Magician's Muse

by Linda Joy Singleton

  I focused on this feeling, staring deeply into her face to an aura bleeding with blazing reds, oranges, and jaded greens, all swirling in a pattern of fear.

  Then, with no warning, my world shifted and blurred. I was yanked from my physical self, whirling dizzily like dust in a cyclone and flung far away from my physical body. I was flying, in a blur of faceless souls and buzzing whispers.

  When everything slowed down, I was no longer with Josh’s mother.

  Instead, I saw Josh.

  He stood by a window. Outside, pines disappeared into clouds, but inside, a fireplace warmed a large rustic room with heavy wood furniture. Candles flickered. In the background, cloaked figures huddled around the crackling flames in a brick fireplace, their voices low in intense conversation.

  Josh’s hair was slicked back from his face in an old-fashioned style. He was dressed like he was going to a costume party, in fancy black slacks, a blue silky shirt with flowing sleeves, and a black velvet vest. He cradled an ornate knife in his hands almost reverently, turning it over and over with an intense expression, as if meditating.

  As he murmured strange, foreign-sounding words, Josh’s gaze focused on the knife. He was completely absorbed, his eyes shining, entranced. Then he slowly lifted the knife high over his head. The sharp silver tip reflected orange-red fire and wavered in the air.

  Then, with a fierce lunge, Josh jerked the knife inward.

  And stabbed the blade into his chest.

  Dizzy and breathless, I slammed back into my physical body, gripping the sliding glass door with white-knuckled hands. Only seconds had passed during my vision.

  “Sabine, what’s wrong?” Mrs. DeMarco put her arm gently around my shoulders. “You’re shaking.”

  “I’m okay. I just … um …” I could not explain about astral travel and psychic visions to Josh’s mother. “I get dizzy when I forget to eat.”

  “You poor child. My mother had low blood sugar problems and couldn’t skip meals either without getting sick. Here, this should help.” She picked up a bowl of fresh fruit from the counter and held it out to me.

  I’d missed breakfast and was a little hungry, so I took an apple. Josh’s mother was watching me with concern, so after taking a few bites, I assured her I felt much better.

  But that wasn’t true—I was terrified for Josh.

  My visions usually foretold the future or offered glimpses into the past. A few months ago, after I’d had a premonition of a bloody dragonfly tattoo, I’d met a girl with the exact tattoo. And recently, while sleeping, I’d astral-traveled to spy on my “surprise-you-have-a-half-sister” Jade. (All I knew about Jade was that we shared a father and looked enough alike to be twins. Naturally, we’d hated each other at first, but we got to know each other better after my psychic skills helped solve a murder that happened at her home.)

  Yet my vision about Josh wasn’t like anything I’d ever experienced. He didn’t look like himself, draped in that old-fashioned costume as if attending a masquerade party. Then again, a party might explain the cloaked figures by the fireplace. But with all those people in the room, why hadn’t someone stopped Josh from stabbing himself?

  Setting the apple down on the kitchen counter, I turned to Mrs. DeMarco. “You wanted to talk about Josh,” I reminded.

  “I’ve already talked to most of his friends, and no one knows anything. I hoped you might think of something Josh said or that you heard from someone else.”

  I shook my head. My friends knew better than to mention Josh. Well, except for Penny-Love, self-proclaimed queen of gossip. Last week she’d told me a crazy rumor about Josh being so sick that the government had quarantined him in a secret underground hospital. Then her artsy boyfriend Jacques got on the topic of pandemics and said all of Josh’s friends should be quarantined, too. He actually pulled out a paper and asked me for names! But I shut him up by pointing out that Penny-Love was one of Josh’s friends and she’d have to be quarantined, too.

  “I honestly don’t know anything,” I told Mrs. DeMarco. “Exactly how long has Josh been gone?”

  “Eight days.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  I gently led her to the table and sat her down in a wooden chair. I offered her a paper napkin to dry her eyes, then sat beside her, leaning forward in my chair and giving her a solemn look. “Please tell me what happened.”

