Spell Fire (24 page)

Several people squirmed in their seats. Jett continued. "You may wonder why the first row has been set back at such a distance. Fire fortunes warp the time-space continuum. While the fortune unfolds, air pressure will build up around the stage. For you, the audience, the lights will remain on." He gestured to Lucia to step away from the light switches. She took three giant strides forward.

"I make no guarantees about what will happen within the vortex." He assumed an ominous tone. I wondered if the experience would differ for each person. Maybe Jett didn't want to plant any ideas. Audience members either leaned forward, intent on his every word, or shifted in their seats.

"Morningstar, please pull the first name."

Morningstar averted her gaze while she rummaged through the scraps of paper. The audience held its collective breath. Isis scraped her shoes together. Morningstar handed the name to Jett and took the hat.

The color drained from Jett's face and his hand shook.

"Uh-oh," Isis whispered.

Jett swallowed, then read the name out loud. "Private First Class Hector Hernandez."

A stir of excitement spread through the crowd. Two guys with military haircuts jumped up. I recognized them, especially the redhead. My gaze swung back to the stage and collided with Jett's panicked look.

I rose to my knees. The redhead sat down, smiling, arm pumping as his buddy and a dark-haired young woman approached the stage. Jett imperceptibly shook his head. I rocked back on my heels, half sitting, ready to sprint to the front if need be. I thought back on the day the two Marines had visited the store — the day of the bet. The redhead had mentioned his friend's daughter.

"Private?" Jett asked.

"Yes. And this is my wife Emilia. She'll be my witness."

"Welcome, both of you."

Before, when Jett had demonstrated the fire fortunes to me, the two Marines had been oblivious to the whirling room, the darkening of the register area, and clanging of the chime. What would it look like to the forty-seven people in the audience, and the board members who had migrated closer for a better look?

They'll think we're fakes. They're going to demand their money back. Aunt Terra and Uncle Esmun will be ruined. Jett will have to be homeschooled.

"Uh, why do I need a witness?" Hector asked.

Jett didn't blink. "Because you are about to enter a different reality. You may see things the audience cannot see. If you experience it with someone else, they can validate what you saw." Jett's arm gesture included the audience. "And these good folks won't think you are so crazy."

Well done!

"And if nothing happens," Jett added, "then you can both say I'm a fraud."

Several people in the audience laughed.

Jett raised the crystal sphere. "Emilia, please remove the scarf from the stand. Hector, please lift the stand and show it to the audience." They both did as Jett had asked. "Now place the stand anywhere on the table within reach and cover it once more."

When they had done so, he replaced the crystal on the stand. "Gather close," Jett instructed the couple, "and keep your eyes on the crystal ball. Audience, please remain silent and do not, under any circumstances, approach the stage."

Mac and Uncle Esmun took their positions, ready to stop anyone who tried to storm the stage. None of us knew what would happen if the vortex was penetrated. Mac had speculated it wouldn't be good. The trick had been to locate spots outside the vortex, but not block the audience's view — even though there might not be anything to see.

Isis stood and leaned against me. Jett placed his fingertips on the crystal ball. His face twisted. Isis sucked in air and clutched my shoulder. The flames sketched on Jett's knuckles pulsed blood red against his suddenly bone-white skin. The chairs in the front row rattled.

Hector and Emilia went wild-eyed. Emilia clapped her hands over her ears. Her long, dark hair flew up and whipped around her head as though buffeted by a strong gale. The velvet tablecloth rippled and flapped. Jett's lips moved. Everyone leaned forward to catch his words, except for the people in the front row. They clung to their seats or each other. All of them leaned to the right as though pushed by an unseen force.

It ended as abruptly as it had begun. Emilia's hair tumbled to her shoulders. Smiling, she wrapped her arms around her husband's neck, and they embraced. Morningstar stepped forward with a bowl of water and a towel draped over her arm. Jett plunged his fingers into the cool water and hissed air through his teeth.

The red-haired Marine stood and shouted, "Did it work? What did you see?" Several people in the front row glared over their shoulders at him. The rest scooted their chairs back.

