Born of Illusion (23 page)

“That there is the chief of police and his wife. He’s sitting next to Nico ‘the Knife’ Guilianni, a big man in the Morello mob. No one hits the Cotton Club.”

My eyes widen and Addy laughs again. “You
are
wet behind the ears! Don’t worry, little girl, there won’t be any raids here tonight.”

I shift, embarrassed to be caught out. Now everyone knows that I’m new at all this. I take another careful sip of my drink. It goes down easier this time, which may or may not be a good thing.

Suddenly, Owen stiffens beside me.

“What’s she doing here?” I hear him mutter. He turns to me. “I’ll be right back.”

He scoots out of his chair and disappears, leaving me with a bunch of strangers.

I see Prissy and Addy exchange looks again.

“What?” Maryann cranes her neck. “What did I miss?”

“Lorraine,” I see Addy mouth to her.

Maryann’s eyes widen. “Oh!”

“And is she ever casting a kitten!”

The girls crane their necks trying to see what’s happening, but my view is blocked. Then a tall man steps aside and I see Owen arguing with a blond woman. Her back is to me, so I can’t see her face, but Owen’s is furious. He grips her arm and gestures wildly. Suddenly the woman pulls out of his grip and stalks out the doorway. Owen straightens his tie and turns back toward the table. I avert my gaze so he won’t know I’ve been watching.

My face heats and I feel more out of place than ever. He sits next to me and drinks deeply from his drink. “Is everything okay?” I ask, pretending to watch the dancers.

“Sure. My old girlfriend showed up to cause a scene. I gave her the gate a few weeks ago.” He drapes his arm over my shoulder. “Right after I met you, actually.”

His dimples deepen as he smiles down at me, and I feel better until I catch the other girls exchanging yet another volley of glances. Is this what normal girls do? Go to speakeasies and make other people feel bad? I’ve had enough. I stand up and take his hand. “Didn’t we come to dance?” I ask.

He looks surprised for a moment, then laughs. “That’s my girl!”

He leads me out onto the crowded dance floor and we begin to move. I’m unsure of myself at first, but the music is snazzy, toe-tapping good, and I’m soon shimmying with the rest of them. The room is almost unbearably hot, but the blind determination to have a good time is contagious. Owen’s a good dancer and keeps grinning at me as if he’s happy to find that I’m still his partner.

The tempo slows and I turn to step off the dance floor, but Owen catches my hand and swings me back into his arms with a wink.

“Not so fast, Just Anna. I’ve been waiting for this number all night.”

He pulls me close, lifting my right hand in a basic waltz position.

“This is slow foxtrot music, but there’s no room on the floor to trot, so we just call it The Slow,” he says, his breath whispering across my ear.

I tilt my head back to get a better look at his face. His bright blue eyes, usually so teasing, are warm with admiration.

“You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?”

I lower my eyes, both flustered and pleased. The heat from his palm, resting lightly on my back, spreads through my body. As usual, the emotions coming off him are all mixed up, but this time the strongest emotion is joy. Happiness is radiating off him like heat from a woodstove, and I move closer to bask in the magic of it all. I sneak a glance back at his face and my breath catches, he’s so handsome. I close my eyes and we sway to the music, as the melody curls around us like silken ribbons.

His arm tightens and his cheek presses against mine. “I wish I could dance like this with you forever and let the rest of the world go hang.”

My heart swells. At this moment, with the lights glittering like diamonds and his arms wrapped tightly around me, I almost wish the same thing. An image of Cole holding a bouquet of flowers at my door flashes before me and my cheeks flush. What kind of girl am I to have feelings like this for two different men? Besides, I’m still angry with Cole.

The music ends and I make a motion to stop, but before we leave the dance floor, Owen raises my hand to his mouth. “Thank you for the dance,” he murmurs. His blue eyes twinkle at me as he brushes his lips across my knuckles.

I swallow, my mouth so dry I can’t respond. So I give him a weak smile and he leads me back to our table.

I gulp down my drink, forgetting about the burn, and end up sputtering half of it onto the table. They should use my mother’s supplier. I lean toward Owen, still coughing. “What I could really use is a glass of ice water.”

“Anything for Just Anna!” He spreads his arm expansively and goes off in search of something cool to drink. The table is empty—everyone must be on the dance floor—and I amuse myself watching as people stagger about, laughing too loud. It looks as if half of New York is going to have hangovers tomorrow. The band takes a break and the rest of the gang comes trooping back. The men, dripping with sweat, are discarding their jackets. The girls fan themselves with their hands. Owen returns, a young black man in tow. “This round is on me,” he announces grandly.

“That’s the last of the ice, so enjoy,” the waiter says, setting the drinks down in front of us.

The waiter leaves and I take a long, grateful drink of the water. Maryann fishes a sliver of ice out of her cocktail and holds it to her forehead.

“It’s hotter than Hades in here. Why don’t we head over to Connie’s Inn? At least we’ll cool off on the way down there.”

Addy shakes her head petulantly. “Nah, let’s go to Paradise Alley.”

“We could stay here and watch the show,” one of the men suggests. “Next one starts in an hour.”

Owen cuts in. “You all do what you want to. We need to get a wiggle on. I promised Anna’s mother I wouldn’t have her out too late.”

Everyone looks at me and I feel about two feet tall with a bib around my neck. Owen catches the look and adds, “No, it’s not like that. She has a performance tomorrow night.”

Suddenly their faces change from derision to something akin to respect.

“Oh, that’s right. Owen told us you were a magician. How on earth did you get into that?” Prissy wants to know.

“My mother is a medium. It kind of runs in the family.”

Owen snorts. “I’ll say. Her father is Harry Houdini,” he adds.

My stomach drops.

