Believe the Magic Page 23

I leaned back and covered my face with my cold hands. What had I done?

  “Ella, Ella, damn it, wake up.”

  “Huh?” Was the boat sinking? Oh, ow! If it was, let me go down with it.

  “Wake up.”

  “Yeah” I gripped the arm of the chair. Now who’d gone and displaced me to the Tilt-A-Whirl? Stop the Ride!

  “Ella?” Quentin stood up. I heard him, didn’t see him. I had my eyes closed tight. As if creating a vacuum. If no light could come in, nothing could go out, either. Namely my stomach contents.

  “Are you sick?”

  “You could say that.”

  I heard the rattle of glass and a disgruntled curse. “You got drunk?”

  “No, I fell asleep before I got to feel the alcohol’s potency.”

  “Sweet Jesus, Ella.”

  “Whatsa matter, Quentin, never had a gal drown herself in liquor over you before?”

  “Are you still drunk now?”

  “What time is it? I don’t feel drunk, I just feel sick.”

  “We’ve got to go, we have to jump, tonight. Do you want to go make yourself throw up?”

  “Wha?”

  “Vomit, hurl, toss-cookies. Go shove your finger down your throat so you don’t do it all over me during the jump.”

  The idea of stale vomit, especially revisited alcohol had my stomach revolting. “Get me up.”

  Maybe I’d turned green. Maybe he’d heard the panic in my croaked order. But I was carried, at a run, to the bathroom. I arrived faster than I would have been able to get out of my recliner. And it would have been too late.

  “Go away,” I muttered as I leaned against the sink. This willing myself not to be ill wasn’t working. The metallic taste was evidence of my upcoming humility. And I wasn’t in the mood to share this particularly low point of my life with anyone.

  “Get the hell out of here!” I yelled and lunged for the toilet.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  It was at least six hours later. Quentin insisted it was morning. So did my raging headache. I would be tucked into bed and doing little more than praying for dry land if my stomach hadn’t gone through phase two of the revolution.

  But I had no clue what Quentin was cursing at, except perhaps me. My stomach was inside out and superglued to the back of my throat. The convulsions had stopped, hopefully for good. I was considering whether or not I could tolerate the minty freshness of toothpaste when he’d cursed. He’d already held my head when my neck had become about the consistency of an egg noodle.

  “What?” I moaned at him when he repeated it again. Quentin reached over me and into the garbage. A pregnancy test lay on top. And it read positive. A big pink plus sign.

  “No,” I said. “It’s not mine. I shoved mine back into the box. And I haven’t touched it.”

  Quentin pulled out the empty box and shook it. Then narrowed his eyes at me. A cold sweat washed over me again.

  “Damn it, Quentin. You saw it as well as I did last night. It was not positive when we left.”

  “So you’re just denying this? Did you read the instructions thoroughly? Did you let it sit long enough before reading it?”

  “Yes,” I yelled back at his accusations. “For God’s sake, you think I was just careless? That’s a big freaking deal!”

  “And it also is why someone’s hot on our heels. We should have jumped last night. We need to go now.”

  “Let me brush my teeth. You get the gem.” I hauled myself up to my feet with the aide of the counter top.

  “The gem?”

  His shin was an easy target for a swift kick. He’d forgotten, even lost, the gem? I had to do everything didn’t I? “The one in my lipstick case? Remember?”

  “Shit.”

  “Move, Quentin. I think I’ve got to throw up again.”

  He scuttled from his seat on the closed toilet lid. I had really been joking. But I’m sure if I thought about losing that gem long enough I could certainly feel sick.

  I patted my pockets. Empty.

  “Where did you have it last?”

  “I don’t know. I guess around the time I took a bath yesterday.”

  “Damn it. Find it!”

  “It’s gone. Whoever came in here, messed with the test and then saw it.” I wanted to slap myself square in the forehead, but knew the repercussions of that the loss. If Quentin was closer I might have substituted, though. He still needed a slap from last night.

  His face was pale and stony. I’d have almost thought he’d become a zombie if his green eyes weren’t neon lights. “Now we’ve got a problem.”

