My pulse lurches when I spot the flames, but Morgan is there with a squeeze of my hand. I try to breathe deep, searching for comfort in the air, but even though my magic is working with Morgan beside me, the energy is different here than in Salem. It’s too busy, too full of conversation. Its vibration too quick.
I glance to Sarah to see how she’s fairing under the crush of the city, especially since she normally has such a strong connection to air. There’s a tension to her shoulders that isn’t normally there, but otherwise she seems fine.
She catches me staring and offers a small smile. “You have to disconnect,” she whispers, leaning close. “That’s the only way to survive a place like this.”
Morgan points to a set of tables near the middle of the rows. “There are two spots there.” She frowns. “But the next closest spot is a few tables over.”
“That’s fine,” Sarah says. “I can’t believe it’s this packed already.” She maneuvers away from us, taking the solo space while Morgan and I hurry to the two seats at the center table.
My phone buzzes, and I pull it out to find a series of texts from Detective Archer.
DA: Good luck tonight. Try to enjoy the show.
DA: See if you can get a feel for her. If Alice seems skittish, you can have Sarah wait outside while you talk. Don’t overwhelm her.
DA: Cal confirmed the room number. It’s still the same.
Archer’s encouragement only makes me more nervous. I know how much is riding on this, but it’s clear he wanted to be here to keep an eye on me. At least he’s protecting the rest of the coven. I type out a quick response, promising to update him as soon as I’ve spoken to Alice, and put the phone away.
Beside me, Morgan glances down the row to where Sarah’s sitting. “I like her. She seems really cool.”
“Yeah, she’s pretty great,” I concede, even if she sometimes treats me like a gayby, which I’m not. I’ve been out over a year. I’ve already been through a heartbreak and moved on. “She and her wife, Rachel, are expecting their first child in a couple months.”
Morgan lights up. “That’s awesome! I’m definitely up for babysitting.” She bites her lower lip, still swollen from kissing. “Should I worry about the mini Elemental setting my hair on fire?”
Her question startles a laugh out of me. “Even I couldn’t do that. Not for another couple months anyway.” I say it without thinking, but once the words are past my lips, I don’t know if they’re true. I don’t know what will happen when I turn eighteen. What if I’m never ready to progress further?
And the worst of it? I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell Lady Ariana any of that. Or Mom or Archer.
I know I should tell them. Anything that helps the Council learn more about the drug could be important. But if they know, will Elder Keating pull me from these missions? I still have to recruit David, and I want to help destroy the drug that did this to me. Once that’s done, if it still hurts to use my magic on my own, I’ll tell them.
Maybe.
Probably.
I could at least tell Cal. He and I are friends. He wouldn’t look at me like I’ve broken his heart the way Mom might or panic about my safety as much as Archer is bound to do.
Before my thoughts can spiral any further, a soft rumble, like far-off thunder, rolls through the crowd. Silence settles over us as a dense fog billows out from some hidden machine to cover the small stage and most of the audience.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and nonbinary patrons.” A deep voice booms over a speaker system. “Prepare to have your senses fooled and your minds delighted as we enter a world of illusion and misdirection, where nothing is as it seems.” The announcer pauses. Anticipation electrifies the air. “Put your hands together and give a loud, proud Brooklyn welcome to Alice Ansley!”
A whoop travels through the crowd, and we all applaud.
The spotlights flick on, illuminating a shadowy figure at the center of the fog. The mist clears, and Alice steps forward. A few patrons woo! like they’re at a concert, and the excitement spreading from table to table is infectious.
Like her show poster, Alice is dressed all in black, though she’s traded out her leather jacket for a crisp three-piece suit, complete with bow tie and black-and-white wing-tipped shoes. Her old-fashioned magician’s hat is tipped forward on her head while her pink hair spills down her shoulders, falling all the way to mid-back.
When she reaches the front of the stage, she flourishes a bow and removes the hat, tossing it to the side. It lands perfectly on a coat rack that I hadn’t noticed before. It’s an impressive shot, though I suppose any Blood Witch could master the toss after just a few tries.
“Thank you all so much for coming,” Alice says, pulling a deck of cards from her pocket. She wears a tiny mic at her crisp collar, which transmits her words in surround sound. “I need a volunteer.”
Hands raise all around me, each audience member eager to be chosen. I keep my hand down. Something about her voice is familiar. It picks at the back of my mind, but I can’t place it. Alice selects a participant from the second row and asks the woman to choose a card.
Each time she speaks, that sense of familiarity grows stronger. I study her face, trying to see beyond the heavy contour, winged eye makeup, and shimmering highlight.
Alice places the deck between the woman’s hands and presses, the cards disappearing until only one remains. The crowd gasps when Alice takes the card, and the volunteer lets out a shocked laugh, revealing that Alice has indeed found her card, the six of hearts.
“But where is the rest of the deck?” the woman asks, turning the single card over and over in her hand.
Alice scans the crowd. “You there,” she calls, “in the red tie. Can you please check your jacket pocket? The inside one.”
Two rows in front of me and three tables to the left, the person with the red tie checks their pocket. They laugh as they pull out a deck of cards and hold it up for everyone else to see.
The audience cheers. Victory settles over Alice’s features, and an icy chill creeps up my spine. I see it now. Alice with her hair in a tight bun, blonde instead of pink. Anger and fear on her face instead of the easy smile of a performer. I feel her hand clamped tightly around my throat.
This mission is doomed.
“I know her,” I whisper to Morgan. All hope of destroying the drug before the trial splinters and falls to pieces around me.
Morgan doesn’t look away from the audience member searching the deck for the six of hearts. “How?”
“She’s the Blood Witch I met in New York.” My voice is so low that I don’t know at first if Morgan hears me. But then she turns, her eyes huge. “She’s the one who tried to kill me.”