“But hasn’t Houdini been married forever? He doesn’t have kids, does he?” One of the men looks confused.

My face gets itchy and hot. “He and my mother knew each other in Europe, a long time ago,” I explain, waving my hand as if that will make it go away.

The truth of the situation dawns on everyone about the same time. “Oh! So you’re like his illegitimate daughter? And you’re a magician, too? How fantastically odd!” Maryann says.

“How romantic,” Addy breathes, linking her arm in mine. “Are you sure you can’t go with us?”

They look at me with more warmth and interest than they have all evening.

I could
kill
Owen.

I shake my head. “I’m sorry, I really can’t.”

The men all pull out their wallets and throw bills on the table. Owen looks through his billfold, frowning.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I thought I had another ten in here. That’s why I bought the last round.”

He checks his pockets, becoming more frantic.

Everyone else gathers their things, oblivious to Owen’s discomfort. I reach for my purse. “I think I have some money.”

“God, I’m so sorry,” he whispers as he takes the money I hand him. Twin roses of embarrassment mottle his cheeks as he flags down our waiter.

“Four-flusher.” Addie rolls her eyes.

I want to ask what that means, but Owen seems in a hurry to go.

We take our leave then, and the crowd piles into one car while Owen and I walk down the block to ours.

“Did you have fun?” Owen asks a little anxiously.

I pull my stole closer against the biting cold. “Yes.” The whole evening has taken on a sense of unreality, as if someone else lived it. The conversation about Houdini cast a shadow over my whole night. Why did Owen have to ruin it by telling everyone?

Owen’s arm snakes around me and I smile in the dark, remembering the magical moment when he’d held me close. The evening wasn’t a total loss. Some parts were wonderful.

“I’m glad you had a good time. Nights like this are one of the reasons I left stuffy old Boston.”

“You were raised there, weren’t you?”

He snorts. “Unfortunately, I was.”

“Why unfortunately?” I realize how little I know about him.

He’s silent and for a moment I think he’s not going to answer. When he does, it’s in a voice different from his normal happy-go-lucky tone. “My father comes from an old Boston family. You know, the kind that makes tons of money but never talks about it?”

He looks at me and I nod. I do indeed know. One of the reasons we never hit Boston. Too tightfisted and suspicious.

Owen continues. “They disinherited him when he married my mother. They think of her as some sneaky French dance-hall girl who tricked him into marriage. I think my father believes it, too. At least that’s how he treats me.”

I catch his sideways glance and understanding dawns. “Ah.”

“Oh, they paid my way into all the good schools. It was unthinkable that a Winchester should go to public school. But my father, and all my many cousins, went out of their way to make sure I knew I was a second-class citizen.”

I shiver at the bitterness of his words and he’s instantly contrite. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ruin our wonderful night by telling you my troubles. Besides, none of that matters. Someday I’ll return triumphant as a rich man.”

His arm tightens around my shoulders. “I really do wish tonight could last forever.”

My heart constricts in sympathy at the wistfulness of his voice. I know how it feels to be unsure of a parent’s love. I turn to him and he wraps both arms around my waist. The light from the streetlamp encircles us. Mrs. Lindsay, Houdini, my mother, and my vision all fade away in the warmth of his gaze.

For a moment, I know exactly what it’s like to be a normal girl enjoying the company of a normal man. “I really had a wonderful evening. Thank you so much for everything.”

He tilts my face up with his finger.
He’s going to kiss me,
I think. But all he says is “You’re a wonderful girl, Anna. The pleasure was all mine.”

We resume walking, and I don’t need my abilities to tell me that he is as happy as I am.

Then a shiver of apprehension races up my spine and I stumble.

Owen laughs and grips my arm. “Too much to drink? I didn’t think you’d had that much.”

I don’t answer him. Instead I pause, my whole body frozen in concentration. Sweat breaks out on my upper lip and I start trembling.

Something is horrifyingly wrong.

Nineteen

M
y trembling increases, and Owen puts his hands on my shoulders. “Anna, are you all right?”

Suddenly a milk truck squeals around the corner and races toward us. Before we can react, it screeches to a halt and a man leaps out and punches Owen in the face. Owen falls to the sidewalk in a deflated heap and the man kicks him in the ribs. I scream and back up against a brick wall. The back doors of the milk truck swing open and another man jumps out. He grabs me by my arms and yanks me toward the vehicle. Realizing his intent, I throw myself to the ground. Surprised, he lets go and I scramble backward, looking for a weapon. Any weapon. Not seeing anything, I straighten, ready to run for help if I can, but the man who punched Owen reacts faster than I do and seizes me from behind. He picks me up and tosses me like a bag of potatoes into the back of the milk truck. My head smashes into the side of the door. Stars explode before my eyes, and blood trickles down my face, warm and salty. Desperately, I try wiping it away, but I’m slammed against the floor of the truck.

“Go! Go! Go!” someone screams.

“Anna!” I hear Owen yell, his voice fading as the vehicle careens sideways.

Something dark and suffocating is yanked down over my head and I begin to fight in earnest. I shove my elbow backward and hear an oof as it connects with something soft and squishy. Someone grabs me by the hair and slams my head against the wooden floor.

“Tie her up!” a female voice snaps.

The man forces my arms behind me as I struggle to place the woman’s voice. The ropes bite into my wrists, but I cease struggling. Rope I can handle. The man, satisfied that I’m properly bound, crawls away from me. I pretend to swoon, which isn’t much of a pretense as the dank, smelly hood over my head doesn’t allow enough air to get through. I remember how Houdini once said that he concentrates on slowing down his breath and heartbeat when he’s doing his escapes. Easier said than done when panic has your pulse racing.

“Did we kill her?” someone asks.

“Nah. Just stunned her.”