Girl in the Shadows (16 page)

nineteen

The answer to whether Raleigh knew about Thurston’s promoting me to his opening act got answered pretty quickly the next night when I showed up.

“Don’t bother asking, Pixie,” Raleigh said. “No, I didn’t get a vote. Believe me.”

The fact that he was still ticked at me was unfortunate, because I needed to know more about the coin and I’d planned to ask him. He told us he’d heard stories the night of the break-ins. But I knew Raleigh well enough to know he wouldn’t be sharing anything with me until he stopped being mad.

He continued, “And
you
are trickier than you seem.”

That was for Dita. She had tagged along to apologize.

Ouch on both counts.

“Raleigh, you know I respect you as a magician. You could try doing the same for me,” I said. “Dita was just helping me get a break. I don’t want to take your place. I swear.”

Dez swung through the flap of the tent. He had on his vest, his chest bare beneath. Distracting. He raised his hands and said, “For my next trick, I’ll turn this guy into . . . a guy who’s happy to have a kick-ass opening act.”

Brandon, following Dez, laughed, probably at the word
kick-ass
.

Dez smiled at Dita. “Congratulations to you for last night too, I hear.”

“Um, thanks,” Dita said, fidgeting, obviously a little embarrassed at the flattery.

“I heard that too,” Raleigh said, softening.

Dita said, “You did need to learn how to tie bow ties the right way.”

“True, your way is easier,” Raleigh admitted. He waved toward the exit flaps. “I’ll be back for my set.”

I shrugged. “Your loss.”

After saying it, I immediately wondered if I should have tried a different tactic. I didn’t want him to get upset enough about this to call my dad. I made a promise to myself to be nicer.

“What’s wrong?” Dez said, coming closer. “You’re doing that thing you do with your lip.”

“What thing?” I asked.

He lifted his hand and put his fingertip gently on my lower lip. “Chewing on it. I understand the impulse, but . . .”

I heard a choking sound and looked over to see that Dita’s eyes were as wide as the clock face that counted down my escape onstage. They met mine in a way that could only mean
I want to know
all
about this later.

Dez widened his smile to include both of us and dropped his hand. “I shifted my showtimes so Brandon and I could help out again. I promise to look pretty. Assuming you want me.”

Oh, did I.
My cheeks heated, and I said, “Please stay.”

My escape went as planned that night. Well . . . except for a white-hot flare of magic as I started to work free of the straitjacket.

Panic rose as I stared up at the glass lid of the coffin, and I thrashed against the fabric, burning up.
You have to guide it,
my mother had said. And so I did, visualizing my magic providing an assist as I undid the buckles and the straps. I surged free to a standing ovation.

Maybe my mom didn’t know everything. Or maybe I was being an idiot. But I basked in the applause, like I’d earned it all on my own with no magical help.

I swore using the magic wouldn’t change me. I wouldn’t let it. I couldn’t be who I wanted to be without performing.

Dez pulled me aside after I left the stage, frowning. “Where was the water?” he asked.

Oh. Right.
He would notice that.

“I can’t do it the same way every time,” I said, dodging. Not quite a lie. “You might figure out how it’s done.”

“I’m beginning to think I’ll never figure
you
out.”

“Good. I don’t want you to.” That at least was the absolute truth.

“Too bad I can’t seem to stop trying.”

“My resistance is futile?”

He pulled me against his chest and gave me a kiss that promised more to come later.

“What resistance?” he asked. “You coming to watch my act?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Then we were off, him to throw knives, and me to admire him while he did.

I was smoothing on lipstick backstage at the magic tent when Raleigh poked his head in—early. “Figured it’s probably time to check out my opener,” he said. Then he disappeared, presumably to find a good spot in the audience.

This meant we were back on speaking terms. He’d held out longer than I expected, so my relief was beyond genuine. We were in Saint Louis, our third day of shows here, in fact.

Good,
I thought. I needed to talk to him. I’d riffled through our RV trying to locate the coin, feeling like sneaky scum, and I kept continual watch for my mother at performances. No surprise—I hadn’t seen her again.

These first few weeks of the season had gone by so fast. If this was considered a more leisurely pace, I didn’t know how people in other touring shows survived. It felt like as soon as we started doing shows, we were back on the road, catching our breath for a half second, and then on to more shows. Only two months were left until the end of the season. I didn’t have a clue how long my mother had—but how could I not try to help her? Besides, then I could see her again. Talk to her again.

