Herb nodded sympathetically. ‘When did you and Daniel break up?’
‘The twentieth of May,’ said Sage. ‘It was my birthday. He took me out for lunch and told me that there was no point in us being together if I was just going to leave anyway.’ She didn’t add that Parama had seen Daniel with his tongue down Alice Petricavich’s throat at the beach four days later. Alice was definitely the kind of girl that guys got passionate about – all wispy and glimmering, like early-morning sun.
Herb saw her expression and snorted. ‘What a douchebag. That was your sixteenth birthday, right? Did he give you a present?’
‘A scarf. Because it gets cold in Melbourne.’
‘Was there a card?’
‘I think so – yes.’
Herb punched the air and grinned. ‘A full strike! I said April – that was when you found out you were leaving. I said sixteen – it was your sixteenth birthday. I said D – that’s Douchebag Daniel. He took you out for lunch – that was the dinner table I saw, and he gave you a crappy present and a card – which is the white envelope.’
Sage stared at him. ‘How did you do that? How did you know about Daniel taking me out for my birthday?’
‘I didn’t. I just said a bunch of random stuff and you made sense out of it. You did all the work.’
‘But everything you said was true,’ said Bianca, putting her hands on her hips. ‘Maybe you just don’t realise that you’re channelling stuff from outside of yourself.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Herb. ‘I got it all wrong. I said Michael or David – you turned that into Daniel. I said April, but he actually broke up with you in May. I said sixteen – but I already know you’re sixteen because you wrote it down on your employee information form the other day. Then I said a dinner table – but he took you out to lunch. And I said there was a letter in a white envelope, which you decided was a birthday card. Was it even in a white envelope?’
Sage thought about it. ‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘There wasn’t an envelope at all.’
Herb folded his arms. ‘See? You just remembered the things that applied to you, and forgot all the stuff I said that didn’t. This is what humans do. This is why people buy lottery tickets – because we only remember the extraordinary and the unusual stories of people winning, not the millions upon millions of totally uninteresting stories about people who don’t.’
Bianca picked up Warren and stroked his ears. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘But just because you’re a crappy fake psychic doesn’t mean that the real deal doesn’t exist.’
‘If it does,’ said Herb, ‘then there’s absolutely no evidence of it. There’s a stage magician called James Randi who is offering a million dollars to any psychic who can prove their abilities. He opened the offer in 1968. More than a thousand people have taken the challenge. Nothing so far.’
‘So maybe real psychics aren’t interested in money.’
‘Then how come they’re demonstrating their abilities on psychic phone hotlines and daytime TV, instead of using them to actually help people? How come they’re not working for the government?’
‘How do you know they’re not?’
Herb made an exasperated noise. ‘It’s impossible talking to people like you.’
‘Nobody asked you to,’ said Bianca.
‘You came into my office!’ said Herb.
‘Only to see if Sage can help me with this wispy bit of hair,’ said Bianca huffily. She handed Warren to Herb and smiled at Sage.
Sage followed Bianca back to her dressing-room. It was littered with shoes, sequins and discarded feather boas. An ancient couch covered with cushions and blankets took up an entire wall, and above it were various vintage posters for old magic shows.
THE HOUDINI METAMORPHOSIS – The Greatest Novelty Mystery Act in the World!
THURSTON THE GREAT MAGICIAN – The Wonder Show of the Universe
ALEXANDER – The Man Who Knows
T NELSON DOWNS – Once Seen Never Forgotten
A little side table held an old sewing machine, and there was a smallish dressing table against the opposite wall, cluttered with little pots, brushes and lipsticks. Above the dressing table hung a mirror, with mostly blown light bulbs surrounding it.
‘Thank you,’ said Bianca, handing Sage a bobby pin.
Sage pinned the stray wisp of hair back in place, feeling oddly pleased that Bianca needed her help for something. Bianca shrugged off the cotton dressing-gown, revealing her smooth long limbs and glittering costume.
‘Is that a bruise?’ asked Sage, frowning at a deep purple mark on Bianca’s upper thigh.
Bianca looked down. ‘Damn,’ she said. ‘That was quick.’