  “While you figure it out, I’m going to go back to bed and sleep this headache off.”

  “No you’re not.”

  “I’ve just ripped out my guts, through my nose no less, been faced with the idea maybe I am pregnant and have now flooded my unborn child’s system with straight vodka-”

  “Straight?” Fire flashed behind green. For the first time I saw his gems glow. Red.

  “With a Coke chaser.”

  “Ella.”

  “Shut up.” I leaned against the counter. I no longer felt out of control of my body, but totally out of control of the whole situation. “Just shut up.” I repeated, more to my conscience than to Quentin.

  I closed my eyes. Get a grip, Ella. This was all so, so wrong. When I opened my eyes I had planned to ask Quentin where it was he was so keen on jumping to. But I saw it. It lay glittering beside the tub.

  My hand clenched the necklace around my neck as I crept up to the twinkling in the small crevice. Quentin must have followed my gaze. He got there before me and palmed the precious piece of magic before I’d had a chance.

  Magic, you stupid. You could have used magic and snatched it right up.

  My eyes followed as he stuffed his hand, and the gem, into his pocket.

  “Come here.” I could tell. He had the gem now. He was ready to fly.

  I pushed past him and flung myself on to the bed. “No. I’m not going.” I knew my adamant proclamation was muted by the feathers of the pillow. I didn’t care.

  I half-expected to hear something. Maybe even catch a flash of light. Nope. Not Quentin.

  “I can’t leave without you. What would you do? They’d come after you, thinking you had the gem anyway.” He patted my head and pushed my hair back. It was nice in the sort of way a dog must feel when its owner pets it.

  It was enough to make me fall asleep.

  “Ella. Wake up now. You’ve slept through lunch and it’s almost dinner. You’ve got to eat. What if…”

  I woke up enough to hear the end of his tirade. He paced back and forth at the end of the bed. Sometime during my extended nap he’d had the decency to throw the blanket over me.

  But my headache was duller than this morning. I felt nasty. My stomach growled. And hungry.

  “I heard that, Ella, even your body is talking to you. I’ve gone damn near stir crazy in here waiting for you to wake up. We can’t be alone. I saw them on the ship earlier.” Quentin stopped and pulled the blanket off me. “Come on.”

  It was bright. My eyes protested against it via my mouth. “Uh.”

  I couldn’t believe how sluggishly my body moved. I’d been invaded by a giant snail. And it was one heck of a shell on my back.

  The bathroom seemed father away, too. Quentin followed me. I guess he didn’t trust I wouldn’t collapse under my imaginary burden. I’d feel much better as soon as I could toss some cold water on my face.

  The phone rang.

  “I’m not moving, Quentin. Go get it.”

  My blood was flowing again. I could stand up. I could walk. And I’d found my voice.

  “Screw the phone. I’m getting you dressed and we’re leaving.”

  “I’m sick of constantly jumping around. And I’m sick, period.”

  “That isn’t my fault.”

  “Oh no?” I was feeling brave. “You’d think I’d have gone through all that puking in a first class bathroom on a cr
uise ship without your influence? Answer the damn phone.”

  I pushed the door closed and started the process to revive Ella. It was going to take time and effort and a little help from Max Factor to get it right.

  “Ella, get to feeling better in a hurry. We’re on in an hour.” I heard the phone rattle against the desk. I don’t think whatever news he got over the phone sat any better with him.

  “What exactly does ‘we’re on’ mean?” I flipped on the water and held my toothbrush like a weapon.

  “There’s a costume in the closet. You’re my assistant in the magic show tonight.”

  My head jerked up from the basin. I looked like a mad dog with foam around my mouth. Felt nearly the same way. “Magic? I thought we were leaving.”

  Silence. I scrubbed and spit.

  “Are you saying we have to put on magic show?”

  He stood at the doorway holding a skimpy sequined and mesh outfit. It was little more than a black bikini held together with fishnet. And a boa.

  “I blame you. You made me answer the phone. We’re a husband and wife team and we’re on the schedule. You oughta jump into the shower, my dear.”

