When the Curtain Rises Page 3

  For his final illusion of the evening, Mr. Kellar allowed himself to be bound, gagged, tied to a chair and locked securely inside a wooden spirit cabinet. There was only space for one person inside the small cabinet, but it became clear almost immediately that the magician had been joined by some ghostly presence. Mr. Kellar’s assistant knocked on the cabinet door, and in response we heard a low moan, and the curtain that hung in the cabinet’s window began to ripple slightly. A ghostly arm appeared through the window, and as it was withdrawn we heard the sound of a horn, then the clanging of a bell, then the crashing of a tambourine, then all three instruments together.

  When Kellar’s assistant opened the door a few moments later, the magician appeared before us again, still gagged and tied to the chair, every rope in place.

  I sprang to my feet instantly, overwhelmed by what I’d just seen. “Bravo,” I called out. Kellar flashed the audience a crooked grin and bowed once he had been freed.

  The scene ended, and Chloe became aware of her surroundings again. She shook her head and blinked. It had all been so clear, as if she’d been watching a movie. She wanted to read more, but the warm breeze playing over her body and the soft burble of the fountain beside her made the words on the next page blur together. Her eyelids had grown impossibly heavy. She put the book down and let her head drop onto her outstretched arm. A moment later she was asleep.

  She was walking through a hallway lined with mirrors. From the neck down, her body was reflected accurately, but a different face peered out at her from every panel. When she stopped in front of the last mirror, she saw her own face reflected in the glass. Then the glass rippled and a stranger’s face shimmered into view. The woman in the mirror spoke, but no sound escaped the glass. Chloe thought she saw the woman’s lips form her name, but as hard as she tried, she couldn’t make out anything else.

  Chloe woke up suddenly, the stone bench hard against her back. For a moment she thought she heard a woman whispering nearby, but it was only the soft hum of some bees in a honeysuckle vine. She stretched her arms and sat up.

  “Come join us, dear,” Kitty called from the front veranda after supper.

  Chloe took a seat at the wicker table. Her great-aunts and their housekeeper sipped their tea and chatted as the sun sank in the sky, turning the canal across the street candy-floss pink. The night air was warm, but a cool breeze from the water kept the veranda from getting stuffy. Throughout the evening, passersby of all ages smiled and waved up at the women on the porch. Many of them paused to exchange a friendly word or two as well.

  “Do you know everyone in Little Venice?” Chloe asked. “You must have introduced me to half the town already.”

  “Your great-aunts have been fixtures in this town for almost a century,” Abigail told Chloe proudly. “Anyone who’s been here more than a week knows the famous McBride sisters.”

  “Famous?” Chloe asked.

  Bess raised one eyebrow. “Abigail’s laying it on a little thick. She does that.”

  “I do not,” the housekeeper insisted with a sniff. “Your great-aunts were famous stage actresses, Chloe. People traveled from miles around to watch them play all the starring roles at St. Mark’s Theatre.”

  “Nothing we loved more than being on the stage,” Kitty said, her eyes sparkling. “Born performers, both of us. It runs in the family, you know—there’s no escaping it.”

  “What about my grandfather?” Chloe asked.

  “Henry would have ended up on the stage too if he hadn’t died so young—just after your father was conceived. He was going to be a magician, just like his father. And then there’s your father and his saxophone.”

  “And Chloe McBride.” Abigail beamed. “Future concert pianist!”

  “Or teacher or diplomat,” Bess added quickly, frowning at the housekeeper.

  Chloe tried to appear indifferent, but she could feel the color rising to her face. She lifted the napkin from her lap and placed it beside her empty teacup. “I’m a little tired. I think I’ll go to bed now.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Abigail, lifting her fingers to her mouth. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I’m fine,” Chloe insisted, forcing a smile. “I just haven’t adjusted to the time difference yet.”

  “Of course, dear,” said Kitty. “You go on in. We’ll see you in the morning.”

  Chapter Four

  It took Chloe a few seconds to remember where she was when she woke up the next morning. Sunlight was streaming through the window, and Dante’s book lay open on the floor where it had fallen in the night. Chloe picked it up before going out to find her great-aunts.

