THOMAS

December 16, 1898

I would say that tonight was a disaster, but even that would fail to capture the true enormity of my mistake.

Our premiere performance at our new venue was a far grander event than the initial premiere at the West London Theatre.

Wealthy patrons filled every seat, even though most had already seen the show once or twice. To miss a premiere like this would be missing out on the event of the year (or rather, what was still left of it). Even though gaslights already filled the lobby, there were also candles adding a romantic glow to the space. Tables held glasses of champagne and small cakes for the patrons to enjoy before filing into the auditorium. In addition to the orchestra already set to play in the theatre, a cellist and harpist had been stationed in the lobby to welcome guests with their sweet melodies as they entered.

Despite all this pompousness prior to the performance, the actual show went mostly the same as it had more than a month ago (only, again, we now had live music accompanying each trick). Then it came time for what everyone was truly there to witness. Neville walked to his mark and stood waiting. As he readied himself to sprint forward, a single drumroll commenced, building in speed and tension. Neville ran forward to the edge of the stage and leaped, just as he had so many times before. And as before, he disappeared right over the heads of the astounded audience members seated below.

But that was all that happened.

I waited with bated breath, just like the rest of the audience, for the magician to emerge and reveal himself at the railing of the box we had kept clear of patrons. But he did not. He was nowhere to be seen.

I waited and waited, until I could wait no longer. Patrons had already started their whispers and murmurs, and I had to cover the horrendous blunder somehow.

I stepped forward from my spot on the stage and began applauding my mentor with a delighted smile, therefore praising the illusion merely as a disappearing act alone and not a reemergence.

Many faces in the elegantly dressed crowd still looked confused. Slowly, more applause began to break throughout the auditorium. It was timid and uncertain at first, surely because many of these people had already seen Neville Wighton’s amazing illusion and knew exactly how it was meant to play out. But soon the applause grew in force and was accompanied by cheers and whistles. By the time patrons were being ushered out of the theatre, I overheard one or two exclaiming how wonderful that the magician had altered his act to add an element of surprise and keep his audiences on their toes.

My quick thinking had worked, but the relief was short lived. Neville was still gone. As they stood from their seats, I spotted my parents, who were each directing equally severe looks in my direction. Still, they knew better than to act as though something were amiss in such a large crowd, and so they left.

I paced back and forth, and once the theatre was clear, I tore through the space. Backstage was my first guess, but there was no sign of him. I climbed down the stairs that led to the alcove below, but nor was he there. I searched through every aisle, every row of seats, I checked his dressing room and any other dressing room that lined the halls, but no Neville. I scoured the lobby where I ran into the manager. He congratulated me on an excellent first performance and tried to guide me out the front door, but I told him that it was important I remain in the theatre for just a bit longer. He seemed a bit disgruntled at my refusal to leave but said that I could remain until the cleaning staff had finished tidying the theatre.

They finished their work and kicked me out before there was any sign of Neville. I waited in the cold for what felt like hours before his thin gray-haired figure made its way down the cobblestone street with a silver-topped cane in hand. His eyes were fire and ice all at once as he glared in my direction. Without a word, he grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me into the alleyway beside the theatre. Once we were safely out of sight, he seized my coat by the collar and pressed me up against the stone wall.

“Do you think that was funny, boy?”

I did not answer. Only glared back at him. The fool! Had he learned nothing about what provoking me could do? I did not necessarily desire to hurt him in that moment, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen.

He pressed on. “Did you think you could make a fool of me? Make me the laughingstock of the magical community? Of all of London?”

I batted his hands away, and he let go with surprising ease.

This whole thing was an act, and I was a performer of sorts, so I knew I had to pretend to be someone else—someone brave. I thought of the most confident person I know. Sav. What would he say when backed into a corner by someone like Neville?

“No one thinks you are a fool, you old hornswoggler! Once again, you underestimate your apprentice’s intelligence—I convinced them all it was an intentional change to the act. That it was a disappearing act and nothing more.”

Neville had nothing to say to this. As I had guessed, he really had underestimated me. Since he had nothing to say, I continued. “Where did you reappear tonight?”

He gave me a cold stare. “My studio.”

Strange. I had not been thinking of his studio. But then again, I had not been thinking of anything very specific at all. This is what happens when I allow myself to lose focus.

“You let anything like this happen ever again, and I swear, boy, I will—”

“You will what? Tell me, Neville. Are you threatening me? You realize I can just as easily threaten you, do you not?”

He reached to the ground, collecting the cane he had discarded when he had pushed me into the wall. He pointed it in my direction. “You would do best to watch your tongue!”

“I could walk away from all this…walk away from you. And then people might finally see you for the fraud you are. You would never get booked for another show as long as you live.”

I expected him to be worried, taken aback even, but he just smiled. The smug bastard was grinning at me, and his grin was made all the more malicious by being backlit by the lights of the marquee.

“I guarantee, your parents would not like that very much,” he sneered. “And you have no wish to disappoint them, now, do you?”

Did he already know I’d gone to them on the issue before? Did he know of how they had threatened to disinherit me? What sort of strange alliance has he formed with my parents?

He smoothed his cloak and instructed me to arrive an hour early tomorrow night so that we can go over the illusion and make sure nothing else goes astray. He then turned on his heels and walked away, leaving me breathless, my stomach clenched with rage.