by Marina Myles
“No one can fathom how powerful he is,” Rose said.
Anthony shot her a dire look. “It’s possible that he’s working with Morvina.”
Rose’s mouth went dry. My birthday is in ten days. Will I actually fall to my death?
“This might not be the best time to tell you this,” Olivia patted Rose’s hand, “but some strange things have been happening right here.”
“What things?”
“I told you that your favorite coat was ruined.”
“Yes.”
“Well, some of your other possessions have been sabotaged as well.”
“Sabotaged?”
Elena cut in. “Two months ago, there was a fire. Everything in the bedroom you used to share with Olivia went up in smoke.”
Rose bit her lip.
“Your clothing, your jewelry—all the gifts Drago ever gave you, except the music box,” Olivia said. “That’s missing.”
“Could the fire have been an accident?” she asked.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Thank goodness the music box wasn’t destroyed. “It was my favorite gift—” She stopped herself. Wasn’t she supposed to be furious with him? Terrified out of her mind? “Were your things ruined as well?” Rose asked Olivia, to cover her words.
“Yes,” Olivia said sadly.
Guilt seized her and she loathed the fact that other people were involved in this dangerous drama, too.
As the family gathered around the dining table for supper, Rose found herself lost in thought. Whoever started the fire despises me. The harshness of the realization stole her appetite. She excused herself and went to her old bedroom. With its fresh layer of wallpaper and new bedding, it looked fine, but once she flung herself on the bed, she breathed in traces of smoke.
The walls seemed to close in around Rose. If she thought she was depressed in France, her current mental state put those moods to shame. She had given up everything for Drago. From the moment she met him, she’d trusted him enough to explore her curiosity. Not only had she surrendered her innocence to him, she’d followed him into risky situations. She’d even married him on the thread of a whim. All because she loved him desperately.
Now all of her excitement and hope for the future had disappeared. Thanks to one look in that blasted coin.
Olivia entered the room. “Mama wanted me to check on you.”
Sighing, Rose patted the mattress.
“This is like old times,” Olivia smiled forlornly as she sat beside her.
Nodding, Rose sat up and pulled her knees to her chin. “Everything seems so unreal.”
“I can’t imagine what it was like living with a demon.” Olivia scooted back against the headboard. “On a smaller scale, I’ve been terrified to sleep in this room.”
“I don’t blame you.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a long time. Finally, Rose stood, shut the door, then settled in an upholstered chair near the bed. “Olivia. I know my thoughts are muddled right now—and that I’m probably not acting like myself—but I have an idea.”
“What?” Olivia cocked her head.
“Before I left for France, I learned that Morvina is here in New York, disguising herself as someone. If I can find out who, maybe I can stop her from harming me on my birthday.”
“Morvina is disguising herself as someone? That’s insane, Rose!”
“As insane as Drago transforming into a demon?”
That gave Olivia pause. “Who do you think your aunt is hiding behind?”
A shudder ran through Rose. “I tried to see it in the coin, but the image is being blocked. Morvina is powerful enough to do that. But there’s another way I can find out.”
“What other way?”
She leaned forward. “I can try to contact my mother.”
“Your mother is dead, Rose.” Then Olivia seemed to comprehend what she was suggesting. “A séance?”
“Yes. A séance.”
Days later, the front page of The Gotham Times announced that Drago would perform a death-defying illusion on June twentieth. Rose’s heart drummed as she read the headline. She would turn twenty-one on that day—and Drago would be compelled to show his demon self again.
The article also claimed that Drago would reveal more details about the magical feat soon. This made Rose wonder if his performance, whatever it turned out to be, might serve as an open invitation for the police to capture him.
During the days leading up to the séance, Drago was nowhere to be found. Where could he be hiding? He continued to evade the police—and Rose was enormously conflicted about that.