"It was awesome!" Hector said. "Like a movie playing inside the crystal, only it was surrounded by flames."

Jett, looking relieved and a little dazed, dried his hands on the towel. The tension eased out of my body, and I sat back down.

"Care to share with us what you saw?" Arthur asked, his fedora askew.

The couple exchanged a proud look. Emilia said, "We saw our baby girl graduate from college."

Hector added, "From medical school!"

Everyone clapped. Hector pumped Jett's hand. Then Emilia hugged him before they returned to their seats. Jett's glance swerved to us. Isis waved. I gave Jett two thumbs up.

One down. One to go.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Onstage, Morningstar spritzed Jett's hands with liquid sage. The sharp, woodsy scent filtered through the audience. I glanced again at the front door, still hoping Thor would appear.

Jett wiggled his fingertips to air dry them. "Tonight's event is a fundraiser for our schools and for Spiral Journeys. So I thank you all for being here and supporting these good causes. I see my principal in the audience. If she wins the next fortune, I hope hers shows
me
graduating!"

The audience laughed.

"He's good," I whispered to Isis.

She nodded, wide-eyed.

"Are you ready for the next fortune?"

The audience cheered. Several people in the front row scooted their chairs back farther, crowding the row behind them.

"For me," Jett explained when the gathering had quieted, "fire fortunes are like electric shock therapy. It takes a lot out of me. When the fortunes show something bad, it wrecks me. So I'm sorry I can only perform two tonight. But after this next and final fire fortune, please stay in your seats. We'll be drawing names for some cool giveaways, including free readings from members of the Spiral Journeys Board and gift baskets full of magical stuff."

Jett held the hat aloft while Morningstar combed through the entries.

"Nothing bad." Isis crossed her fingers and closed her eyes.

My gaze flicked from the redheaded Marine to Arthur's fedora. Jett had the audience's rapt attention. They all leaned forward in their seats, including Betty. I crossed my fingers.
Please let Jett end on a good note.

Inside the black tote, the spell book pushed against my knee and trembled.

Morningstar withdrew a name and handed it to Jett. His anxious expression hardened into fear. His gaze dropped to the front row.

"Oh, crap," I muttered.

"You better call in the angel," Isis whispered.

"It's not an angel. It's a dragon."

She threw me a sure-it-is look.

"Besides, I can't summon it. It appears when it wants to."

Jett's lips twisted, and his Adam's apple bobbed as if he had swallowed back vomit. "Betty Dean."

The spell book rumbled.

Isis ducked behind me. "What's the matter with it?"

"It got hit by some bad magic, and the writing disappeared," I whispered over the clapping and exclamations of disappointment.

"What's the matter with it
now?"

"I'm not sure." I held my breath as an elated Betty and worried-looking Arthur joined Jett beside the table. Morningstar carried away the top hat.

Betty raised a shaky hand to quiet the audience. Her hunched shoulders rose toward the turquoise teardrops on her earlobes before sinking again. "I hoped Jett would pick me!" She patted Arthur's forearm. "This is Arthur. We married in Louisiana forty-nine and a half years ago."

Isis leaned over my shoulder. She cupped her hand over the side of her mouth and whispered in my ear, her breath warm and somehow sweet. "In princess stories, true love makes everything better."

True love.
I remembered how the spell book had chirped when Thor had held my hand. My heart knifed. The rumbling within the black tote grew louder. I clutched it to my chest to deaden the sound. The bookcase hid us from the rear two-thirds of the audience, but I sensed unhappy glares emanating from the other side.

Onstage, Betty and Arthur lifted the cloth and small stand to prove there were no hidden wires or video equipment. Jett touched his fingers to the crystal ball. I waited for his condemned man expression to morph into one of pain, signaling the fortune had begun. Betty leaned over the table for a better look. Arthur clasped her hand.

The spell book pushed against the black nylon, knocking my arms apart. The zipper began to open.

No. No. No.
I grappled with the zipper tags, trying to force them closed. They jerked from my grasp. Isis crouched behind me, her side pressed hot against my back. With a
zzzzz
sound, the zipper unraveled and the textbook-sized grimoire thudded onto the carpet.