  “Were your dreams sweet, my dear?” Kitty asked as she poured Chloe a glass of orange juice.

  “They were different,” Chloe said as she accepted the glass. “I dreamt I was on a ship in the middle of a storm. And then somehow I wasn’t on the ship anymore; I was trapped inside the painting on the landing.”

  Kitty put the pitcher of juice down. “Interesting. Your father used to dream that he was inside the painting too. He loved that picture so much that we hung it on the wall across from his bed when he stayed with us. But then he started having dreams about it every night, and we thought it would be wiser to move it back to the landing. He was becoming obsessed with it.”

  “Did he ever mention anything strange about it?” Chloe asked as Kitty offered her a plate of toast.

  “Strange?”

  Chloe looked across the table at Abigail, but the housekeeper’s eyes were fixed on the toast she was buttering. “I don’t know,” said Chloe. “Like, did it ever seem to change slightly? As if the people in it had moved, or the sun was in a different place?”

  “Abigail,” Bess interjected, glaring across the dining room. “Have you been telling tales?”

  “I haven’t told her anything,” Abigail said, her cheeks flushing. “Chloe saw what she saw.”

  “I don’t know that I saw anything,” Chloe said. “I’m sure it was just my imagination.”

  “There’s a lot of superstitious nonsense floating around about this house,” Bess told Chloe. “Don’t let yourself get swept up in it. That’s exactly what it is—superstitious nonsense.”

  After breakfast, Chloe crossed the road to the canal path and walked into the center of town. She had no particular destination in mind. She let her feet carry her down one street and up another until a tantalizing smell lured her into a shop with a bright pink and white awning. She came out a few minutes later with a generous scoop of raspberry ripple ice cream in a huge waffle cone.

  Chloe retraced her steps to the stone bridge that crossed the canal. She took a seat on the edge of the wall to watch the water while she ate. She was just finishing the last few bites of her cone when a girl with sandy blond hair peeking from underneath her bike helmet braked abruptly a few feet away from Chloe. “Hi,” said the girl.

  “Uh, hi,” said Chloe.

  “You’re Chloe, right?” the girl asked, resting her elbows on the handlebars of her mountain bike. “I saw you on the McBrides’ porch last night. Kitty told my father you were coming to stay this summer.”

  “Just for a month,” said Chloe, not sure what else to say.

  The girl took off her sunglasses, and the corners of her wide mouth turned up in a grin. “Sorry. I’m Nyssa. You’re probably wondering why Kitty was talking to my father about you, right?”

  “I kind of get the impression that she’s told half the town about me.”

  Nyssa laughed. “Probably. Anyway, Kitty was talking to my father about the vaudeville festival he’s organizing at the theater at the end of July. It’s an annual thing in Little Venice.”

  “A vaudeville festival?”

  “Yeah, you know—like the old traveling shows with minstrels, comedians, magicians. Stupid animal tricks, stupid human tricks, the whole bit. It’s kind of corny, but it’s fun.”

  “My great-grandfather was a magician,” said Chloe.

  “I know,”
said Nyssa. “Your great-aunts taught me a few of his tricks to perform in the junior talent show. That’s why Kitty was talking to my father about you. She wanted to know if it was too late for you to enter.”

  Chloe felt a familiar knot forming in her intestines. “She didn’t mention it to me.”

  “Well, it’s not too late. My father said he’d be happy to add your name to the program.”

  Chloe shook her head. “I can’t. ”

  “Kitty says you’re an awesome pianist,” said Nyssa. “I know a junior talent show doesn’t sound like much, but the prizes are pretty decent. First prize is a five-thousand-dollar scholarship.”

  “Wow. That’s like—wow.”

  “I know. Some old rich guy willed a lot of money to the festival a few years ago. Pretty amazing, eh?”

  “I still can’t,” Chloe said as her teeth found her lower lip.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not really—it’s just—I’m sorry,” said Chloe, fumbling for a way out of the conversation. “I’m supposed to be back for lunch in ten minutes. It was nice meeting you, though.”

