“Well?” she asked, all mock innocence.
She had him in a corner. Fine. He’d deal with it, and then he’d deal with her. He pasted on his most charming smile, as though he were in on the joke, and turned back to the audience. “Of course not.”
The heckler turned out to be a large man whose coat was pulled tight across his stomach. While he checked over the cabinet, a nervous and excited energy ran through the audience. But Harte Darrigan didn’t make mistakes. Not anymore, and not on his stage, where he felt most at home and most in control. No girl was going to change that, no matter how much the sight of her full mouth twisting in amusement reminded him of the night before and how her lips had felt against his. He pressed his still-sore tongue against the sharp point of one of his teeth, to remind himself of what had happened the last time he lost his head over her.
When they both were done, he held out his bare hand to help her into the box, bracing himself for the warmth of her fingers. “If you’re satisfied?”
“Oh, I don’t know. . . .” ?There was a vicious gleam in her eyes. “I’m not sure that you have the skills to satisfy,” she said loud enough for the audience to hear.
The audience rustled again with more laughter, and someone in the back whistled.
He leaned very close, until he could feel the warmth of her and detect the light, sweet scent from her hair. “No one’s ever complained before,” he said, offering his bare hand to her again. “Unless you’re afraid?”
To the audience, her momentary reluctance probably appeared to be more of her toying with him, but Harte was close enough to see the reason she hesitated before taking his hand. He saw in her golden eyes the inner battle the girl was waging with herself between the choice to meet his challenge or to admit she was nervous. ?And he saw the moment her pride won.
She gave the audience another dazzling smile, goading them on as she made him wait a moment longer. When she finally slid her long, slender fingers into the palm of his hand, the shock of her warmth was almost enough to distract him from his relief. If he’d had his wits about him, maybe he would have found a way to take better advantage of that moment. But at first he could only look at their two hands joined in the glare of the spotlights—hers soft and surprisingly small against his.
“Well?” she asked, glancing again at the audience she now held in the palm of her hand. “You did promise . . . satisfaction, did you not?”
The heckler, who was still onstage with them, let out a loud, braying laugh, and the audience rustled again, but this time, he fed on their amusement, used it for what came next.
He lifted her hand, presenting her to his public. “The lady will now put herself at my mercy. At the mercy of the powers of the universe around us . . . powers that I control,” he said dramatically, as he led her toward the open cabinet. “On my command, she will disappear from this world and travel to the Otherworld beyond until I call her back.”
He looked at the girl then, and her tawny eyes were still laughing at him. But when he squeezed her hand gently, pushing his own power through himself, through the fine softness of her skin, those eyes went wide.
She looked down at their joined hands and whispered a single word. It was the kind of curse that most well-bred ladies had never even heard, much less used.
“Maybe later,” he whispered as he squeezed her hand again and sent another pulse of energy through his fingertips. He helped her up into the cabinet, relishing the way her brow furrowed in confusion. “Enjoy your trip,” he whispered, so the audience couldn’t hear.
Harte had to work to keep his face fixed in the serious mask he’d perfected for the stage as he closed the door in her face and latched it securely. He’d enjoyed sparring with her . . . too much. But he didn’t have time for her, not on his stage and not in his life. He took the corner of the cabinet and pushed, rotating it like a top. It moved faster and faster, spinning of its own volition, until it was floating inches and then feet off the stage. The audience went silent watching.
Lifting his hands in a dramatic gesture, he made the revolving cabinet stop. Then, all at once, the sides flapped down, so all that remained was a steel-framed box, empty and open. The audience could clearly see the curtain behind it.
A few people in the audience gave some halfhearted applause, but most of the faces remained bored. Unimpressed.
“Perhaps you think this is a matter of mirrors or optical tricks?” He pulled a small, snub-nosed pistol from his jacket, and the audience grew attentive, suddenly interested in what would come next.
“Perhaps you could help me again, sir?” He gestured to his heckler to come forward, then handed him the pistol and a single bullet.
“If you would do the honors of loading this gun?” He turned to his audience. “To guarantee that this is no trick of mirrors, that the girl has well and truly disappeared, I will fire the bullet into that target,” he said, gesturing to a large padded mat behind the empty frame of the cabinet.
Harte found Nibsy in the audience and met the boy’s eyes. Nibsy’s expression was impassive, apparently unconcerned with the girl’s safety.
When the man was done with the pistol, Harte took it from him, leveled his arm, and took aim. A drumroll began, low and ominous.
“No!” a female voice called out from the audience.
Harte didn’t react. His finger tightened, and the bullet exploded out of the gun, through the empty box, and into the padded target behind.
Scattered applause grew, but the audience was still quiet, waiting. Just the way he liked them. It was never enough to make the volunteer disappear. The real trick was bringing her back.
“Never fear,” he said, letting his voice carry over the crowd. “Though the fair Esta is no longer in our world, I will summon her to return. Behold—” ?With another wave of his hand, the walls of the cabinet began to rise, like a flower closing, and the cabinet began spinning again, more slowly now as it sank back down to the stage floor.
He approached it and gave it one more spin, making sure the front door was facing the audience, and then opened it with a triumphant flourish.
The audience went completely silent, and then after a moment, laughter began to erupt.
Harte turned to see the cabinet, empty. The girl wasn’t there.
He cursed under his breath and tried not to look as frantic as he felt. He turned back to the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you allow me to—”
“Are you looking for me?” a now-familiar voice called.
His skin felt suddenly hot. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, as his entire career flashed before his eyes. The audience shuffled, turning and craning their necks to see the source of the voice.