I jerked back, knocking into Isis. She sidestepped to regain her balance. The spell book inched across the carpet toward the stage.

I glanced up at Jett and the magic struck.

Jett's eyes shut, and his head kicked back. Arthur's fedora flew off his head, revealing beads of sweat. The first two rows tilted to the right as though on a roller coaster. Betty, her eyes wide, covered her mouth with her hands. Arthur's arm slid around her waist. He steadied himself with a wider stance and pulled her against his side.

The grimoire commando-crawled toward the stage. It shrank and splintered, taking the form of small, square photographs of a youthful Betty and Arthur at Mardi Gras, well-worn envelopes inscribed in a careful hand, and newspaper clippings featuring Arthur and Betty's engagement photo, their marriage announcement, and a news story about the desegregation of Louisiana schools.

Onstage, Betty's gaze was riveted on the crystal ball. Her hopeful expression collapsed. Tears coursed down Arthur's sunken cheeks.

My heart constricted as though squeezed by a blood pressure cuff. A woman in the audience cried, "Oh, no!" Several people sniffed.

I glanced at the floor. As though cloaked in its own vortex, the spell book — a tumbleweed of handwritten letters, photographs, and news clippings — advanced unnoticed. My muscles clenched. It had already reached the third row.

"Crap!" I scrambled to my feet and darted after it.

Isis grabbed the hem on the back of my shirt. "No. They have true love."

Forward momentum shot me past the bookcase, startling several audience members. A teen with strawberry blond hair and a panicked expression leapt from her seat and pushed her way to the aisle.

Evie O'Reilly.
She glanced my way, and our gazes collided in a flash of recognition.
She knows who I am — who I was.
I faltered, and the fractured grimoire launched itself at the vortex.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Time slowed. Sound slowed, warping the chirps emitting from the grimoire as it lumbered through the air.

"No!" Portia yelled.

The splintered spell book sliced through the vortex surrounding the stage. The impact created plopping sounds, like stones thrown into a lake. The people in the front two rows listed to the left. Jett's eyes flew open, and he peered down at the crystal ball.

Wonderment filled Betty's and Arthur's eyes. The vortex vanished. Arthur reached for the photos, letters, and newspaper clippings, but they flew above his head and reconfigured into a sepia-colored book. The chirping stopped. The spell book twirled in the air. Its cover erupted in ridges, bubbles, and scars, forming an alligator-like pattern. The sepia darkened. More hues emerged — grays, browns, oyster white, and an iridescent blue sheen.

The grimoire thudded onto the table in front of Betty and hissed vapors. Mist and swampy smells permeated the store. Jett flinched. Betty gaped. Arthur stepped back and retrieved his hat.

Evie's gaze swung from me to the stage, then back to me. Her jaw dropped, and her ballet flats, worn with a navy Cal Bears sweatshirt and dark jeans, seemed nailed to the carpet.

Portia strode past Evie and apologized to the trio onstage. "Excuse me. So sorry to interrupt." She grabbed the grimoire, made a U-turn, and caught up with Evie. The two hurried toward me.

"We have to get this out of here," Portia said in a low voice when they reached me. "Hustle, kiddos."

"I'm so sorry! It ran away from me." With Isis still latched onto my shirt, I stooped and grabbed the empty tote. Evie fell in behind Portia, who led us behind the bookcase, past the unisex bathroom, and into the entrance of the dim hall. Her chest heaved when she stopped to catch her breath.

Evie glanced at me, wide-eyed, her expression unreadable.

"Listen," Isis said.

I pivoted toward the stage. From this angle, the freestanding bookcase blocked the right half of the makeshift stage and nearly all of the audience. But we could hear them.

"What happened?" A child's voice rose above the confusion.

"Was that part of the show?" a teen girl asked.

I glanced up at Betty, still visible on the left. Her hands were clasped beneath her chin. She shook her head as if to clear it, and then a beatific expression lit her face.

"She saw an angel in the crystal ball," Isis said.

I wasn't sure what Betty had seen. Arthur seemed troubled and moved to the far side of Jett, out of view. Aunt Terra, appearing pale and shaken, took the stage, blocking the others from sight.