and Gray wasn’t about to let Adrian
ruin her summer in Spain. There was also the audience to consider,
blissfully unaware that they were in the midst of real magic.
Once Adrian’s back turned to the audience he
looked Gray over with an intimacy that bordered on inappropriate.
At that moment, Gray felt as though she would have been better off
facing him in a dark alley than in front of a mob screaming for her
blood.
And if she let Adrian put her in the box, it
most likely would be her blood.
The last time she saw him she had taken his
blood, and now he had her right where he wanted her.
Adrian’s lips curved up. The fitted suit made
him appear older and more menacing than Gray remembered. Gone was
the voice of the performer. Adrian lowered his voice. “Go on, Gray,
get in.”
That’s it, she was out of there. They could
all think of her as a coward. Better a coward than a fool. But as
she backed up, Adrian caught her by the arm and hauled her to the
stepladder. “Don’t ruin my show,” he hissed in her ear.
Before she could think of what to do next,
Adrian had her in the box and the lid snapped over her body. Gray’s
head hung out exposed to the audience. She waited for Adrian to
joke with the spectators, but now that Gray was secure in the box
his eyes looked wild with intent.
Gray glared at him. “If you hurt me . .
.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, Gray.” He leaned
down to her ear and whispered, “I want to make you scream.”
Gray momentarily forgot to breathe.
The gleam in Adrian’s eyes looked downright
diabolical. For the first time, he frightened her. Finally, Gray
was able to suck in a breath. She tried to move around, but the box
had her thoroughly encased.
Adrian straightened and snapped his fingers.
The saw shrilled to life. Panic seized Gray’s throat. At least she
wasn’t screaming. Adrian began lowering the saw. His lips moved,
but his words were drowned out by the wretched sound of steel
spinning toward her. Gray realized too late Adrian was mouthing the
words of a spell. Not that it would have changed anything had she
known earlier. The moment Adrian had secured her in that box her
fate had been sealed.
The blade came down. Splinters flew as it bit
into the box. Gray’s eyes grew wide in her face. The noise was
deafening, and suddenly the blade touched her skin, ripping through
her abdomen. That’s when Gray began to scream.
Her shriek was more blood-curdling than the
whine of the saw. She drowned the noise out with her own voice. Why
wasn’t someone rushing to her aid? Then she heard it, through the
steel and sound of her own screams, faintly—laughter.
Gray wished for all the world she could stop
screaming. She only stopped when the blade stopped. Adrian was
using his presenter’s voice again. She didn’t feel her body move
when the table swung to the side as Adrian displayed the cut down
the middle.
Gray blocked him out. She concentrated on her
breathing. She was still alive. Whether or not she was still whole,
she would have to see.
Laughter bubbled up from the crowd and washed
over the stage. In that moment Gray hated them all: the audience,
Adrian, even her friends. Anger had replaced panic. Her teeth
gnashed.