14. Ditch: to secretly dispose of an unneeded item.

Sage signalled to Bianca again. A frown had creased Bianca’s brow. She shrugged slightly at Sage. What to do? Did Herb have a contingency plan?

Seconds passed. The barrel rocked again.

Sage felt like her heart was in her throat. She felt dizzy and sick as adrenaline coursed through her. This was wrong. Something had gone wrong.

The barrel didn’t move again.

Bianca stumbled onto the stage, pushing the barrel over, and knocking the lid free. Herb spilled out with a rush of water, coughing and gasping for air.

Sage ran out to him, crouching down. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked. ‘Herb?’

His face was pale, his eyes wide, heaving great breaths. Sage grabbed him under the arms and hauled him upright, digging her shoulder under his arm so she could support his weight.

‘Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen,’ announced Bianca with a beaming smile as Sage half-led, half-dragged Herb backstage.

Bianca closed the curtain and flicked on the houselights, to confused murmurings from the audience. There was no applause.

‘Who did this?’ hissed Herb, his face purple with humiliation, matching the mohair blanket that Bianca had thrown around his shoulders. ‘Someone must have swapped the barrels. Did you check them?’

They were in Bianca’s dressing-room. Sage had made sure the audience had all left, and dealt with the five or six patrons who were demanding refunds.

Bianca took a deep breath. ‘Of course I checked them,’ she said, her voice patient. ‘Twice. Just like we practised.’

‘You mustn’t have,’ said Herb, kicking at the wastepaper basket. ‘Someone is sabotaging my work!’

‘Maybe,’ said Bianca, keeping her voice low. ‘Maybe Renaldo the Remarkable didn’t appreciate your mockery.’

‘Don’t you dare,’ Herb spat. ‘Don’t you dare spin your mumbo-jumbo bullshit with me. Not now. Not tonight.’ He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

‘Way to thank me for saving your life,’ said Bianca to the door. ‘You’re welcome.’

‘What happened?’ asked Sage. ‘What went wrong?’

Bianca shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘He’s been so cagey about his great masterpiece, he hasn’t really told me anything about how it works. My guess is there was a second barrel behind the curtain, and Herb got confused when he was moving them around in the dark.’

‘Poor Herb.’ Sage stood up. ‘I’ll go and see if he’s okay.’

Bianca bit her lip. ‘Good idea. But … be careful. He can be kind of vicious when he’s angry.’

Sage stopped halfway to the door. ‘Vicious?’

‘I really shouldn’t say anything,’ said Bianca. ‘It was over a year ago. I’m sure he’s grown up a lot since then.’

Sage sat back down. ‘Tell me what happened.’

Bianca sighed. ‘He’s too ambitious by far, is the problem. He’s wanted to take over from Armand since he started working here.’

Ambitious enough to dispose of Armand completely? Sage swallowed. ‘Go on.’

‘Did he ever tell you we used to use three white mice in the act?’

Sage nodded. ‘He said they went missing.’

‘Is that what he told you?’ Bianca nodded slowly. ‘That makes sense. We used them in the cups-and-balls routine. It was a cute finale – Armand lifted up the cups to reveal three white mice, who would run around on the table for a moment until Armand scooped them off into his hat and vanished them. But one day Armand and Herb had a fight. Herb wanted his own spot on the programme, and Armand refused. Herb was only seventeen at the time. He’d never performed to an audience before, except at little kids’ birthday parties and a couple of corporate gigs. Herb was furious. When Armand lifted the cups for the last time that night, the three mice underneath were dead.’

Sage felt a chill run through her. ‘Herb killed the mice?’

Bianca shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘But I just can’t believe it was a coincidence.’

‘What did Armand do?’

‘Nothing. He just scooped the mice into his hat as usual. He didn’t say anything to Herb afterwards. But you could tell he was angry.’ Bianca took a deep breath. ‘But that’s not everything.’

‘There’s more?’

Tears started to roll down Bianca’s cheeks. ‘It was my fault,’ she whispered. ‘You can’t blame Herb. He was angry and hurt. And it was all my fault.’