  Nyssa shrugged. “You too. I’ll catch you later, I guess.” She lifted her feet to the pedals of the bike and began to cycle away. “Hey! Think about it,” Chloe heard her call back over her shoulder.

  Chloe slipped out into the back garden after supper that evening, made herself comfortable on one of the benches and began to read the next chapter of Dante’s memoir. It wasn’t long before the story took hold of her again.

  I was walking on the upper deck of the ship the morning after Mr. Kellar’s performance when the magician suddenly came up behind me.

  “Well, what did you think?” he asked.

  “It was like nothing I’ve ever seen!” I said. “I couldn’t sleep! But I was troubled by the spirit cabinet,” I admitted, crossing myself quickly. “It’s not right to summon things from beyond the grave!”

  Kellar exploded in laughter. “Oh, my boy! I’m a magician, not a spiritualist! It’s all illusion, every last bit of it. I picked up that particular trick when I was not much older than you, as a matter of fact. That it fooled you is the sincerest compliment you could ever pay me.”

  I felt my face flush. “Of course. I just meant—could you tell me how to become a magician?” I found myself asking in a rush.

  Kellar stared at me. “How serious are you?”

  “Very.” My hands were trembling, but my gaze was steady.

  Kellar nodded. “So, magic has claimed another victim. That’s the way it was with me. One show and magic reeled me in.”

  “Can you teach me, then?”

  “I don’t think you understand what you’re asking,” Kellar said. “Magic isn’t something you learn overnight. There’s a difference between knowing how a trick is done and knowing how to do it, and learning that difference takes years.”

  He must have seen the disappointment in my face. He hesitated for just a moment before smiling and clapping his hand on my shoulder. “I can’t give you years, but assuming the weather is favorable, we have eight days before we disembark in Montreal. I could teach you a trick or two, give you a few pointers to get you started. After that it’s up to you.”

  True to his promise, while our ship steamed across the Atlantic, Kellar showed me how to make coins appear and disappear and how to make handkerchiefs vanish up my sleeves. I practiced day and night.

  “Not bad,” said Kellar. “But if you’re serious about making it in this business, you’ll need a new name. Something more impressive for the stage.”

  A new name seemed appropriate for the new life I had chosen, and so I immediately re-christened myself Dante Magnus.

  On the seventh day of our voyage, Newfoundland came into view. We docked in Montreal a few days later. I begged Kellar for permission to go with him on his North American tour, but he turned me down, saying only that he already had more help than he needed. Instead he offered me a letter of introduction to a man named Dickey in a traveling show near the prairie city of Winnipeg. I took the train west and found the show set up on the banks of the Red River, just south of the city.

  Circus Animagicus consisted of half a dozen tents and wagons set up in a loose half-circle. Painted wooden signboards outside each tent advertised all kinds of marvels: fire-eaters, sword swallowers, bearded women. There were only a few other people in sight as I entered the largest canvas tent. The sign outside said Dr. Inferno, Master of Mystery.

  “Show’s not ’til four,” a skinny youth informed me. “No admittance until three thirty.”

  “I’m here to see Dickey,” I said, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt. “I have a letter of introduction.”

  The boy shrugged. “I wouldn’t go looking for Dickey until at least two o’clock, if I were you. Three o’clock is safer. Oh—and if you value your Irish skin, you won’t make the mistake of calling him Dickey to his face. It’s Mr. Dickens, or Dr. Inferno, if you prefer.”

  “Thank you,” I mumbled. “And where would I find Mr. Dickens after three o’clock?”

  The boy gestured with a thumb over his shoulder. “In the yellow wagon, behind this tent.”

  I paced outside the tent, periodically looking up to check the position of the sun in the sky. When I judged that it was mid-afternoon, I approached the peeling yellow wagon behind Dr. Inferno’s tent and knocked softly on the door. Half a minute passed in silence, and I knocked again with more force. This time loud thumping and banging erupted from inside the wagon.