‘Where did it come from?’ The bruise was angry, veined with red streaks. It looked very painful.
Bianca made a face. ‘I just ran through the Zigzag Effect with Armand. I haven’t done it since I was eighteen, and I was a bit smaller then. The blades are blunt, but they’re still very hard when they scrape along your body.’
Sage winced. ‘Did you say anything? To Armand?’
‘He’d just tell me to lose weight.’ Bianca smiled a bright smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘It’s fine. I’m a bit out of shape.’
Sage felt furious on Bianca’s behalf. ‘What a dick,’ she said. ‘Only a man would say something like that. You don’t have to put up with it, you know. Refuse to do it. Go on strike!’
Bianca looked puzzled and strangely touched by Sage’s concern. ‘It doesn’t work that way.’
‘Who says?’
‘The world. Anyway, it’s just a magic trick. It’s not important.’
Bianca leaned towards the mirror and touched up her eyeliner with a stubby, worn-down pencil. Frustrated, Sage tried to think of a way to make Bianca understand.
‘Are you guys ready?’ Herb was standing in the doorway.
‘You!’ Sage pointed a finger at him. ‘Can’t you fix the cabinet? Make the blades smaller?’
‘Hmm?’
Sage felt her heart sink. Herb was staring at Bianca, not listening to anything she’d said. Of course he was. Bianca was beautiful. Like stupid Alice Petricavich, Bianca was the kind of girl who boys got passionate about. Tall and beautiful, like a delicate long-stemmed flower. Bianca was the kind of girl whose face launched ships. She was the kind of girl people had written poetry and songs about for thousands of years. She was perfect in every way, like a daydream come to life. And it wasn’t a sex thing. Even Sage wanted to protect her, make her smile. She was just that kind of girl.
Suddenly everything made sense. Herb and Bianca’s constant bickering. The assistant and the magic designer. It was like a romantic comedy. Herb had basically admitted he was in love with Bianca before – when he’d said that she was beautiful and he’d tried to get close to her. And the only role for Sage in this particular rom-com was as the third wheel; the short, dumpy, comic-relief friend with flat brown hair, who would help bring the two lovers together and almost certainly bring the laughs by falling on her bottom several times, in increasingly humiliating circumstances.
‘Sage? Are you okay?’ Bianca touched her arm.
It was perfect timing, really. Just when it would have been convenient for Bianca to play the ice-queen, she turned all nice so Sage couldn’t even quietly despise her. But Bianca was lovely. Lovely and sad and in need of protection. Herb was lovely too, and he could help her, be her knight in shining armour. They deserved each other. Sage was sure that the fire of their arguments would very soon mature into a different sort of fire – less antagonistic, but no less heated.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, plastering on a smile. ‘Good luck tonight. Break a leg.’
What did she care, anyway? She hadn’t taken the job because of Herb. She didn’t need a boyfriend. She just needed enough money to take Yoshi Lear’s photography class.
After the show, Sage started to think seriously about asking Armand if she could photograph him. With no sign of Bianca’s ghost, Sage wanted something impressive
she could show Yoshi Lear, and a shimmering series of magic at work could be just the thing. But how to approach Armand?
Herb was backstage, tinkering with the blades in the Zigzag cabinet, and Sage was sweeping the rose petals off the stage and pondering her best strategy. The door to the foyer banged.
‘I can’t believe this old theatre is still here,’ said a smooth voice from the auditorium. ‘I’m surprised nobody’s torn it down and put up apartments.’
Sage looked up to see a middle-aged man in a suit standing in the middle aisle.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she said. ‘But the theatre’s—’
The man walked towards the stage. He waved a nonchalant hand at Sage. ‘Don’t worry, love,’ he said. ‘I’m family.’ He flashed her a warm, open smile, and Sage couldn’t help smiling back.
‘Um,’ she said. ‘I’m not—’
‘Jason Jones,’ said the man, reaching the stage and holding out his hand for her to shake.
So this was Armand’s rival magician. Although he wasn’t tall or particularly attractive, Jason Jones radiated confidence and charisma. His suit was impeccably tailored, his short black hair perfectly cropped and styled. His teeth were straight and white, and when he smiled, it was like the sun coming out.