‘Why?’

Bianca swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment before continuing. ‘W-when Herb asked Armand if he could have the spot, Armand said he’d think about it. Then, after the show, Armand asked me what I thought. I told him that Herb was too green, that he wasn’t ready.’ She looked over at Sage, her eyes full of sadness. ‘I told him not to let Herb have the spot. I crushed Herb’s dream.’

Sage went over and put her arms around Bianca. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said. ‘You just gave your honest opinion. That in no way justifies what Herb did to those mice.’

And to Armand, she thought.

‘Am I interrupting something?’ It was Jason Jones, standing just outside the dressing-room. He carried another gold-wrapped package, but this one was small and thin. Jewellery, thought Sage, as Bianca pulled out of her hug. He’s trying too hard.

‘Um,’ said Bianca, looking uncomfortable. ‘Jason, you remember Sage.’

‘Of course.’ Jason turned his smile onto Sage, but the magic had totally gone. He just looked like a smarmy con-artist.

‘I just have to make a quick phone call,’ said Bianca. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

‘I hear tonight’s show was a bit dramatic,’ Jason said mildly to Sage. ‘I hope everyone’s okay.’

Sage gave him what she hoped was a polite smile. ‘I know that for some reason Bianca likes you,’ she said, feeling bold. ‘I can’t imagine why, because you seem completely odious to me. But I just thought I’d let you know that if you hurt her, I’ll kill you.’

Jason blinked in surprise, and then smiled a lazy smile. He reminded Sage of a crocodile basking in the sun. She started to head towards the office, but Jason spoke.

‘I remember my first solo show,’ he said. ‘It was a total disaster.’

Sage remembered the newspaper clipping they’d found in Armand’s dressing-room. ‘Was it?’ she said, turning around to face Jason. ‘Why?’

Jason shrugged and smiled a self-deprecating smile that Sage almost believed. ‘You know,’ he said. ‘It’s hard starting out, when you’re so inexperienced.’

‘But you had a good teacher, didn’t you?’ She didn’t fall for any of Jason’s bullshit. There was something creepy about him, and she was going to get to the bottom of it.

Jason looked genuinely surprised. ‘Armand?’ he said. ‘I thought everyone had forgotten that we used to work together.’

‘You mean that you used to be his assistant.’

‘I like to think it was an equal partnership.’

Sage snorted. ‘Yeah, I bet every assistant would like to think that. Doesn’t look that way from where I stand, though.’

Jason’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you’re referring to,’ he said. ‘I assure you that any claims Armand has made against me are entirely false.’

Claims? This was interesting. Had Jason stolen from Armand? What if that had a connection to the missing money, and Armand’s disappearance?

‘Okay, I’m ready.’ Bianca was back, rugged up in her red duffel coat and her bag slung over her shoulder.

‘Lovely to catch up, Sage,’ said Jason. ‘Could you do me a favour?’ He pulled a white envelope from his bag. ‘Could you give this to Herb, next time you see him?’

Sage felt a sudden chill, but the envelope didn’t look anything like the creepy notes Bianca had been receiving. ‘What is it?’

Jason smiled blandly. ‘Just some fan mail,’ he said. ‘Come along, Bianca. I’ve made dinner reservations.’

Sage found Herb sitting at his desk, staring at his notebook and shaking his head.

‘This is for you,’ she said, and dropped the white envelope on his desk. Herb ignored it.

‘I just don’t know where it went wrong.’ His hair had started to dry, and it stuck out in all directions, making him look young and rather lost.

‘I think you should go home,’ said Sage. ‘Get some sleep. You’ll get it right tomorrow.’

Herb shook his head. ‘I can’t do the show tomorrow,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to cancel again.’

‘Okay,’ Sage said, trying to sound soothing. ‘That’s fine. But you should still go home. I’ll call the people who have booked.’

‘I don’t want to go home,’ said Herb. ‘I want stay here and invent a time machine so I can go back and erase the last few hours from history.’ He looked up at her, his eyes plaintive. ‘Console me over dinner?’