Nerves prickling, she busied herself with learning about the current spiritualist world in New York City. She discovered that a prominent medium named Madame Majinska had reached celebrity status, just like Rose’s parents had. This Madame Majinska held séances in her brownstone on Seventy-Second Street. Unfortunately, Majinska’s impressive reputation meant that her séances were booked well in advance.
“I can’t believe you got an appointment for us,” Olivia said as they arrived at the medium’s slim brownstone.
“It wasn’t easy.”
Olivia nodded.
Soon, she and Rose were greeted by Madame Majinska’s faithful assistant. With trembling hands, Olivia handed the middle-aged woman her hat and gloves. Rose did the same, with steady ones.
She looked down at them with surprise.
“Did you tell Madame Majinska’s assistant who your parents were?” Olivia whispered the question.
“I had to,” she whispered back. “I wouldn’t have secured an appointment otherwise.”
The solemn assistant ushered the girls through a cozy parlor littered with white candles and books on the occult. Then she led them into a spacious but eerily darkened room. Rose took note of the single candle glowing in the center of a circular table. She also noticed the four guests who were gathered around it. The first was an elderly lady with a black, netted veil hung over her face. When the woman began to sniff tears into a handkerchief, Rose presumed she was a widow.
An attentive caregiver sat next to her, while a sour-faced man of about thirty was hunched in his seat to the caregiver’s left. Rose watched him stick his index finger into his starched collar and gave a nervous tug. Maybe he’s a businessman hoping to contact someone who stole money from him. She suppressed a smile.
Peering at the fourth guest, Rose noticed that the stocky man was leaning back in his seat. Half of his face was set in the shadows, but the features Rose was able to see included a strong forehead, wide cheekbones, straight-set mouth, and wavy hair that formed deep ridges from a center part.
It’s Harry Houdini!
All of the astonishing locations the famous magician had escaped from ran through her mind. A prison. A Chinese Water Torture Cell. A beer cask. Iron-clad handcuffs, a steel safe, and a straightjacket.
Houdini was very talented, but who, Rose wondered, was he here to communicate with?
Rose sat at the table and leaned forward. Houdini glanced at her and gave her a respectful nod. He must have seen me assist Drago at the Hippodrome.
She reciprocated with her own nod then looked away. As the medium’s assistant began to offer an explanation of what was about to happen, chills sped through her.
“Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Madame Majinska’s humble home. Before each of you arrived tonight, you provided the name of a departed person with whom you wish Madame to make contact. As you well know, a spiritualist is an instrument through which souls communicate. If Madame Majinska is able to channel one of your loved ones, their spirit may show its presence by making rapping sounds, moving objects in the room, or by speaking through her. It is my duty to inform you that none of these things are guaranteed to happen. Please be advised that your talking, coughing, or restlessness will detract from Madame Majinska’s concentration. Furthermore, if any of you are secretly skeptical, you will prevent the séance from being a success.” She took in a bre
ath. “It you aren’t a skeptic then you’ve chosen your spiritualist wisely. Madame Majinska has carved out a name for herself as a rare physical manifestation medium.”
The assistant backed out of the room. Rose and Olivia exchanged glances. This has to work, Rose thought. It’s essential that I know Morvina’s covert identity.
In the apprehensive moment, there was—how else could she describe it?—a dead silence. The room grew cold. The temperature dropped nearly to the degree of a meat locker, in fact. The hush that remained over the guests was maddening . . . until a firm voice filtered through the heavy air and broke it. “Please hold hands.”
Rose and the other sitters obeyed the command. After they formed an unbroken circle, Rose looked around and tried to locate where the voice had come from. She spotted a vertical cabinet covered with curtains in the corner of the room. It seemed the only possibility.
The exasperating silence continued. Will Madame Majinska contact a spirit tonight?
Rose tried her best to sit still. She’d never forgive herself if her squirming stopped the medium from summoning an entity.
“The spirits are excited tonight,” the same voice floated through the air. “Closing your eyes will encourage them to appear.”