  “What is it?” a voice thundered.

  “Mr. Dickens?” I said nervously. “I have a note here for you from Harry Kellar.”

  “From who?”

  “From Mr. Kellar, the magician.”

  There was cursing and the sound of a latch being drawn. A grotesque head appeared in the doorway. Albert Dickens’ black moustache and beard were tangled, and his swollen cheeks were webbed with tiny broken blood vessels. “Well?” he demanded, squinting into the afternoon light.

  “Mr. Dickens,” I stammered, taking a step downwind of the sour alcohol on his breath. I held the envelope up.

  He snatched it from my hand and tore out the letter that was inside. When he was finished reading, he looked me over and swore. “Bloody hell! The last thing I need is one of Kellar’s castoffs!”

  “Mr. Kellar thought you might be happy to have some assistance,” I said, my voice strained.

  “You got any skills?”

  “I know a few coin tricks. I’ve still got a lot to learn, but—”

  Dickens cut me off with a wave of his meaty hand. “I don’t know what fantasies Kellar put into your head, but you can forget about the amateur parlor tricks he taught you. If you want to eat, you’ll have to earn your keep.”

  My first assignment was to pick up litter from the carnival site. Half an hour before the first magic show of the day, I was called over to help collect money from the eager spectators lined up outside Dr. Inferno’s tent. When I’d collected the last admission, I slipped inside the tent to watch the show myself.

  Dr. Inferno stumbled out onto the stage wearing a dirty cape and a wild black wig that reached past his shoulders. His act was a disappointment from the start. Cards and coins slipped from his fingers as he was performing, and silk scarves peeked out of their hiding places in his pockets and up his sleeves. Worst of all, with every slurred phrase he sprayed saliva over the unlucky audience members sitting in the first few rows.

  Chloe turned the page and continued reading. As bad as Dr. Inferno’s magic act was, Dante was still fascinated by it. It didn’t take Chloe long to figure out why. Dickens’ clumsiness made it easier for Dante to see through his illusions. Dante was learning from the magician’s mistakes.

  I was a faithful observer at the back of Dr. Inferno’s tent every afternoon and evening for three months. By the end of that period, I had succeeded in figuring out all of my employer’s secrets. I improvised my own makeshift props from scavenged bits and pieces and
practiced my new tricks whenever I was alone. I realized late one summer night that I had learned everything I could. There was no future for me in Circus Animagicus. Before sunrise the next morning, I was packed up and on the road.

  Chloe let out an involuntary cry when someone tapped her on the shoulder, bringing her abruptly back to the present.

  “Sorry. ” Nyssa grinned as she dropped down on the grass a few feet away from Chloe’s bench. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

  “That’s okay,” Chloe said, trying to catch her breath.

  “Must be good, what you’re reading. You were really zoned out. I said your name twice, but you didn’t hear me.”

  Chloe closed the book. “It’s my great-grandfather’s memoir. It’s weird,” she said, shaking her head. “I kind of go into a trance when I start reading it. It’s like watching a movie or something.”

  “Dante Magnus? That’s his memoir?”

  Chloe nodded. “Right—I forgot you know who he is.”

  “When my father told your great-aunts I was interested in magic, they invited me over and taught me a few things that their mother had passed on to them. Just a few basic tricks that she learned before Dante disappeared, but it got me started.”

  “Dante had to start from scratch too,” said Chloe, “and he became famous. Or so I’m told. I haven’t got that far in the story yet.”

  “He’s in The Magician’s Encyclopedia,” Nyssa said. “But I didn’t know he’d published a memoir.”

  “He didn’t publish it. This is his handwritten manuscript.”

  “Cool. I won’t keep you from it,” Nyssa said as she pushed herself up from the grass. She pulled a folded piece of paper out of the back pocket of her shorts and held it out to Chloe. “I just came by to give you this.”

  It was an entry form for the Little Venice Junior Talent Show. Chloe folded it up again and slipped it between the pages of Dante’s book. “Thank you,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “But why are you encouraging the competition?”