Sage felt her heart break. ‘I–I can’t.’

‘Come on,’ said Herb, leaning in towards her. ‘Throw a drowning man a life raft.’

The cinnamon and theatre smell of him almost made her dizzy. She closed her eyes and saw three dead mice, and a spike through Armand’s head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, pulling away.

Sage opened the bookings folder and picked up the phone to call the first name on the list. Herb stood there for a moment, watching her, his face a picture of misery. Sage took a deep breath and dialled, keeping her gaze firmly on the folder in front of her. After a moment, Herb sighed and walked away.

Sage spent most of Sunday in her bedroom, looking over the photos she’d taken of Armand. They were beautiful, the balance of light and shadow perfectly capturing the severe drama and mystery of Armand’s features.

She was almost certain that Armand hadn’t really been called away on an urgent personal matter. His disappearance had to be linked to the other strange things going on at the theatre. Could Herb have done away with him in order to further his own career? And what about Jason Jones?

And where was Armand? Had he been kidnapped?

Could he be … dead?

Sage shivered, and pulled the ghost photo from her folder. Was there a connection between Armand’s disappearance and the ghost? If it really was the ghost of Jasmine, then maybe she wanted a magician to replace her dead husband. That was the kind of thing that ghosts did, wasn’t it? Maybe Armand was just one in a series of magicians that Jasmine had lured away to the underworld.

‘What’s that?’ It was Dad, hovering outside her bedroom door.

Sage looked up, startled. ‘A photo I took at the theatre.’

‘Can I see?’

Dad came into Sage’s room and perched on the end of her bed. Sage handed him the ghost photo. Dad peered at it, frowning.

‘Is this some kind of arty something-or-other that I’m not supposed to understand?’ he said.

Sage shook her head. ‘I’m not sure what it is,’ she said. ‘I think it might be …’

‘What?’

‘A ghost.’ It sounded stupid to say it out loud.

Dad looked at the photo again. ‘I suppose it does look a bit like a person crouching down,’ he said. ‘Did you see anything when you took the photo?’

Sage explained about the time-lapse. ‘It seems too solid to be a trick of the light,’ she said. ‘It’s not light reflecting off a dust particle, or any of the other things that sceptics point to in ghost photos.’

‘Spooky,’ said Dad. ‘Have there been any other ghostly sightings in the theatre?’

‘Sort of,’ said Sage. She told him about Renaldo the Remarkable and the theatre curse, but didn’t mention Armand’s disappearance or her strange dream. She didn’t want Dad to get too freaked out.

‘Maybe a little research is in order,’ said Dad. ‘See what you can find out about this Renaldo. If he died onstage, then there was bound to be something in the paper about it. Maybe you’ll find a clue.’

‘That’s a good idea,’ said Sage, wondering why she hadn’t thought of it herself.

Dad hesitated, still looking at the ghost photo. ‘Is everything else okay?’ he said at last. ‘You’ve seemed pretty happy since you started at the theatre, but today … not so much.’

‘I’m fine,’ said Sage. ‘Just tired, I guess.’

Dad glanced at the calendar on Sage’s wall, and the red circle around July 16. ‘Nervous about starting school?’

Sage blinked. She’d totally forgotten about the dreaded red circle. After all the drama of the ghost, Herb’s betrayal and Armand’s disappearance, starting at a new school didn’t seem very scary anymore. ‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘I’m not nervous. It’ll be good. I’m looking forward to meeting some new people.’

People who didn’t work in the magic industry.

Dad smiled and ducked his head in an apologetic nod. ‘Moving here has been hard on the whole family, but I think it’s been hardest for you,’ he said. ‘Thanks for being such a good sport about it. You’re a pretty awesome kid.’

‘Thanks, Dad.’

Dad handed the photo back to Sage. ‘Good luck hunting your ghost,’ he said, and headed for the door.

‘A ghost!’ Zacky’s head whipped around the doorframe and he bounded into Sage’s suddenly crowded bedroom. ‘Like Nearly Headless Nick?’

‘Sort of,’ said Dad, ruffling Zacky’s hair.