Maybe this was what being an adult was like. Not the in-control knows-everything feeling everyone pretended it was, but the constant sensation that everything was moving too fast and there was no way to slow it down.

Dad had sent a giant bouquet of flowers and a gourmet food basket to Amber’s address in Ithaca. Her voice-mail message had said, “I feel guilty eating this. But I’m still going to. Call your dad.”

Dez came in, so I knew it must be time to go on. I set aside my worries, something I was getting better at. Denial, my new friend.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Always,” I said.

We went out onstage together. I launched into my now-practiced patter, spotting Raleigh at the back of the tent. He stood in the corner behind the last row, arms crossed.

Dez helped me into the coffin, as usual. And as usual, his touch set off butterflies within me. We were getting closer. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t know me at all.

I pushed the button with my toe to expel the air and worked to get free. The heat of my magic burned through me, a searing flame I was almost used to, though it hurt every time. But no water appeared from thin air, and I guided the magic through my arms and fingers, making my best time yet.

The crowd applauded once I was successful and bowing before them—and Raleigh joined in before slipping out to get in costume and persona.

“Not bad,” he said when we rejoined him backstage. His assistant was there too, prepping the cabinet. Dez and Brandon left again to wheel off my equipment.

“Thanks,” I said, though it was hardly high praise.

“You’ll need to come up with something new before long. People will get tired of it. More importantly, you will.”

He might be right, but he was one to talk. I eyed his cabinet, where his assistant nodded to me before stepping inside. Caliban was with her, as ever.

“I am working on something else,” he said. “It’s just busier here than I expected. And buying equipment is expensive.”

“You don’t need to justify anything to me. I’m just grateful for the chance to be onstage. And I’m almost ready to test out a new illusion.” I hadn’t showed it to anyone yet, because I lacked a few supplies and I would need help to pull it off. This illusion would see me suspended in the air, precarious in a different way than in the coffin, and potentially much more dangerous.

But I was convinced I could handle it.

Raleigh pulled on his jacket and straightened the sleeves.

Dez and Brandon were still clearing the stage, so I chanced asking the real question I had for him. “Hey, you heard any more about that coin? The, um, magic one? I’m curious about it—whether anyone thinks it’s real.”

He frowned. “Like father, like daughter, I guess?”

I blinked. “What does that mean?”

“You know. All that stuff your dad collects.” He made spooky spirit fingers. “With supposed powers. Oooooh.”

“He does?”

He gave me a skeptical look. “Yes. You’ve been in the warehouses.”

I’d been in
the
warehouse. Singular.

“Oh, that stuff. Right.” Dad had been keeping a lot more secrets than I’d even realized. “So, you hear anything else about the coin? Any idea where it is? Dita worries,” I added, feeling like dirt for using her name.

“I wish. I see the security guys around, and I don’t think there’ve been any more break-ins. People still talk, but they don’t say anything new.”

“Really? What do you hear them saying?”

Raleigh shrugged one shoulder, sleek in his tux. “Just that it’s real, and that they’re looking for it.”

“They who?”

“The mysterious ‘they’ who are never defined. You’re awfully curious about this, Pixie.”

I was about to ask more anyway about whom he’d heard discussing the mysterious
they
and the coin, but Dez came back. He looked between the two of us with some suspicion.

“What are you two talking about?” Dez said. “You both look dead serious.”

“Nothing,” Raleigh answered.

“Whatever,” Dez said. “I gotta go. You coming?”

He meant to watch his act. “Of course.” He tugged on my shirt and gave me a quick kiss. I didn’t let myself worry about the fact that it was obviously for Raleigh’s benefit as much as mine.

Raleigh said nothing. The magician code meant he’d expected me to return the favor and watch his set. I went with Dez anyway, my new loyalty asserting itself.

He rewarded me with a grin when we got outside. “That guy likes you,” he said.

“No, he’s just being big-brotherly. Besides, I like you.”

“Good.”

Brandon was ahead of us in the crowd, and he’d stopped to talk to someone. It was that man from poker night. Weird, creepy Rex. He wore the same fedora-ish hat as the last time he’d made an appearance.