Rose pinched her eyes shut. Her body tingled.
“The circle of energy in this room is excellent,” the voice said.
Another moment of silence ensued. Rose squeezed Olivia’s hand. Then she opened one eye and stole a glance across the circular table. The elderly woman had lifted her veil, revealing a pained expression. Was the woman thinking of her departed husband?
The woman’s apparent pain broke Rose’s heart. It made her think of Drago. Where is he? She couldn’t exactly pull the coin out and talk to it here, but assuming he’d arrived in New York, she was surprised that he hadn’t contacted her. Did he know that his darkest secret had destroyed their love like a hammer shatters glass?
What kind of torment is he going through right now?
Rose swallowed hard. She couldn’t afford to let her thoughts wander to Drago.
“In the reverent silence we’ve created, I can hear the dead speak to me.” Madame Majinska’s voice jolted Rose back to reality. She grasped Olivia’s and Harry Houdini’s hand so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
“Samuel?” The elderly lady looked around the room in desperation. “Is that you? Are you speaking to Madame Majinska?”
“Silence!” the voice inside the cabinet commanded.
Let it be my mother who’s speaking, Rose thought.
The candle flickered and stuttered—as if someone were trying to blow it out. The room grew even darker and Rose strained to see through the shadows. Although she sat very still, she sensed Olivia shaking next to her. Then a transparent vapor materialized. It hung in the corner like a weightless cloud—and as it increased in size, it took on an ethereal form. Ghostly white and faceless, the apparition floated above the ground.
Rose stole a glance at Houdini. Scowling, he looked as if he was about to bolt out of his seat. Her eyes flickered back to the specter. To her disappointment, it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. She wanted to put her hand out in anguish, but she didn’t dare break the circle.
Just then, the cabinet door creaked open. A pretty, if not somewhat overly-made up woman stepped from its depths. Garbed in scarves, bangles, and a dark, bohemian style dress, the red-headed woman walked to the table. She looked no one in the eye.
“Rose?” The medium called in a low timbre. “Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me!” Rose’s blood rushed in furious streams. “Mother?”
Madame Majinska’s eyes rolled back eerily. The way she clutched the edge of the table made the sitters cower—and when she began to moan in an unearthly fashion, the table lifted off the floor and began to rock back and forth.
“Jeepers!” Olivia gasped.
“I’m happy that we’ve been reunited, my darling Rose,” the medium-cum-Florence-Hayes said in a sweet voice.
Tears welled in Rose’s eyes. Is this really happening? The table continued to tilt and convulse, but oddly, fear evaded her. She was determined to get answers. “I’ve come to ask you something, Mother.”
“Let me guess, my dear. You’ve come to ask me about your Aunt Morvina.”
How could the spirit invading the medium’s body know that unless this sitting was genuine? “Yes,” Rose croaked out. “I want to know who Morvina is disguising herself as. Can you tell me?”
A pregnant pause ensued. Writing appeared on the adjacent wall and she gasped. In red chalk, the message spelled Rose your father and I love you very much.
Shock skewed her vision. She steadied herself by gripping her fellow sitters’ hands even tighter.
The medium spoke again. “I know Morvina’s current identity. She’s disguising herself as—”
In a flash, Houdini leapt out of his seat and turned on the lights. The brightness of the room illuminated the medium’s assistant, who stood at the wall. She was draped in black and grasped a piece of red chalk in her hands. The chandelier’s light also revealed a fog-making device sitting in the corner . . . precisely where the apparition had appeared.
“You’re a fake!” Houdini pointed a finger at Madame Majinska.
The accusation seemed to knock the medium back to her real self. “How dare you disrupt this séance!” she fired back. “You must leave at once!”
Houdini shook his head. He plunged to his knees and looked under the tablecloth. “Just as I thought. A hydraulic pump is making the table go up and down. What’s more, I saw the outline of your assistant and spotted the fog making apparatus in the dark.”