Zacky peered over Sage’s shoulder at the photo and looked disappointed. ‘That’s not a ghost,’ he said firmly. ‘It’s just a fuzzy blob. You can’t see a face, and it isn’t see-through or floaty the way ghosts are supposed to be.’

Dad looked at Sage with a twinkle in his eye. ‘You’re probably right, mate,’ he said. ‘Come on, I said I’d take you and Roman to the park today.’

Zacky whooped and raced out of the room, waving his arms above his head and making wooo-oooo ghost noises.

Sage didn’t sleep well that night. She couldn’t stop thinking of Herb, damp and humiliated, and how she’d rejected him. Had she done the right thing? Herb had lied to her, and if Bianca was right, he could easily let his temper get away from him.

Sage’s bedside clock blinked 3:00 AM at her, and she sighed and rolled over so she couldn’t see it.

When she finally fell asleep, she dreamt she was on a fairground-style House of Horrors ride. The car she was strapped into was careening down a hill in a zigzag. Every time it zigged or zagged it jolted sharply sideways, and a shape loomed out at Sage. Armand. Jason Jones. Bianca. Herb. Renaldo. Jasmine.

Even in the dream, Sage’s head pounded and her stomach churned from being wrenched from side to side. She hoped the ride would end soon, but it seemed to go for hours and hours.

‘Sage.’ It was Mum, shaking her awake.

Sage glanced blearily at the clock on her bedside table. It was seven thirty-five on Monday morning. Mum was all dressed up for work, her handbag slung over her shoulder.

‘Mngg?’ said Sage. The daylight stabbed into her eyes and made her head throb even more.

‘I was just heading out the door,’ said Mum. ‘There’s someone here to see you.’

‘Whzz?’ Sage managed.

Mum raised her eyebrows. ‘A young man who claims to work with you,’ she said. ‘He seems rather anxious.’

Sage tried to clear the fog from her head and wake up properly. ‘Whehzacky?’

‘I just dropped him next door. I’m running late, so shall I just tell your gentleman caller to wait in the living room?’

‘Hnng.’

Mum took this as a yes, and dropped a kiss on Sage’s forehead before hurrying out of the room. Sage rubbed her face, trying to keep her eyes open. She’d never been much of a morning person, and the chilly Melbourne mornings made it all the harder to wake up. She could hear muffled voices downstairs, then the sound of high heels on floorboards. Then the front door closed.

Sage sat bolt upright.

Herb. Herb was in her house.

She leapt out of bed and grabbed her dressing-gown, wrapping it tightly over her pyjamas and thick bed socks.

Herb was sitting on the couch, looking painfully uncomfortable. He had his hands folded in his lap, and he was silently mouthing words to himself as if he were practising a speech.

‘What are you doing here?’ said Sage, pausing on the third step from the bottom.

Herb looked up and jumped to his feet. ‘I need to talk to you.’ His voice was low and urgent. ‘I have no idea what’s going on with you, or with us, and right now I don’t really care. I just really, really need to talk to you.’

I don’t really care. It was like a knife in Sage’s heart. But she supposed it would be easier this way.

‘How did you know where I live?’ asked Sage.

He shot her a puzzled frown. ‘We work together,’ he said. ‘I helped you fill out your employment card. Your address is on file.’

Sage slowly made her way down the last two steps to the floor, but didn’t move any closer. If Herb really was behind the terrible things happening at the theatre, was she in danger too? She was completely alone with him. No Bianca. No Mum. No one at all to hear her scream.

‘W-what do you want?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

‘I was wrong,’ said Herb. ‘When I said that the bad things happening in the theatre were all coincidences. And you were right about Armand’s disappearance being suspicious.’

Sage’s blood turned to ice. Was this it? Was Herb really going to confess to her? What then?

‘It’s Jason Jones,’ said Herb. ‘I think he’s trying to frame me.’

‘Oh!’ said Sage with a start of relief. ‘Really?’

