| EIGHTY |

| 2 : 55 AM |

LILLY SAT IN A CHAIR IN THE CANDLELIT ROOM. THE OLD MAN STROKED her hair, his fingers ice cold. A few moments earlier she had heard something loud—it might have been a slamming door or a backfire—but she dared not ask about it.

She had never been more frightened in her life.

When she looked up at the old man, he was staring at her.

“Who are you?” she asked.

The man looked at her as if she were crazy. He put his shoulders back, lifted his chin. “I am the Great Cygne.”

“You called me a name before. What was it?”

“Odette, of course.”

“And what is this place?”

Another incredulous look. “This is Faerwood.”

“Do you live here?”

The old man got a faraway look. For a moment it appeared as if he might be falling asleep. Then he told Lilly an incredible story.

He told her that his real name was Karl Swann, and that he was once a world-renowned magician, student of the masters, mentor to the greats. He told her that many years ago he’d had a mishap during one of his stage illusions, and accidentally hanged himself. He told her that his son, Joseph, had kept him in this room for more than twenty years, but now he was much better, and was ready to perform all over the world again. He told her that this night would be the Great Cygne’s greatest triumph, something called the Fire Grotto.

Lilly tried to digest it all. Twenty years. She looked around. The room was crowded with steamer trunks, wooden crates, broken furniture. At one end was an enormous hospital bed with filthy sheets. On the dressers were stacks of food-littered trays. Everywhere were tattered silks, bent linking rings, rusted cups, torn playing cards. The walls were covered with old posters and yellowed news clippings.

“Do you remember the time we played Tulsa?” he asked. “Do you remember Harwelden?”

Lilly shook her head. The man faded in and out. Coherent one moment, gone the next. Earlier she had wandered over to the door, and covertly tried the knob behind her back. It was locked.

“Do you remember Blackstone?” he asked.

Lilly looked at the wall. On it was a framed poster of a man, in caricature, with two small devils at his feet, and another on his shoulder. The name BLACKSTONE was emblazoned across the bottom. There was a smaller legend there, too. Lilly quoted it aloud.

“Blackstone?” she asked. “The greatest necromantic extravaganza on earth?”

The man seemed to come alive. Color rose in his cheeks.

“Yes!” he said. “The greatest magician the world has ever known.” The old man struggled to his feet. “It is time to prepare for the stage.” He held out his fragile hand. Lilly took it, helping him up.

“What’s the Fire Grotto?” Lilly asked.

He assessed her with his milky eyes. “I’ll show you.”

He crossed the room to a small table, pulled out the drawer, slid it back in. Next to the table a wall panel slid up, revealing a number of wooden file cabinets. There had to be twenty in all.

The old man contemplated the labels for a while, then opened a drawer. He rifled the contents. He soon found an envelope full of photos. “Here you are at the fair in Baton Rouge,” he said.

He showed her an old photograph, a picture of a young woman in a scarlet gown standing next to a box with seven swords sticking out of it. A man in a cape and top hat stood to her right. The man was clearly Karl Swann. A fair-haired young boy stood off to the side. He looked to be about five years old. Lilly recognized his eyes. It was her captor’s eyes.

The old man produced a second photograph. “This is Faerwood on the day we moved in. It was earlier this year. Isn’t it magnificent?”

Karl Swann proffered a picture of himself and his young son. In the photograph the old man looked young and strong. His son looked sullen.

Earlier this year, Lilly thought. He is gone. She turned the photograph to the candlelight, looked at it carefully. It took her breath away. It wasn’t the expressions of the man and boy, or the way they seemed to be standing in two different worlds, it was the house itself. The tower, the huge porch, the four chimneys rising into the sky like tortured, barren trees.

Lilly had lived with this image, frozen in her mind, for months.

It’s him, she thought. My God, it’s him. His name is Joseph Swann. She had told him everything, and he had kidnapped her and brought her here.

Lilly steadied herself by putting a hand on the table. She felt nauseated.

“Behold the Garden of Flowers.”

Lilly looked at the old man. He was still busy with the file cabinet. He hadn’t said a word. The sound had come from behind her. Lilly spun around. The television was now on. On the screen she saw seven rectangles. Six different video feeds playing. In the upper left was something called the Garden of Flowers. Next to it was an illusion called the Girl Without a Middle. When Lilly looked at the third video her heart nearly stopped. She knew the girl in the large water tank. She felt lightheaded again. When she looked back at the screen the last video was playing. There was a girl in a bridal gown being led to a big box. The girl in the video was Claire.

Joseph Swann was a murderer. He was dressing up like his father, and killing girls in a chamber of horrors.

There was one video left on the screen. It was black. For now. Lilly knew exactly who it was for.

Karl Swann rummaged through another drawer. He extracted a folder. Inside the folder were pages and pages of drawings and brittle diagrams, scribbled blueprints. He extracted a single page.

“This,” he said, “is the Fire Grotto.”

The drawing was of a large box, a cage made of steel and smoked glass. As Lilly ran her eyes over the drawing, she catalogued every corner, every hinge, every latch. “How does it work?” she asked.

Five minutes later, when the old man finished telling her how the illusion worked, and of its spectacular, fiery flourish, Lilly knew all she needed to know about the Fire Grotto. She also knew what was going to happen. Joseph Swann aimed to put her in the box, and set it afire. There was no doubt in her mind.

“You must remember the secret latch on the bottom,” the old man said. “This is very important.” The old man then held up another yellowed blueprint. “It is quite easy to get lost in Faerwood. There are many rooms here, many machines. If you do get lost, this will help.”

Lilly took the old blueprint. She instantly memorized the dimensions, the details, where the doors and hidden stairwells were located, where the switches were. It seemed each room had a secret.

Before she could ask Karl Swann another question, Lilly heard the sound of a car engine. She looked out the barred window. Three stories below a van pulled into the driveway.

Lilly grabbed the blueprint and ran to the corner of the room, to the secret passage. The man stepped in front of her. He put something in her hand. “You will need this.”

When she reached the opening, Lilly heard the old man add, “Remember the secret latch. Remember, Odette.”

Lowering herself into the dark shaft, Lilly had no idea if she was returning the way she had come. She scrambled forward as fast as she could, banging her knees and elbows. Her hands were slick with sweat. The passageway seemed endless, and even darker than it had earlier. After a full minute she stopped, felt the sides, the ceiling. Had she passed Claire’s room? She had no idea. She listened for any change in the hot silence. She heard only her pulse.

She continued onward. The sound of the classical music returned, this time louder. She was finding her way back. She was about to stop again when she saw the faint rectangle of light in the distance. She rumbled forward as quickly as she could, emerged through the panel, dashed into the room, gulping the fresh air. She heard footsteps in the hallway outside. A key turned in the lock.

Lilly grabbed her shoes from the opening, letting the panel slide shut. She bolted across the room and dove under the covers as the second key turned. As the door opened, Lilly noticed she had dropped the old blueprint on the floor. She grabbed it, pulled it under the comforter at the last second, her heart racing.

Joseph Swann.

The Fire Grotto.

Lilly did not know how she was going to get out of this, or if she would make it until morning, but she knew one thing for certain.

She could not allow Joseph Swann to get her inside that box.