Tempest ran her fingers across the smooth silver of her charm bracelet. She was now behind the theater in an area roped off from the public to stay out of sight as much as possible. But it was too late. There was no way to keep what was happening from becoming the talk of the town.
She dreaded the footage and comments that would show up online. Especially because she remembered the wind whipping up her hair as she’d stepped out of the theater.
“How did you know that axe wasn’t dangerous?” Sanjay scowled at her. He’d arrived shortly after Tempest’s idea had been proven right. “Or do you have a death wish I don’t know about?”
Tempest had been asking herself that question ever since she’d leapt into action. “I’m not holding back on you. It was a gut reaction. Something about this whole situation screamed that it was a performance. As soon as I saw the fishing wire, I knew I was right.” Her dad was talking to Rinehart now, trying to get more information about what they knew as of this morning.
“Do you want to hear something horrible?” Sanjay asked. “One of the people in the crowd out there claimed to be a fan of mine, but she kept calling me Hindu Houdini instead of The Hindi Houdini.”
“Shocking.”
“I’m not even Hindu.”
“You don’t speak Hindi either,” Tempest pointed out.
“It’s a wonderfully alliterative stage name though. Plus I get to pay homage to Houdini. And I’ll have you know I speak at least two dozen words of Hindi, a few hundred words of Punjabi, and not nearly enough Latin to finish law school.” He gave her a charming smile that told her he’d used that line before.
Sanjay’s Punjabi grandparents had converted to Catholicism during the British rule of India. His immigrant parents had followed suit. Their biggest disappointment in their son had nothing to do with religion. It was the fact that he hadn’t finished law school, leaving instead to become a stage magician.
“Seriously, Tempest. You shouldn’t have gone inside.” The levity from Sanjay’s voice was gone. “You’re truly not shaken?”
“By the blade of a fake axe hanging over my head? I’m not shaken. I’m angry.” She glared at the back of the theater, which was nearly as dramatic and ornate as the front, except for the modern fire door.
Sanjay didn’t reply immediately, and in the silence, voices from a few yards away carried over.
“Their tricks on that stage looked so real,” Officer Quinn was saying to one of his colleagues.
“I don’t think that guy is cut out for police work,” Sanjay commented quietly, then swore loudly in Punjabi.
“Your concern for Officer Quinn is commendable—”
“Not that.” Sanjay thrust his phone into Tempest’s face. “This.”
He showed her a video of Quinn running from the theater, followed by Tempest running in before striding confidently out the same door, carrying an axe held high over her head like the victor of a battle. Smoke surrounded the edges of the frame, making it look as if she was a superhero emerging from a burning building.
“I don’t really look like that.” Tempest grabbed the phone from his hands. “Do I really look like that? This has to be doctored.”
“The smoke around the edges is a filter they added, but that’s exactly what you looked like. With the officer running out of the theater, followed by you running inside in your chain mail and emerging looking hella fierce.”
Tempest groaned. This was not the kind of publicity she wanted. Her manager, Winnie, was going to love this. But personally? She wanted anything but attention. This would only make it more difficult to find out what was really going on at the theater.
Sanjay plucked the phone from her fingers. “The comments say it was your mom who put the axe there…”
“That doesn’t make any sense!” cried Tempest. “Everyone should have seen those two fakers being led out of the theater.”
“Some people are still saying they were trapped by Emma Raj.”
“Her ghost, or booby traps being triggered after all this time?” Tempest growled at him.
“Both?” Sanjay frowned as he scrolled on his phone.
“If she had rigged booby traps before she died and they only got triggered now for some reason, then how did she hang an axe from the ceiling with fishing wire without anyone seeing it for more than five years?”
Sanjay shrugged. “Since when do people on the internet make any sense?” He swept his bowler hat off his head and shook out his thick mane of hair. “You could use one of these video stills as a poster for a show. The chain mail is a fierce touch, especially since you didn’t put on the headgear so you can still see your face and hair. The added smoke even makes it look like one of your shows.”
Tempest ignored him. “The axe was a childish prop.” She led them around to the side of the theater, where they could see the parking lot. The crowd was even bigger now.
“That’s not what it’ll look like in the photos.” Sanjay jogged after her. “People want their supernatural explanation.”
“I know.”
“Oh, goodie,” Sanjay deadpanned, followed by a sigh. “Here’s the cavalry.”
Gideon’s blue Renault was being waved through the police line at the back of the theater. He stopped a few feet from Sanjay’s truck and pulled Tempest into his arms. Sanjay stood at the side, glaring.
“You’re okay?” Gideon let go of the embrace but kept his hands gently on her shoulders.
“One of us,” Sanjay cut in, “was here to make sure nothing worse happened to her.”
Gideon noticed Sanjay for the first time. “Thank you,” he said, sincerely. He released Tempest and looked as if he was going to formally shake Sanjay’s hand, but then pulled him into a bear hug. “Thank you,” Gideon repeated.
Sanjay squirmed uncomfortably, but Tempest’s attention was drawn elsewhere. Ivy was driving up on her pink moped.
“This is a weird combo of hugs.” Ivy pointed at Gideon and Sanjay. “But I’ll take my opening.” She gave Tempest a hug. “Since you had chain mail on, I guess I can’t accuse you of being Too Stupid to Live.”
Sanjay’s phone buzzed. “Damn. My alarm. I’ve got to catch my flight to Vancouver to finish out my week of shows.”
Darius snuck up behind Sanjay and put a large hand on his shoulder. Sanjay’s eyes flickered, but the rest of his body didn’t react. He’d been a performer long enough to control his reaction to being surprised. “You in the business of scaring young men out of their wits now?”
Darius chuckled. “You’re not so young anymore. I think I see a couple of gray hairs on your temples.”
Sanjay gasped in horror as his hands flew to the sides of his head.
Tempest threw him a bone. “Gray hair isn’t a bad thing. It’s dignified.”
“And sexy,” Ivy added. “Very sexy. But … I don’t see a single gray hair on Sanjay’s head.”
“Unless you all want to stay here discussing Sanjay’s hair,” said Darius, “Rinehart said we’re free to leave.” He pulled his daughter toward him and kissed the top of her head. He was one of the few men tall enough to do that, and it always made her feel like a kid again. “I see you’ve got your car, so I’ll follow you back to the house.”
“I’m fine,” Tempest insisted.
Darius crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. If he wasn’t her papa, it would have been an incredibly intimidating gesture. His raised eyebrow might have been even better than her own. And hers was damn good.
“Fine,” she consented. “Let’s get back to the house.” There was just one thing she needed to do first.