Herb slumped back on the couch, pulling a crumpled envelope from his jacket pocket and tossing it onto the coffee table. It was the same one that Jason Jones had given her to pass on to him. Sage looked at it. Was Herb trying to lure her closer? She tried to remember the moves from the self-defence course she’d taken in Year Eight. Herb was looking at her expectantly. Sage took a deep breath and crossed the room to pick up the envelope. She sat down in an armchair, keeping the coffee table between them, opened the envelope and read the enclosed letter. It was a cease-and-desist from a law firm called Watkins & Tucker, on behalf of Jason Jones.

‘I don’t understand,’ she said, frowning at the legalese.

‘He’s claiming I stole his effect,’ said Herb. ‘Houdini’s Return. He filed a patent for the mechanism a week ago.’

‘But – but this is your trick,’ said Sage. ‘You’ve been working on it for ages.’

Herb nodded miserably. ‘I don’t know how he did it. I only performed it the day before yesterday!’ he said. ‘But the paperwork seems to be valid.’ He kicked out at the coffee table in anger. ‘I’ve been working on that effect for years!’

Sage folded up the letter and put it back in the envelope. ‘What went wrong?’ she asked. ‘On Saturday?’

‘I still don’t know,’ Herb said, rubbing his hand over his head. ‘I can’t stop thinking about it. I haven’t slept.’

‘What was supposed to happen at the end?’

‘I’m supposed to emerge from the barrel that is now miraculously water and not wine, holding a lit candle.’

Sage knew better than to ask how the effect was achieved. ‘It sounds impressive.’

‘It is,’ he said. ‘When it works.’ He looked up at her. ‘I bet it was him. I bet Jason Jones sabotaged the whole thing, to make sure I couldn’t perform it before he stole it from me.’

It was certainly possible. Sage had wondered whether Jason had stolen money from Armand, when he was Armand’s assistant. But what if he’d stolen something much more valuable? What if he’d stolen Armand’s magic secrets?

Sage swallowed. If Jason Jones was responsible for Armand’s disappearance, and was trying to steal Houdini’s Return from Herb … what did that mean for Bianca? Did she know what Jason was up to? Could she possibly be involved?

No, thought Sage. Bianca is sad and lonely and strange, but she’d never betray us like that. Would she?

She chewed her bottom lip, frowning. ‘So what happens now?’

‘I don’t do Houdini’s Return anymore. I can’t.’

Sage desperately wanted to believe him. She wanted to get up and throw her arms around him and kiss the smile back onto his face. But she wasn’t sure. What about her dream?

‘There’s more,’ said Herb. ‘I got an email this morning from the Magician’s League. Jason Jones has reported me. They could take away my membership.’

‘You need a membership to be a magician?’

Herb sighed. ‘Not exactly,’ he said. ‘But I couldn’t compete in any tournaments. I couldn’t register any effects under my name. It’s like … being excommunicated. Or kicked out of your own family. Nobody in the magic community will speak to me. There’s nobody worse than a magician who steals from another magician. That’s why I need your help.’

‘My help?’ said Sage, feeling even more uncomfortable. ‘Why me?’

Herb spread his hands. ‘You’re all I’ve got,’ he said. ‘Bianca hates me, plus she’s too busy making up stories about curses. Armand is off dealing with his family crisis – or maybe that’s all fake too. Maybe Jason Jones has done away with him. Who else is going to help me?’

Sage swallowed. ‘What kind of help do you need?’

‘Come with me. Help me figure out what Jason’s up to. We’ll follow him. It’ll be fun – like we’re in a detective show or something.’

Sage thought about long afternoons sitting in cafés, waiting for Jason Jones to appear. She imagined Herb leaning in and kissing her, to hide their faces from view. She imagined them ducking around corners and laughing breathlessly.

Then she remembered seeing Herb’s desk in her dream. She remembered the mail spike through the image of Armand’s head. She remembered Bianca’s look of horror when she mentioned the three dead mice.

‘I–I can’t,’ said Sage. ‘Sorry.’

He stared at her for a moment. ‘You know,’ he said. ‘I thought you were different. I thought we had … something. But I guess I was wrong.’