‘I don’t know you,’ he said to Sage. ‘Are you new?’
Sage nodded and introduced herself, stumbling over the words. Why was she so flustered? It wasn’t like she was attracted to Jason – he was much too old for her. But there was something about him … Sage wanted him to like her. She glanced into the wings and saw Herb watching her with amusement.
‘And how are you finding the old Lyric?’ asked Jason. His gaze locked with hers and filled her with warmth. All his attention was on her, and she basked in his glow.
Out of the corner of her eye, Sage saw Herb roll his eyes and mime being sick.
‘It’s good,’ said Sage. ‘Everyone’s very nice.’
Jason raised his eyebrows. ‘Really?’ he said, his mouth curving into a conspiratorial smile. ‘Even Armand? I find that hard to believe.’
Sage found herself giggling. What was wrong with her? ‘He’s not so bad,’ she heard herself say.
‘I’ll believe that when I see it,’ said Jason. ‘Speaking of whom, would you mind telling him I’m here?’
Sage nodded and mumbled something inarticulate before rushing off to Armand’s dressing-room.
‘Excuse me?’ she called through the door. ‘There’s a gentleman called Jason Jones here. He wants to talk to you.’
There were a few moments of silence, then the door was yanked open. Armand’s face was creased with displeasure. Sage took an involuntary step back as he swept past her and stomped down the corridor. She followed, a few paces behind.
Next to Jason, Armand looked like a shabby pastiche – someone from a comedy skit about magicians. Sage hung back in the wings and watched.
‘Good to see you, Jason,’ said Armand stiffly. ‘Have you been well?’
Jason Jones rolled his eyes and shrugged. ‘You know how it is,’ he said. ‘Just so busy putting this new show together. And of course everyone wants a piece of me. I swear, if I get one more phone call from a talk show or journalist, I’ll go postal. Sometimes I think I’d like to just pack it all in and become a Tibetan monk or something.’
Sage noticed Herb, still standing in the wings on the opposite side of the stage. His eyes met hers, and he raised his eyebrows slightly as if to say what a douchebag. And suddenly, now she wasn’t in Jason’s spotlight anymore, Sage found herself agreeing with Herb. When he’d been bathing her in his golden light, Sage had felt like he was the most interesting person on the earth. Now, watching Jason with Armand, Sage could see that it was all fakery. A great magician indeed.
‘You must be very pleased,’ said Armand. ‘A show at the Arts Centre.’ Armand didn’t look pleased at all.
‘It’s no big deal.’ Jason Jones’s superior expression implied that it was, in fact, a very big deal.
Armand said nothing.
‘Fun show tonight,’ said Jason Jones, with an insincere smile. ‘I think it’s a credit to you that you can always make such old material seem so fresh. I mean, if I had to do exactly the same routine day in, day out, year after year, I’d go crazy.’
‘It’s not the same routine,’ Herb burst out indignantly, stepping out onto the stage. ‘What about the floating chair and the rose petals?’
Jason Jones turned his gaze upon Herb with a slight air of confusion, as though he hadn’t realised that there were other people in the universe. ‘That was yours, was it?’ he said. ‘I’m impressed. Not bad work for a beginner. I thought it was really … cute.’
Sage saw Herb’s face cloud over. ‘I have to …’ He looked around vaguely. ‘ … go and do a Thing. Over there.’
He stomped past her, muttering cute under his breath. Jason Jones watched him go, and winked at Sage as he noticed her standing behind the curtain. For a moment Sage was sucked back into the vortex of his charm. Then she blinked and it was all make-believe again. Resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at Jason, Sage followed Herb back to the office, bumping into Bianca on the way.
‘I wouldn’t go out there if I were you,’ Sage told her. ‘Jason Jones is here. What a creep.’
Bianca craned her head round the wings so she could see onto the stage. ‘Jason’s here?’ she asked. ‘Why?’
‘He came to the show. He’s talking to Armand now, being patronising.’ Sage frowned. ‘Do you know him?’
‘What? No. What makes you think that?’
‘You called him Jason. It sounded like you knew him.’