  Mrs. DeMarco dabbed her eyes with the napkin. “In Josh’s note, he told us not to look for him. His father and I assumed he’d return in a few days. I didn’t want his grades to suffer, so I covered for him by telling the school he was sick and picking up his assignments. Every time the phone rang, I was sure it would be Josh. But it’s been over a week and still nothing. I’m afraid … afraid that something happened to him.”

  “Josh didn’t say where he was going?”

  “No.”

  “His car’s still here, so he must have left with a friend. Any idea who?”

  “Arturo.”

  “Amazing Arturo?” Josh was apprenticed to the famous magician.

  “His note said he was with Arturo, but not where they’d gone. I keep wondering if I did something to make him leave …” Her voice cracked and I worried that she’d break down. Ever since losing her oldest son tragically in a car accident, Mrs. DeMarco was very protective of Josh.

  “Don’t blame yourself—it isn’t your fault,” I assured her. But it might be mine, I thought, remembering Josh’s final words to me. Had he been heart-broken enough to run away? Was I responsible for his mother’s tears?

  “Why hasn’t he called?” Mrs. DeMarco asked. “Evan hasn’t even heard anything and those boys are closer than brothers. What if my Josh was attacked, or is lying hurt somewhere without anyone around to help him? At first I was sure Josh would come home, since he didn’t take his car, phone, or laptop. But after a week … I don’t know what to think.”

  “Did you call Arturo?”

  “Of course. No one answered, so my husband and I drove to his house.” The lines in her face seemed deeper, as if she was aging before my eyes.

  “What happened?”

  “The house was closed up. None of the neighbors had seen either Arturo or his wife and had no idea where they’d gone. I wanted to report Josh missing but his father said we couldn’t force Josh to come home, that we need to trust him to come back on his own. I trust Josh, but I don’t trust Arturo.”

  I didn’t trust Arturo either.

  And I couldn’t shake the vision of that silver knife. Was it a glimpse into something that had already happened or a warning about the future? If it was a warning, then was there still time to change the vision and save Josh?

  “Mrs. DeMarco, can I see the note?”

  “Why?” She wiped her eyes.

  “Because I’m worried, too.”

  “I’ll get it for you.”

  After she left the room, I went over to the sliding glass door and looked out into the backyard. Dominic was crawling on his hands like a dog. Horse lifted his floppy ears as he watched Dominic wag his head in some sort of doggy communication. Then Dominic bent down to the dog bowl and … ew gross!

  Dominic was eating doggy kibble.

  I started to go outside, but stopped when I heard footsteps behind me.

  “Here,” Mrs. DeMarco gave me the folded paper. “Go ahead and read it, although it doesn’t say much.”

  I unfolded the lined sheet of paper and looked down at the short, hand-written message:

  Going with Arturo. Take care of Horse.

  Do not look for me.

  Love, Josh.

  I turned the note over, hoping for more, but only found blank paper.

  “I told you it wasn’t much help.” Mrs. DeMarco rubbed her forehead as if getting a headache. “It doesn’t say where they went or how long they would be gone, or why all the secrecy.”

  “Everything about the Amazing Arturo is secret,” I said bitterly, remembering all the silences from Josh whenever Arturo’s name came up. I’d never
met Josh’s mentor, but I knew that Arturo was inducting Josh into a mysterious world of magicians. Josh had even gotten a tattoo with the initials PFC and refused to tell me what it meant.

  Stepping away from Josh’s mother, I studied the note. The handwriting looked like his, but Josh wasn’t usually so inconsiderate of his parents. He’d confided to me that his parents still had trouble dealing with the death of his brother, so he tried to be there for them. He didn’t complain or rebel when they were overprotective, and was always considerate and respectful. Leaving with no warning was very un-Joshlike.

  Running my fingers over his written words, I closed my eyes and tried to summon a vision. But I got nothing. My psychic skills didn’t come with an On Demand feature. How ironic that I couldn’t predict my own predictions. What was the use in being psychic if I couldn’t control this ability?