He stood up and left the room. Sage heard the front door close, and burst into tears.

She decided to head to the photography studio to develop her photos. She needed to be doing something, to take her mind off the awfulness of her encounter with Herb. Learning how to use the developing equipment seemed like a good distraction.

As soon as she entered the studio, Sage felt calmer. The moody red lighting and the wet tang of developing chemicals felt familiar, even though she only had a few hours of previous darkroom experience. There was nobody else in the darkroom. Sage was glad – it meant nobody could judge her inexperience. After thoroughly examining the printout that Yoshi Lear had provided the class, she switched off the lights and hummed along to an old Beatles song on the radio as she wound the film onto a spool. Sage had never been afraid of the dark – it was welcoming, like being wrapped in a blanket. Her fingers seemed to know exactly how to wind the film. She felt as though she’d finally found a home here in the cold, unfamiliar city.

The way she saw it, there were three possibilities. The first was that Herb had somehow done away with Armand. He was definitely ambitious, and if the story about the mice was anything to go by, he could get pretty crazy when he was angry. Maybe Herb had kidnapped Armand (or worse!) and all the rest of it – the creepy letters, the mysterious noises and falling light – was just misdirection, to throw Sage and Bianca off the scent. Bianca was so caught up in her superstitions that she refused to even accept the possibility that Herb might be behind it all.

She clicked the spool into its special tank and screwed on the top before switching on the lights. She poured in developing fluid and set an egg timer for four minutes, lightly tapping the tank on the bench to dislodge any air bubbles.

But that didn’t explain her dream. If Sage’s dream had been her subconscious mind telling her that Herb was the culprit, why had there been a sprig of jasmine at the end? She hadn’t known that Renaldo the Remarkable’s wife and assistant was called Jasmine. There had been the incident with the scent of jasmine a few days earlier, but she hadn’t recognised it, so why would her subconscious include that in her dream?

And why would Herb sabotage his own trick? She remembered how outraged he’d been at Jason Jones’s show, when Jason had used an audience member as an instant stooge. Herb’s self-righteous indignation couldn’t have been faked, could it? He wasn’t a cheater. She felt sure of it.

The egg timer ticked away. Sage turned the tank upside down four times at the beginning of every minute. The timer finally chirped, and Sage poured out the developer and replaced it with the stop chemical, slowly turning the tank over and over for thirty seconds before pouring the stop bath back into its container.

So the second possibility had to be that Bianca was right. The theatre really was haunted by the angry ghost of a dead magician’s wife. Sage shivered and thought of the photo sitting in her folder. The dream had felt so real, despite the fuzzy edges. And although lots of Bianca’s superstitions seemed over the top, sometimes she made a lot of sense. But then, what did the ghost want? Was it angry because they had broken a wand on the stage? Or was it something else? Something else that they’d done? Something that Armand had done?

Sage added fixer to the tank and set the timer for three minutes.

Then there was the third possibility. Jason Jones. What if he had stolen Herb’s trick? What if he had kidnapped Armand and made it look like it was Herb, so he could sneak in and steal all of Herb’s tricks while Herb was busy defending his innocence? He’d practically confessed that he’d stolen Armand’s ideas all those years ago. Jason was definitely a creep, and seemed to be trying to steal Herb’s ideas. But Sage didn’t want to believe that he was behind everything. Because if he was, then she had to face the very real possibility that Bianca was in on it too.

It was difficult to think about. Bianca was the only friend that Sage had in Melbourne, except for Herb, and things with Herb were … complicated. She could have forgiven him for standing her up, but after hearing the story of the dead mice, she was pretty sure Herb was not the kind of guy she wanted to get involved with.

More involved with.

But Bianca couldn’t possibly know what Jason was up to. She’d been so upset when she’d confessed that she’d ruined Herb’s chances at a solo spot before, Sage couldn’t believe that she’d do it again. And anyway, Bianca knew that Herb and Sage were close. She’d never risk exposing herself to Sage if she had more to hide.