Bianca laughed. ‘Oh, I mean, I know him a bit. It’s like that in the magic industry. We all know each other. It’s not a big field.’ She glanced at her watch and frowned. ‘I’d better go,’ she said. ‘I’m meeting friends.’
She turned and started to hurry back to her dressing-room, but stopped halfway down the corridor. ‘Oh, Sage?’
‘Yes?’
‘Thank you,’ said Bianca. ‘For saying what you did, yesterday. About how things don’t always have to be this way. You made me … think about a lot of stuff. I guess sometimes it takes an outsider to remind us how weird this industry is.’
‘You’re welcome,’ said Sage, feeling totally thrilled that she’d gained Bianca’s approval.
‘It’s … it’s been a while since anyone said anything like that to me,’ said Bianca.
Sage resisted an almost overwhelming urge to give her a hug.
‘Girl power, hey?’ Bianca giggled. ‘Sisters are doing it for themselves!’
Sage nodded, suspecting that Bianca might have totally missed the point. ‘Absolutely.’
‘See you tomorrow!’ Bianca smiled brightly and slipped into her dressing-room.
Sage went into the little office she shared with Herb. He was sitting in his swivelly chair with his feet on the desk, crankily scribbling on a notepad.
‘Do you feel special?’ he asked, not looking up. ‘Now you’ve been personally condescended to by Lord Jason of Douchebaggington?’
‘So special,’ replied Sage, collecting her bag. ‘I shall treasure this day until I die.’
‘You fell for it a little bit, though, didn’t you?’ said Herb.
Sage made a face. ‘Totally,’ she admitted. ‘It was like, for a moment, I was the most interesting person in the universe.’
‘He’s such a tool.’ Herb stabbed his notepad savagely. ‘He’s a master of the backhanded compliment and the humble brag.’
‘The what?’
‘You know,’ Herb struck an aloof pose. ‘I ruined my shoes last night, stepping in chewing gum. It was so annoying. I mean, who spits their used gum on a red carpet?’ He sighed. ‘And this is the third awards ceremony I’ve been to in a week. I mean, I’m totally honoured, but it’s getting embarrassing.’
Sage laughed.
‘So where’s Bianca?’ asked Herb. ‘Usually she’s in here
by now trying to convince me I need my chakras realigned.’
‘She had to leave,’ said Sage. ‘She’s meeting up with friends.’
Herb snorted. ‘Is that what she said?’
‘Why is that so unbelievable?’
‘Bianca doesn’t have friends,’ Herb said. ‘None of us do. That’s why we’re here all the time.’
Sage felt taken aback. ‘Really? You don’t have any friends? Nobody who you hang out with on the weekend?’
‘We do three shows every weekend,’ said Herb. ‘There are some other magic nerds I meet up with once a month to play cards with, but otherwise it’s just me and Bianca. And now you.’
Sage frowned. ‘That’s … kind of sad.’
Herb shrugged. ‘That’s magic.’
After Sage heard Jason Jones’s ostentatious farewell, she made her way down the corridor and knocked timidly on Armand’s dressing-room door, slipping inside when she heard his voice. Armand was sitting at his dressing table, looking over a pile of papers. His expression was sour.
‘I was wondering if I could ask a favour,’ she said.
Armand raised an eyebrow, but didn’t look up. Sage explained about her photography class, and that she wanted to do a series of portraits of him.
‘You know,’ Sage finished. ‘Capture the glamour and mystery of the show.’
Sage saw a flicker of light in Armand’s eyes, and he turned away from his table and actually looked at Sage for what felt like the first time ever.
‘Tomorrow,’ he said. ‘You may photograph me tomorrow, before the show.’
Sage grinned. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It won’t take long, I promise.’
‘It will take as long as it needs to,’ said Armand. ‘Oh, and don’t worry about the accounting query you had the other day. I’ve taken care of it. It was just a glitch.’
Sage waited for him to explain further, but Armand didn’t say anything, just turned back to his pile of papers. Sage walked slowly back to the office, thinking. What kind of glitch would make nine hundred dollars disappear? And why the secrecy? Could Armand be hiding something?
5. Transformation: something is transformed from one state into another.
Zigzag Effect Page 6