What was equally weird was that Dez stopped cold when he spotted them.

“Dez? What’s wrong?”

He stood frozen for another second, then seemed to relax.
Seemed to
because his shoulders were still tight, but he forced the tension out of the hand that was in mine. Magicians notice these things.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’ll see you after, okay?”

He kissed my cheek again and took off, heading straight for Brandon and Rex. The man reached out and took his shoulder when he got to them. It was impossible to tell from my vantage point whether the slight shake he gave Dez was affectionate.

The three of them disappeared between the side of the contortionists’ tent and the stage.

Huh.

I found my way to the back of the crowd that was already gathering to watch the hot knife-thrower do his thing. Dez and I were new, I told myself, and we hadn’t even really had a “define the relationship” talk yet. Him talking to random family friends in unusual hats was none of my business.

Neither was my talking to Raleigh about the coin any of his business, for that matter.

Dez was late coming out, though, which was odd. He usually appeared onstage right at 8:50, punctual to a fault.

When he finally arrived, five minutes late, I went still in shock.

He had a cut that seeped blood on one cheek, and his left eye was rapidly turning purple. “Got into a fight with my equipment manager,” he said, with a grin that might have fooled the audience, but not me. “You should see the other guy.”

Brandon, standing at the side of the stage, appeared fine. Something told me creepy weirdo did too. He’d hurt Dez, for some reason.

I changed my mind. This
was
my business, whether Dez wanted me to stay out of it or not.

twenty

I retraced my steps and ducked off the midway between the same tent and stage where I’d seen Dez, Brandon, and Rex disappear a few minutes earlier. This was the way to the back of Dez’s stage, where I’d wait for him to finish his act—and hope his busted eye didn’t throw off his aim.

He hardly even needs to see to throw accurately,
I told myself.
That’s how good he is.

Small comfort. I also kept my eyes peeled for any sign of Rex. He was nowhere in sight.

Intuition—and what I knew about Dez—told me if I didn’t catch him immediately after he came offstage, he’d avoid me entirely. Waiting gave me time to roll around in my head the new fact about Dad being into magic items and having a warehouse I knew nada about. My whole life was beginning to feel like a lie, and somehow that made me more determined to talk to Dez. To be there for him.

To make this relationship one true thing . . . if I could.

A few minutes later, the crowd erupted into sustained applause, which meant Dez was finishing up. A fact confirmed by Brandon descending the set of steps that led down from backstage a few minutes later. “Sorry, cutie. He gave you the slip.”

“What?”

“He went off into the crowd, signed a few autographs, and bolted. Must’ve known you’d head back here.”

“Where can I find him?” I asked.

“Nowhere tonight. He’ll let you find him when he wants to be found.”

Argh. Boys were maddening.

I pressed Brandon. “Is that guy gone? Dez isn’t going after him, is he?”

He hesitated. “He’s gone. And Dez wouldn’t go after him without me.”

That was a relief, at least. “What happened?”

Brandon tilted his head back and stared up at the starless black sky. We were alone, so there was no reason for him not to answer. Then he said, “He’s my brother. You’re not.”

“You two are brothers?”

Brandon looked back at me and snorted. “No, but we might as well be. And that means you need to leave it alone.”

“So you’re not going to help me. Do you have the phone tonight, or does he?”

He shrugged. “He does, and now I have to go clear the stage. Leave him be tonight, ’kay?”

I didn’t bother answering. He headed up the stairs again, and I was already tapping out a text message to Dez:
We don’t have to talk about why you have a black eye if you don’t want to, but I want to see you.

I waited a long minute, staring at the screen, willing him to respond. Nothing.

So I added:
I care about you.
♥

That did get a response:
Your mistake.

I tried a couple of times more:
Tell me where you are. I’ll come meet you.

Brandon returned with a duffel bag, undoubtedly full of knives. “Just leave him be. No one wants to see their girl when they just got beat down. He’s got bigger things to think about tonight.”

After waiting longer than I should have, I gave up and went to bed, deciding I’d track him down tomorrow. I just hoped he was okay when I did.

He dodged me the whole next day. Didn’t respond to the texts I sent. And then he didn’t show up to be my assistant. Raleigh loaned me his, and I had to admit she did an excellent job.