Pouring out the fixer, Sage turned the tap on to rinse the film. Unscrewing the lid of the tank, she pulled out the spool and held the film up to the light, a tingle of excitement in her stomach. It was something she’d never felt with digital photography. Sage could immediately see how her photos had turned out with her digital camera, which was very useful. But it didn’t have the mystery of real film – that moment of excitement when hidden images were finally revealed.

Sage smiled for what felt like the first time in days. There were some good shots. Maybe even some great shots. She hoped Yoshi would like them.

She gently blowdried the film, and cut it into strips of six frames. Then she selected six negatives, and loaded the first into the enlarger and focused it using a sheet of scrap paper. Then she turned out the light, placed a sheet of photographic paper under the enlarger and exposed it for twenty seconds before placing it in the chemical bath.

As the image started to take form on the photo paper, Sage felt a kind of aching in her heart. It was Herb, looking directly down the barrel of the camera. It was as if he were there, with her in the darkroom, looking right at her. His goofy smile spread wide across his face, and his eyes were soft and warm. It was the look he got just before he kissed her. It was a look that said You. I choose you.

Take a photo that tells a lie.

Sage felt something bitter twist in her stomach. The photo was fully developed now. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch Herb’s face. She bit her lip instead, leaving the photo in the chemical bath as the image grew darker and darker. Even if he was telling the truth about Jason Jones stealing his idea, it didn’t change the rest of it. He’d still stood her up. He’d still killed those mice.

The photo finally turned black, erasing all traces of Herb’s face. Sage lifted it out of the bath and threw it in the bin.

A few hours later, Sage had a stack of about fifteen finished, printed photos that she was happy with. Better than happy. They were brilliant, really. Moody, with dark shadows and feathery outlines. Discarded sequins glittered on Bianca’s dressing table. Little pots and bottles of makeup and perfume reflecting themselves in the mirror. A lipstick print around the rim of a water glass. One of Warren loping down the corridor, dragging a silk scarf. One of the storeroom, the light from the grate coming down in dusty shafts.

Sage shivered as she suddenly remembered the feeling of Herb next to her, his hands in her hair, his mouth on hers. She smelled his scent and tasted his skin. She closed her eyes, remembering everything.

‘Very nice.’

Sage jumped and spun around to see the black-rimmed glasses of Yoshi Lear. ‘Oh!’ she said, shaken. ‘Um. Thank you.’

‘Are these for your assignment?’ he asked, picking up a photo of Armand and examining it carefully.

‘They were supposed to be,’ said Sage. ‘But none of them fit the brief. I thought a magic show would be the perfect place to take a photo that was a lie, but it’s harder than I imagined.’

‘How so?’

Sage chewed her bottom lip, trying to figure out how to explain it. ‘A magic trick has two stages,’ she said at last. ‘The top hat is empty, and now it contains a rabbit. A lady climbs inside a box, now she’s gone. If you just took a photo of the rabbit, or the empty box, it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t become magic until you’ve seen the before and the after.’

Yoshi smiled, but said nothing.

‘I suppose I could take a double exposure – oh!’ Sage clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘The fairy photo you showed us – the last one. It was a double exposure, wasn’t it? That was why Elsie and Frances both claimed to have taken the photo. Frances took a photo of the flowery grass, and Elsie took another fairy photo using the same glass negative. That’s why it looks all misty and translucent.’

Yoshi’s smile widened.

‘They set out to fool everyone,’ said Sage thoughtfully. ‘But they ended up fooling themselves.’

‘Photography can be tricky like that,’ said Yoshi. ‘Just because you took the photo doesn’t mean that you know its secrets.’

Sage thought about the ghost photo in her folder and wondered if she should show it to Yoshi.

‘Do you know if anyone’s ever taken a photo of a ghost?’ she asked.

Yoshi Lear raised an eyebrow. ‘Lots of people have taken photos of what they claim are ghosts,’ he said. ‘Our old friend Arthur Conan Doyle was a big believer in spirit photography.’

‘But are any of them genuine?’