  I laughed. Oh it was funny. How had Quentin managed to pull this one off? My peals of painful laughter faded when I saw his straight face. Not even a dimple gave him away. “Uh, sorry to break it to you, but you’ll be performing alone tonight, sweetheart. Just tell them your wife is sick.”

  “That’s not going to work. You see, tonight’s our opening night.”

  “I thought you wanted to jump.”

  Yep, those were darts flying from his eyes.

  “How noble.” I rinsed my mouth and turned off the water.

  “Get your ass moving.”

  I turned my back and crossed my hands over my chest. That wasn’t going to stop him. He lifted me up and floated me right to the bathtub. Hot water cascaded down the minute my feet hit the non-skid surface. “Quentin!” I shouted, my fists clenched. My clothes were soaked. I had no shampoo, no soap.

  I dodged the bottles he hurtled over the top of the door.

  “You’re wasting valuable time, Ella. You’re going to need the stage makeup tonight. I don’t want all those people out there thinking I married a sunken-eyed mad woman.”

  The water was helping me come alive. I stripped and kicked the sodden clothes to the back of the tub. It took everything I had to ignore his description. He was right, but dammit, that hurt. “Magic show?” I was still incredulous. “How did that happen?”

  “Don’t think. Your costume’s on the counter. I’m going to get dressed.”

  I bet he didn’t have fishnet.

  I scrubbed the shampoo into my hair. My fingers connected to the knot of leather that held the gems around my neck and a cold chill raced down my spine. Just like the first time, I remembered. When I thought it was a spider.

  But now I know better. I could jump. Leave. Run. But he had the trump card, the last original gem.

  Fine. I flipped off the water. Magic show it is. Warming up would probably be a good idea. I had the hair dryer floating over me as I waggled my fingers at the towel. It rose, spun and pirouetted on its journey to me. Then it opened and circled my body in a warm hug.

  Energy soared through my veins, warming me even more. We could do this. I could do this. While I wasn’t real happy with Quentin, my options weren’t very appealing. The least I could do was go along with it and use magic to get the gem back.

  “I’m not wearing this,” I shouted a few moments later.

  “I heard you. And I think you look smashing.” Quentin materialized beside me.

  “This is more suitable for a boudoir than on stage.”

  “Hey, we could be in Vegas. Performing topless, or even nude is considered normal there.”

  “Not me.”

  “I think you perform well in the nude.” His eyes twinkled as he met mine in the mirror.

  “You’re influenced by this scrap of black lace.”

  “Mm.”

  “Why do you get to remained fully clothed?” He looked like royalty in purple and gold. I half-expected to find a sword hidden between the layers of satin.

  “I’m not as beautiful as you.”

  “There’ll be some ladies in the crowd who’ll beg to differ. Give me the cape and turn around.”

  “No.”

  “Do we have time to argue?” I struck a pose and then returned to puckering my lips for another coat of wine colored lipstick. My head started pounding again.

  I stuck my hip and my hand out. “Cape.”

  He rolled his eyes but tugged on the gold braid. I snatched it and tossed it over my shoulders. The cloak was heavy and fell nearly to my ankles. Thank goodness.

  “Now. Let me see your butt,” I ordered.

  “What?” Quentin’s eyes shot open wide.

  “Turn around. I want to make sure you give those single girls a good show.”

  He sighed with utmost dramatics and pirouetted. Even held his hands in the air like a ballerina. I was too busy admiring to laugh. Those shiny gold pants were snug in all the right places.

  Was it hot in here?

  I picked up the make-up sponge and patted my forehead. Yep, I was sweating already. I glanced over one last time. “Cute tights.”

  His answering growl tugged at the corners of my mouth. I wanted badly to be able to hate him. Or at least feel nothing but lust. But here he was, being sexy as hell, sweet as could be and I was putty. How else could I explain the fact I was going to face a few hundred people in something less than a bathing suit?

  Chapter Seventeen

  We were hustled into a cramped dressing room about ten minutes before showtime. “I guess this is why they had us dress in our suite,” I told Quentin.