But Raleigh had made it clear she couldn’t do it permanently.

I could find another person to fill in as my assistant, no question there. But I wasn’t willing to give up on Dez. Despite his managing to dodge me after his act again, twice. He wasn’t going to escape from this escape artist so easily.

Nonetheless, locating Dez was proving far more difficult than it should have been. He was a no-show at the dinner mess. And I had no idea where he slept—something that should have occurred to me before now. He’d always come to me, and I’d never thought to wonder.

I waited until after the evening’s last show and wandered around the Cirque grounds through a relatively sedate night, looking for the fire-pit-slash-party edge of camp. My best bet to find him.

A few people had their RV doors open or sat outside in clustered camp chairs, drinking together. I searched each mini-gathering I passed for a familiar grin. Finally, I found one—if not the one I was looking for.

Brandon was at a card table set up for a poker game along the edge of the grounds. The only places that I hadn’t checked yet were the province of the big trucks and equipment haulers arrayed behind the poker game. The table was a mix of workingmen and a few people I recognized from the Cirque performer families. The Garcias’ quiet father was there. I was relieved to see that Dez’s family friend wasn’t.

I didn’t want to interrupt, but I had little choice. I tried to be as inconspicuous about it as possible, circling around to kneel behind Brandon.

I tapped his shoulder, and he grunted. “What?”

“Where’s Dez?” I asked.

He shrugged the shoulder closest to me and said over it, “How would I know?”

I sighed. “Can we talk for a sec?”

“Nope,” he said, “I’m busy. Your boyfriend will have to wait. If he still is.”

“Can you at least tell me where he might be? Where do you guys stay?”

That stiffened his arms for a second before he relaxed again. “Keep walking,” he said, “and you’ll see.”

He didn’t glance at me or follow up in any way, so I stood to leave. “He means back that way,” a random guy watching the game told me, pointing toward the big semis.

“Got it,” I said, though I didn’t.

But I could hardly march back in the direction of the Cirque now—I didn’t want to leave this unfinished with Dez. Maybe the two of them had a cute tent they pitched back here or something. That wouldn’t be so bad, even if it meant the lack of a real roof overhead.

There was a line of porta-potties back here, and outdoor showers hooked up to a water line. I passed them and made for the big trucks. Surprisingly, there were lights on in the backs of the semis closest to the makeshift plumbing. Multiple sliding doors ran along the side, some open and some closed.

The first open door showed a glimpse of a single-sized bunk with rumpled sheets crammed against a partition, a pole for hanging up clothes, and no other room to speak of.

These semis weren’t for hauling equipment. They housed miniature living compartments.

I checked in each open door as discreetly as I could, nodding to crewmen as I passed. Most of them, already asleep, didn’t nod back. The doors were left open to admit night air. No one had air-conditioning, though a few had fans rigged up in the corners.

Dez wasn’t in the first truck, so I kept going to the next. The same story along this line of sleeping compartments—a few people sleeping, others with their doors closed.

I neared the end of the truck. One door closed, and one last open one.

“Dez?” I asked softly, sensing he was near. Hoping he was and hoping he wasn’t. I knew he probably didn’t want me here.

“Shit,” he said.

Guess I was right.

I paused. I couldn’t see him yet.

Obviously, I didn’t care that he lived in this tiny space. That these semis existed was another part of circus life I hadn’t known about. I hadn’t even considered that Dez didn’t have a nice place to stay. My alternative to the Airstream had been my convertible, and I’d thought that wouldn’t be comfortable enough. I was a pampered princess, I realized, in a way I’d never understood before. I felt ashamed of my obliviousness.

I took another step.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he said.

He was sitting up against the makeshift metal wall behind a small cot, like he’d been staring out into the nothingness of the night before I arrived.

He reached over and pulled the chain on a desk lamp sitting precariously on top of a battered red dictionary on a shelf over the bed.

The light revealed a swollen eye with impressively, painfully multihued bruising around it. There was also a tint of red on his cheeks. Him blushing instead of me, for once, and I hated it. I hated what I suspected was the reason for it.

“Don’t you dare feel embarrassed.” I paused. “Can we talk here? Can anyone hear?”

I knew a little about my dangers, but I didn’t know the first thing about Dez’s.

“Brandon’s out running a game,” he said. “No one else would be able to. But I’m not really in a talking mood.”