Turning beet-red, Madame Majinska hemmed and hawed.
The others stood up and glanced under the tabletop. Indeed, there was a mechanism in place. Disappointment sent Rose’s heart plummeting.
The large man who’d been sitting next to Houdini withdrew a badge from his jacket pocket. “Jim Scarborough. With New York City Police, Department of Fraud. We’ve been trying to catch you in the act for a long time, Ms. Majinska,” he said as he clamped handcuffs around her wrists.
“Damn you!” the woman said miserably.
Scarborough turned to Houdini. “Thanks for making my job easier.”
“You’re welcome.” Seemingly pleased with the medium’s unveiling, Houdini shook Scarborough’s hand.
The detective escorted the medium out of the room. Close behind them were the elderly lady and her caregiver.
“How am I ever going to find out who Morvina is disguised as?” Rose asked Olivia. Before Olivia could answer, Houdini came to stand before them. Rose was surprised to find that in person, he was shorter than she was.
“I’m sorry none of this was real, Mrs. Starkov.” Houdini extended his hand. “I’m disappointed, as well. There are several loved ones I wished to contact, too.”
“It seemed real,” Rose said as she shook it forlornly.
“That’s because there was a good amount of ‘true-believers’ syndrome filling the room tonight.”
Rose sucked in a breath. “But how did Madame Majinska know those things about me?”
“Fake mediums have been known to go through people’s trash—and pay their clients’ closest acquaintances to rat information,” Harry Houdini continued on.
Anthony? Rose thought.
Olivia glowered reproachfully at the magician and threaded her arm through Rose’s.
“This is my best friend, Olivia Marconi.” Rose introduced them.
“I’m sorry, Miss Marconi,” said Houdini. “I’m sure you and Mrs. Starkov aren’t happy with me. But it stands to reason that the longer these fraudulent séances go on, the more misled and traumatized sitters will be.”
“It seemed legitimate. Right up until you blew the whistle,” Olivia commented.
Houdini shrugged. “Information about Florence and Malcolm Hayes is public knowledge.
And I’m certain Ms. Majinska, if t
hat’s her real name, knows that when someone books a séance, more often than not, that person is a blood relative of the departed.”
“When I referred to the apparition as ‘Mother’, I suppose I gave ‘Madame Majinska’ even more ammunition.” Rose grimaced.
“Unfortunately, you did.”
Rose’s shoulders rolled forward.
“I think of my illusions as a way to entertain people, but it’s cruel to deceive the public so outwardly.”
Rose’s mind darted to the misleading newspaper article Richard Bellum wrote about Drago. “It’s a shame when journalists do the same thing.”
“You can’t believe everything you read in the press.” The magician shot her a knowing look. Was he making a reference to Drago?
“No, you can’t,” she agreed.
Her stomach twisted. Recently, the newspapers had interviewed Patrick. He, in turn, had passed along Rose’s words. Did Houdini believe Drago was capable of murder because of what she’d said?
Rose was about to ask the magician if he’d read the article when he turned to leave. “Give my best to your husband, Mrs. Starkov,” he called over his shoulder before he vanished into the dark corridor. “I admire him greatly.”
CHAPTER 27
Following the séance, Rose and Olivia exited the brownstone. A warm rain greeted them and as they strolled along the slick streets, Olivia’s expression revealed her agitation over the disastrous gathering. Rose’s footsteps lagged for the same reason.
“I can’t believe people make a living out of deceiving others,” Olivia fumed.
“It’s unfathomable,” Rose agreed gloomily. “But séance goers are vulnerable. I guess that makes them gullible, too.”
Olivia threaded an arm through hers. “I’m sorry you didn’t find out how Morvina is camouflaging herself.”
“Me, too.” She craned her neck back as they strolled, allowing raindrops to splatter on her face.
“What are you going to do now?” Olivia asked.
“I really don’t know.”
“It’s three days until your birthday, Rose.”