  He nodded. The room was tinier than our bathroom. And the space was stuffed with every imaginable magic prop. Certainly not a place for the claustrophobic.

  I eyed the saw-the-lady-in-half box. “Wanna do a twist on that routine and let me cut you?”

  He nodded with a crooked smile. “Ah, no.”

  “Five minutes,” accompanied a staccato rap on the door.

  “Here’s the deal. You go first, do some simple stuff—tear up a napkin, turn a scarf into the bird, etc. Use mental displacement. Remember the prime rib of your first lesson?”

  “The one I didn’t get?” It felt like those first lessons happened years ago. If I only knew then, I might have been a little more skeptical about finding adventure. This certainly qualified as adventure. I knew precious little about putting on a freaking magic show.

  I hadn’t quit yet, so I took a mental photograph of the room. A ball, a dove and a pile of scarves. And there on the makeup table was a box of tissues. Check. I could do this.

  “I got it,” I told him while straightening my spine. My voice still betrayed me with a quiver.

  “I believe in you.” Quentin winked and blew me a kiss. For once, I trusted he did.

  I nearly floated onstage. But I thought maybe that would be pushing the magic envelope a little far.

  Music…lights…applause? Obviously we had a warm up act. I hoped like hell we were worth it.

  I wished I’d added a streak of red glitter to my hair. I’d left it down, of course, there wasn’t much choice in the matter. Oh well, maybe I looked exotic enough.

  “Introducing Mr. Thunder, the magician, with his lovely assistant, Dancing Rain.” I jerked my mouth from a giggle to a wide smile and did my best to glide on stage.

  Dancing Rain? What was that, something Native American? Not that I minded, of course, but whoa, the surprises were getting old.

  I’d tied a string of scarves together and led them behind me as I ran along the lights that bordered the stage. The music swelled and the spotlights narrowed.

  I held up one arm and let the multiple colors coil around my wrist and down my entire body like a giant snake. With a snap of a finger, they dropped.

  I wadded the scarves into a ball an
d tossed them skyward, spinning until it was the red rubber ball that fell back into my hands.

  A pair of hula hoops were rolled across the stage at me. Dare I? Did I remember how to do it? Uh, not with Quentin’s heavy cloak. This was going to be humiliating and challenging.

  Here I was, half-naked and dancing with a hula hoop. At least it wasn’t a pole. I swore I’d never stoop to that. But the catcalls were the same. I hoped the stage makeup kept my face from looking as red as it felt.

  I swallowed, hoping that lump was my pride going back down. I twirled one, and then both of the glittery pink hoops. Now what?

  A poof of smoke and the pair of hoops became one. My smile was no longer forced. The crowd was going nuts. I could see the enthralled faces of youngsters who had come up to the front row. That made it all worthwhile right there.

  I encouraged one little girl up on the stage. Boy, was she a sweetie. I still didn’t want to speak. I guess I was pretending it added to my aura. So I handed her a wand and led her to where I’d dropped the cloak.

  I lifted it the center of it about two feet up so it created a little tent and pointed so she would touch it with the wand.

  A bolt of lightning flew out of it, scaring both of us. That was not in the script. But after I swallowed, my heart this time, I mimed, “Oh, no.” and pointed to the lump beneath the cape.

  I took the wand away. Didn’t need the precious little thing with eyes as big as her fists to torch the place.

  Motioning her over, I peeked under the edge of the cloak. Her giggle went all the way to my heart. Having a child wouldn’t be all that bad, would it?

  She nodded and smiled, out-glowing me and my sequins. We stepped back and I tugged on the cape to expose what we’d found. The audience gasped when they saw the birdcage holding a white, folded paper bird.

  I was having fun. My cheeks hurt and I couldn’t remember why I’d been afraid. The crowd was supportive, encouraging my adrenaline to reach heart-pounding levels.

  My little helper was no less excited. She jumped up and down and squealed with glee when I lifted the birdcage to a stool that was at her eye level.

  How to do this… I tapped my foot and my finger against my lips in tune. The little girl should get the paper bird. Souvenir.