Yoshi reached into the satchel slung over his shoulder and pulled out an iPad. He brought up a series of photos and showed them to Sage. One was of a transparent woman on a staircase. Another showed a ghostly figure at a railway crossing. The next photo showed a little girl staring out the window of a burning building.

‘Some of these can look convincing,’ said Yoshi.

Sage stared at the little girl’s face. She was wearing a long white dress, and her expression was solemn. ‘What’s the explanation?’ she asked. ‘Is it a double exposure too?’

Yoshi shook his head. ‘This one was proven to be a hoax,’ he said. ‘Someone discovered a postcard with the same photo of the little girl. I suspect the one on the staircase is a double exposure, though. The railway crossing ghost is just a lens flare, or the flash bouncing off dust or moisture in the air.’

Sage remembered Herb saying something similar.

‘Look at this one,’ said Yoshi, swiping to a new photo.

It was a black-and-white photo of an old building. Steps led up to a series of pillars. Someone had photoshopped a circle next to one of the pillars, showing a shadowy, transparent figure. Sage frowned. The photo was blurry and had obviously been magnified.

‘Now unfocus your eyes,’ said Yoshi. ‘Blur the picture even more.’

Sage did as he instructed, and the blurry figure vanished. She had a sudden flashback to Herb showing her a power plug. ‘It’s just shadows,’ she said. ‘Just the way the light happens to fall. We only see a figure there because we’re conditioned to make patterns and recognise human shapes. It’s called pareidolia.’

Yoshi looked impressed, and Sage felt ridiculously pleased.

‘So you don’t think anyone has ever taken a real picture of a ghost?’

‘No,’ said Yoshi. ‘Although given I don’t believe in ghosts, I may be a little biased.’

Sage raised her eyebrows. ‘You don’t believe in ghosts, but you still have a whole album of ghost photos on your iPad?’

Yoshi laughed. ‘I don’t believe in them,’ he said. ‘But I’m still very interested. Especially when it comes to photography.’

Sage hesitated for a moment, then pulled the ghost photo from her folder. ‘What do you think of this?’

Yoshi took the photo and examined it carefully. ‘Interesting,’ he murmured. ‘I can see why you think it might be ghostly. Those arms reaching out and up are very emotive. Like a supplicant begging for mercy.’

‘Exactly!’ said Sage. ‘Surely it’s too complex a shape to be a lens flare.’

Yoshi nodded. ‘It is,’ he said. ‘And this is clearly a longish exposure, because of the low light. A few seconds?’

‘Two,’ said Sage.

‘So there’s something moving in this photo. I can see no evidence of digital manipulation, and I’m pretty good at spotting that kind of thing. I’m confident that you didn’t try to fake this image, nor is it some kind of accidental effect caused by the camera’s mechanisms.’

Sage swallowed, her heart pounding. ‘So you think it’s genuine?’

‘Oh, it’s a genuine photo,’ said Yoshi. ‘But it’s not of a ghost. Look again at those arms. They don’t really look like arms at all, do they? They look more like … ’

The white spectral shape seemed to shift and refocus as Sage looked at it, and her heart sank.

‘Ears,’ she said. ‘They look like ears. It’s Warren. He’s a rabbit. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.’

The image was blurred due to the long exposure, but now that Sage looked at it it was impossible not to see it as Warren, loping across the stage, his ears flopping over his face. Not arms at all. Sage felt like a total idiot.

Yoshi glanced at his watch and put away his iPad. ‘I have to go. You’re a good photographer,’ he said, as he reached for the doorhandle. ‘But you need to look harder, with an unbiased eye.’

‘I will,’ Sage promised.

Yoshi smiled. ‘For example, now that you’ve solved the mystery of the ghostly rabbit, perhaps turn your attention to the figure standing behind the stage curtain.’

The door banged behind him as Sage looked back at the photo. Yoshi was right. She’d been so busy looking at the Warren-ghost-shape that she’d totally missed it. In the top right-hand corner of the photo, there was a blurred figure. It was difficult to make out, but Sage was almost certain she could see a pale face and long black hair.

It was the ghost from her dream. The ghost of Jasmine, Renaldo’s wife.