“No, you assumed I was a stagehand.”
His smile grows wider as he turns to the new wall and reaches out to touch it. “What do they see on the other side?”
“An empty hall.”
He won’t meet my eyes, just keeps looking at the wall I’ve conjured. “A double-sided trick. Impressive.”
“Does that surprise you?”
“Not at all.” He turns around and looks at me. “If I’m honest, I really did think there was something magic about you.”
His compliment does something to my cheeks—warms them before I can stop it. “You know what a double-sided trick is,” I say. “That’s impressive too, for a guy working the streets.”
His smile turns the slightest shade serious. “Well, you know my last name. Pretty sure that says it all.”
Alex Danfrey. The name did sound vaguely familiar when that shiner Howie kept rambling on about him the other night, but I couldn’t place why. I still can’t. “Sorry, have to say I’ve got no idea if that’s supposed to mean something to me.”
He studies my face, like he’s looking for a lie. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He clears his throat. “You don’t read the news?”
I shrug. “Newspapers aren’t a necessity where I’m from.”
“Well, I guess that’s kind of refreshing.” He shifts a bit, crosses his arms in front of him, and leans against my manipulated wall, a strange game of trust. “Let’s just say my family had quite a public run-in with the law.”
“That’s why you’re here, working for this lot?” I nod behind him, out to the main show space where his running buddies are likely getting shot to Sunday. “Can’t help who you are, sort of thing?”
Alex nods. “I guess you could say that.”
“Got to be honest,” I say, as I study him, “you don’t look like the typical guy working on the smuggling end of things.”
“And why’s that?” He throws me a smirk as he ruffles his soft blond hair. “I’m not slick enough?”
I can’t help but match his smile.
“Because I’m not sporting a fedora?” he says, and I laugh. “Not to worry, I just picked one out from the Sears, Roebuck catalog. It’s on its way.”
Alex laughs with me, looks down at his hands. “Hate to be the first one to tell you, but you sort of stand out too. In a good way.”
My grin grows even bigger. “Besides this whole sorcering thing, I really consider myself very ordinary.” God, I’m flirting with him, and I can’t stop myself.
“Oh, you’re far from ordinary.” He takes a step closer to me, and the movement catches me off guard, sends more of that sickening, churning, wonderful feeling thrashing around inside. “But I think it’s good to be extraordinary.”
And then he stares at me, not into my eyes, but right above my left ear. I can’t hear what he whispers, but soon I feel the softest of pressures against my temple, and a new scent, heady and foreign, teases my nose.
I reach up and pull down the silky flower that’s now tucked over my ear. It’s a black, glistening orchid, red tongue, looks like some cross between a dragon and a flower you might find hidden in someone’s dark dream, or growing on the moon. I’m near positive it only existed in Alex’s imagination, until now.
“So you can sorcer too.”
Alex gives a little bow. “They’ve got me pulling tricks on the road, protection walls, coast guard diversions, police code scrambling, that sort of thing.” He holds his hands up, as if summoning the room. “Nothing as elaborate and big-time as your show here.” He looks over his shoulder. “Speaking of, we’re heading on another smuggling run soon. So unless you’ve found some way to stop time, I probably should go.”
But I want him to stay. Something about Alex draws me in, like a magnet, makes me want to joke with him, keep him talking.
I focus on the wall behind him and force myself to say, “Release.” I nod. “Go on, you can pass through it now.”
Alex pinches his fingers a few inches in front of his brow, and then a fully formed black fedora appears out of nothing, the brim inserting itself right in between his fingertips. Alex grins, takes off his new hat, tips it in my direction, and as his hand extends, the hat vanishes. “Till we meet again, Joan.”
Then he turns, to join his gangster buddies across the Red Den.
I whip around, unable to wipe the smile off my face. I practically prance back toward the stairs. It’s been a long time since something’s felt easy, light, free.
But then I spot Gunn standing outside his office door. How long was Gunn watching us? Watching me?
“Our meeting, sir,” I recall out loud, the feeling of freedom that Alex brought on like a summer wind all but snuffed out as I remember what I’m about to share: Mama’s secrets, my secrets, the dark magic that Mama never wanted me to whisper, much less sell . . .