  For a long time, I’d rebelled against this gift. I ignored my visions, pretending that the dark strip in my blond hair wasn’t the mark of a seer and that I was a normal girl. I was accepted into the “cool” group at school, had a cheerleader for a best friend, and dated ultra-popular Josh. But I couldn’t go on faking and lying to myself, so I’d finally embraced my talents and was glad when my gift could help someone. Still, not being able to access my skills when I wanted to made me crazy.

  Did you forget to ask me? a sassy voice said in my head.

  “Opal?” I asked without speaking, since my spirit guide could hear my thoughts. Closing my eyes, I envisioned her tawny skin, regal upswept black hair, and critical, arched dark brows. “You’re here?”

  I’m always nearby even if my presence isn’t obvious to those who merely have eyes and not a sight for the beyond, she said.

  A simple “yes” would have done. But then, Opal never made things simple. “Can you help me find Josh?”

  Help has a wide abundance of meanings, and for the doors to answers to be opened, you’ll need to journey along the right path toward a destination unimagined.

  As usual, she was confusing me. “What door and path?”

  When you wrinkle your forehead like that it makes you look old.

  “A three-hundred-year-old ghost is telling me I’m old?”

  Do not show your impertinence, young lady, and adhere closely to my advice if you wish to gain insight into the matters that trouble you.

  “Josh is missing. Please, just help me find him.”

  Suggest to this woman that it could be enlightening for you to examine her son’s room.

  Huh? I had to think for a minute to figure out what Opal meant. Sometimes I wondered if we were speaking the same language.

  “Mrs. DeMarco,” I said, turning around. “Would you mind if I looked in Josh’s room?”

  “Why?” She pushed a loose strand of light-brown hair from her face.

  “There might be a clue about where he’s gone.”

  “I’ve already searched and found nothing. All he left was this note.” She held out her hand. “May I have it back?”

  Nodding, I gave her the paper. She cradled it in her palm, running her fingertips over it, then folding it twice and tucking it away in a skirt pocket.

  “If I look at Josh’s room, I might remember something he said that could help find him. I promise to be quick.”

  “Thank you for caring.” Her gaze drifted toward the backyard. “While you’re doing that, I’ll go outside to check on your friend. Am I seeing things, or is he crawling inside Horse’s dog house?”

  “Dominic is really hands-on when it comes to animals.”

  While she went outside, I walked down the hall, passing the family room where Josh and I had watched DVDs on their big screen TV and played video games. Despite our breakup, I still considered him a friend. He might hate me now, but all I felt was sadness … and fear.

  Josh’s room looked the same as ever, only neater—there were fresh vacuum grooves in the nut-brown carpet and I smelled the scent of flowery air-freshener. One wall was covered with posters of basketball stars and another had a tall shelf with sports trophies and framed photos of friends and family. I recognized a heart-breaking picture of Josh with his brother, probably taken just months before the accident. There was also a picture of a distinguished bald man in a black velvet, silver-trimmed suit, standing beside a slim, blond woman who seemed to fade into the background. Could they be the Amazing Arturo and his wife?

  I continued with my search, checking Josh’s backpack, which held nothing out of the ordinary. Hanging on a wall hook were leashes for walking Horse. I’d done this a lot with Josh, and usually ended up laughing when Horse galloped ahead and we had to run to keep up with him.

  So much of Josh’s life was in this room … minus Josh.

  After searching drawers and the closet and crawling to peer under the bed, I had to give up. There were no hidden clues about Josh’s connection to Arturo. The only “magical” thing I found, in a box underneath a rainbow clown wig and a pair of big floppy shoes, was a gaudy magic wand encircled with plastic jewels and a fake diamond tip.

  If this wand was magic, then I was Houdini.

  Still, there was an odd aura about the wand. As I held it, warmth spread through my fingers until it pounded like thunder in my head and everything darkened, shapes shifting. In my mind, I saw a beautiful woman. She had dark sapphire eyes and golden skin, and her gleaming copper hair was clipped back in a gold barrette so that it rained like a flaming waterfall down her back. She stood on a polished wood podium, maybe a stage. She wore a jeweled vest over pink silk that reminded me of how harem girls dress in old movies. She spun in a pirouette like a dancer, then waved a jeweled wand over an oblong wooden box—a coffin. In a puff of blue smoke, the coffin lid opened and a hand rose from inside, waving a handkerchief. I heard applause, and realized this woman wasn’t merely a dancer—she was a magician.

