SAVERIO

October 21, 1898

Tickets have already been purchased for Isabella and me to attend the rest of Neville Wighton’s engagement at the West London Theatre. We are to pose as a young couple, and each night we shall study every inch of the theatre. Now that we know the routine, we can look where others will not, avoid the usual traps of misdirection, and stay alert.

Yes, he is leaving us behind to do the spying in his stead while he continues on with the remainder of his tour. My luck has been a spectacular thing lately. Honestly, I could not have planned it out better if I had insisted on the arrangement myself. I will get to study the performance over and over, without any supervision from Paolo, which could so easily lend itself to suspicion. All the while, he will be thinking that I am the loyal apprentice, working to steal the secret for him.

It is perfect.

He even managed to procure tickets to the sold-out final performance as well as an invitation to a gala being thrown on All Hallows’ Eve to commemorate the performance. I shall also be attending the party in Paolo’s stead to avoid the attention of Mr. Wighton. Imagine how pleased the Londoner would be to learn of the obsession that has taken hold of my mentor, an illusionist who, until now, was considered to be far superior.

I imagine this superiority to which Paolo has clung will not last much longer. The performance has made countless headlines already, and word of Neville Wighton’s awe-inspiring trick is no doubt making its way to other cities, catching the attention of those in the magic community. It will not be long before other prestidigitators arrive to witness the feat and offer up their theories on how it is done—theories that, of course, will all be wrong.

I can already sense Paolo’s desperation at the thought of being outshined. I do not blame him, though; I would be just as furious, if not more, if I were in his position.

It has been days now, and I still cannot remove from my mind the scene of Neville Wighton the Great disappearing in midair. It was so complex, so brilliant. If a young magician like myself were to learn the old man’s secret and, shall we say, improve upon it…why, there would be no need to continue waiting in the wings as a mere apprentice. My future on the stage would be all but assured.

For now, though, I shall let Paolo assume what he will of my motives. After all, he is the one affording me the opportunity to unravel this mystery. Take the gala. The event promises to be an exclusive one, and thanks to Paolo’s considerable fame, the door is wide open for me to complete my “research.”

The party is being held at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Pendleton, some wealthy couple who, like most cultured people with sizable wallets, make a big show of supporting the arts. If what I hear is correct, they have a son: Thomas Pendleton.

Fate is a funny thing. When I happened upon a lanky boy fumbling over himself in the square not long ago, I hadn’t the slightest idea what an integral part he would play in my future plans. Those big gray eyes looking up at me in equal parts embarrassment and interest…

And here I was thinking I would not be having any fun in London.