“Too bad.” I eased onto the cot and swung my feet up, sitting cross-legged beside him. He didn’t mirror my posture, leaving his legs stretched out beside mine. Not touching, but so close that it had to be a decision for them not to.

“You came to break it off, didn’t you? I can save you the time.” He raised his hands and made sarcastic air quotes. “‘We aren’t right for each other. Two different worlds. Fun while it lasted.’”

The words were clipped. I’d never seen him like this.

“Wrong. I came to tell you that I don’t get brushed off this easy. Dez, I may be stupid. I know I shouldn’t want this, but . . . I don’t want to break anything off. Not with you.” I took a breath. If I was brave enough to seal myself into a coffin . . . “I came to make this real.”

He shifted forward, away from the wall. Toward me.

“And I came to see if you’re okay. Why’d that guy hit you?”

He surged forward, and his other hand cupped my cheek, and he kissed me. His lips crashed into mine, but it was a pleasant pain. This kiss had darkness in it, and frustration, and wanting. And it felt true. True in a way our others hadn’t. In the way I wanted with him.

I kissed him back the same way.

Danger, danger
, my brain said. My heart beat back its response:
Shut up. Shut up and kiss the boy.

I pulled back first. “Why was that guy here again? He doesn’t seem like much of a family friend, doing this.” When Dez’s expression darkened, I added, “Not to such a pretty face.”

I gingerly touched the unmarked skin below the bruising. And then I moved beside him, our bodies touching from our shoulders to our calves, hanging off the side of the little bed. We faced the small sampling of clothes draped over the top of the bar, including his tanks. The only nicer piece of clothing there was the suit from our date.

“I don’t think our families are much alike,” Dez said. “Can’t we just go back to kissing?”

Ha.
You have no idea.
“We can, as soon as you explain. How you grew up . . . that’s not your fault.”

“I should have texted you back,” he said.

“So make it up to me. Tell me now. Why did that guy hit you?” I didn’t ask why Dez would let him. That guy had given off a deep feeling of wrongness about him during my one close encounter. I wouldn’t encourage Dez to fight him.

“I owe him something. My dad owed him something.”

“Money?”

“Worse. Loyalty.”

That
was
worse. A sudden thought occurred to me. “You aren’t here looking for a magic coin, are you? One that belonged to the Garcias?”

Long moments stretched with no glib reply. Probably I shouldn’t have asked. Could Dez be one of
them
? The Praestigae? It was impossible, right? But . . .

“You should be careful who you mention that to,” he said.

I wasn’t letting him off the hook. “Should I have mentioned it to
you
? What do you know about it?”

“What do
you
know about it?”

“You realize you’re acting really weird, right? Are you looking for it?”

“No, but I’ve heard a lot of chatter about it,” he said. “The way you do in places like this. Rumors about last season, about this famous coin surfacing that means easy street for anyone who has it. There are people who are convinced that it exists and that it gives good luck. People always want something valuable.”

In some ways, it would have been less complicated if he’d said yes, he was looking for it. My mother needed it. He might even have had the answers I longed for. Of course, my mother was also convinced that the Praestigae finding out about me would be a disaster.

“How did you hear about it?” he asked. “From Nancy Maroni?” He dropped the name casually.

That set off a string of doubts: He wasn’t lying to me now, was he? He could have just pretended that he’d never even heard of it. But he hadn’t—which meant he probably
wasn’t
looking for it. Or he was lying to me again and I was a terrible judge of character making a huge mistake.

No, I want this. Him.

“I heard it belonged to the Garcias,” I said. “And
they’ve
heard that people are looking for it.” Except that possibly made it sound like
they
told me about the coin, and implied that I thought it was real. That was too much to give away. But the leap he made was a different one.

“Then they don’t have it?”

I shrugged. “How would I know? And why do you want to know anyway? Do you believe what you’ve heard? That it’s real, and that it can do, um, magic?”

I had no idea why I was asking him this. I was begging to get caught.

“Sure.”

Not the response I expected. I straightened. “You do?”

He put his hand on my cheek again. “I keep telling you, where I come from, it’s not like wherever you’re from, lovely Moira. We believe in fairy tales. Magic coins, fair ladies, evil witches, tyrant kings, and benevolent queens.”