  Then the image vanished and I was simply holding a cheap imitation of the jeweled wand from my vision, standing in my ex-boyfriend’s room, confused. Who was the woman and what was her connection to Josh?

  “Opal,” I said out loud, “I could use some help here.”

  Lift your gaze to look beyond the curtain of your own expectations.

  “Beyond what curtain? English, please.”

  Your knowledge of English is far removed from the actuality of its original form, but I’m willing to overlook your limitations. You’re overlooking the obvious, too, expecting to find answers in inanimate objects instead of following the breath of a living path. The bonds of birth are more binding than you realize, but the answers come when the bonds are freed and hearts are opened.

  That had to be the most illogical nonsense I’d ever heard. If Opal had a solid body, I’d throw something at her.

  Instead, I thought about her words. Her phrase about a “curtain” made me lift my gaze to the dark blue curtain covering the only window in Josh’s room.

  The curtains didn’t close all the way, and I could see the dark green of the Marshall’s house next door.

  Hmmm … what did Evan know about Josh? Was that what Opal was hinting? I wouldn’t put it past Evan to lie to the DeMarcos. I’ll bet he knew exactly where Josh had gone. Evan Marshall didn’t care if Horse mourned himself to death or if the DeMarcos were sick with worry—he only cared about himself.

  As I watched, the front door opened and Evan stepped onto the porch, turning to reach for someone behind him. Pulling the curtain wider, I saw a girl slipping into Evan’s arms, her long wavy red hair jarring me with recognition. I couldn’t see her face, only her slender back as she leaned into Evan, their arms entwining. She molded herself against his chest, their faces closing together, kissing.

  When she turned, I saw her face.

  A face very much like mine.

  My half-sister, Jade.

  I blinked a few times to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. But that was my half-sister locking lips with my arch-enemy. She hadn’t once mentioned Evan in her texts.

  How long had this been
going on?

  Last month, when Jade had flirted with Evan on the horseback ride/campout, I’d thought she was just hitting on him to annoy me. It worked, too. But we’d survived some scary moments together and gotten past our problems. Jade had admitted to being jealous of me and I confessed that I had jealousy issues, too, because she was actually Dad’s eldest daughter instead of me. After the campout, Dad did some confessing as well, telling Mom about his “secret” daughter—which erupted in lots of drama. But living over a hundred miles away on Nona’s farm made it easy for me to stay out of that, and privately I tried to forge a friendship with Jade through texts and email. We talked about school, friends, and our mutual interest in fencing.

  I’d thought everything was cool with us. Guess not.

  I hated Jade for lying. Even more, I hated myself for believing her.

  Well, I’d had enough of her lies. I stomped out of Josh’s room. I sped up, running through the hall and the living room. The front door banged behind me and I stood for a moment, shivering. But the shock of the chilly air couldn’t compare to my raging emotions. I stormed across the path connecting the two homes, not realizing I was still holding Josh’s cheesy plastic wand until I saw it in my hand. Cheap and fake—just like my half-sister. Slipping the wand into a pocket in my jacket, I stopped abruptly several feet away from the embracing couple.

  “Jade.”

  I barely whispered her name but it had the effect of a lightning strike, slashing across the lawn with a force startling enough to split them apart.

  “Sabine!” Jade’s cheeks reddened until they were almost as bright as her hair. “What are you doing here?”

  “Trespassing,” Evan spat out, reaching out for Jade possessively. “Get out.”

  “I’ll leave after I talk to my half-sister.” I emphasized “half” like I was swearing.

  “Sabine, this isn’t a good time,” Jade said, with a sharpness that stung. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

  “No, it’s not okay. Can’t you tell the truth about you and Evan? I thought we were … well … you know.”

  “My relationship with Evan isn’t about you.”