‘Warren,’ said Herb, his voice low and warm. ‘Blue wash.’
He tugged harder, pulling her towards him. His lips brushed hers, and his other hand snaked around her waist.
‘Is this really appropriate for the workplace?’ Sage murmured against his lips.
‘Do you want to file a complaint?’
Sage shook her head and leaned into the kiss.
There was a sudden crash and a short, sharp cry from the stage. Herb sprang to his feet and sprinted out the door. Sage followed.
Bianca was sprawled in the centre of the stage, surrounded by broken glass and a lump of black metal.
‘What happened?’ asked Herb, crunching through the glass to her.
Bianca raised herself into a sitting position. ‘One of the lights,’ she said, wincing with pain. ‘It fell from …’ She looked up to the lighting grid, and then cried out sharply and bent over.
‘Where does it hurt?’
‘My ankle.’ Bianca’s eyes filled with tears.
‘There’s an icepack in the freezer,’ said Sage. ‘I’ll go and get it.’
‘Are you sure it’s not broken?’ asked Herb as Sage left the stage.
‘It’s happened before,’ she heard Bianca say through gritted teeth. ‘Just a sprain.’
Sage pulled the icepack out of the freezer, the cold seeping up through her hands into her heart. Weren’t the lights supposed to be secure? Had someone rigged it to fall? Someone or … something?
She shivered. Could Bianca be right about the curse? Was there a vengeful theatre spirit trying to sabotage the show? And what if Bianca was wrong? What if it was connected to Armand’s disappearance?
She hurried back to the stage and handed Bianca the icepack.
‘We have to get you to a doctor,’ said Herb. ‘I’ll call us a cab.’
‘No,’ said Bianca. ‘I’ll be fine. My ankle used to go out all the time when I was a teenager. I’ll just take a painkiller and go lie down in my dressing-room for a bit. You need to prepare for the show.’
The show. Sage saw Herb’s face fall. They couldn’t do the show without Bianca.
‘You can totally do it,’ said Bianca. ‘Just do the solo effects – the carrot swap with Warren, some close-up card stuff, cups-and-balls. You know a bit of mentalism, even though you always whinge about it. There are heaps of magicians who work solo.’
Herb nodded slowly. ‘We’ll have to drop the finale though,’ he said. ‘I can’t do Assistant’s Revenge on my own. Unless …’
Two pairs of eyes turned to Sage.
‘What?’ she said, looking back at them. ‘What?’
‘So basically I strap you in here,’ said Herb, pulling back the curtain to reveal what looked like a medieval torture device. A wooden frame supported a human-sized leather harness, plus several lengths of heavy chains, fastened with proper padlocks.
‘In there?’ Sage looked dubiously at the contraption. ‘That doesn’t look like much fun.’
Bianca snorted. She had taken a painkiller, and was lounging in one of the front-row seats, her ankle propped up on a box and a cushion. It had taken nearly an hour of cajoling and flirting from Herb to get Sage to agree to participate in the trick, and she still wasn’t sure about it. On the other hand, without her the trick wouldn’t happen at all, and Sage didn’t want to be held responsible for ruining the show.
‘It’s fine,’ said Herb. ‘It’s all fake. Here, I’ll show you.’ He led her into the harness, and buckled it all up around her, fastening the locks. The straps were tight around Sage’s wrists and waist, and she felt a sudden rising panic.
‘I don’t like this,’ she said. ‘Let me out.’
He grinned at her. ‘Let yourself out. Just step backwards.’
He showed her how to move sideways half a step, which released a hook, allowing the whole harness section to swing open like a door. Sage stepped out, and Herb explained that the wrist and ankle straps were buckled and padlocked on the front, but were actually velcro around the back. Sage released herself, feeling bizarrely relieved.
‘So here’s what happens,’ said Herb. ‘I buckle you in, and you look all cranky that you’re being tied up.’
He ushered Sage back into the device and buckled it all up.
‘Then I pull this curtain around.’ A floaty red curtain billowed around the wooden frame, like a shower curtain. ‘And as I do so, you escape out the back and grab the other end of the curtain. I strap myself into the device …’ They awkwardly exchanged places, the red fabric making it difficult to see. ‘… And you take my place and pull the curtain open, revealing that we have magically exchanged places.’
Sage walked around the device, pulling the curtain open. Herb was strapped into the device, leather straps buckled around his wrists and ankles, chains wrapped around his torso.
‘Is that it?’ said Sage.
Bianca snorted again. ‘It takes a lot of practice to get the timing right,’ she said. ‘It has to be one smooth movement, no pause around the back while you swap places.’
Sage looked at the contraption. ‘Don’t people guess how it’s done?’ she asked. ‘It seems so simple.’
Herb and Bianca exchanged a glance and laughed. ‘They never figure it out,’ said Herb. ‘Ever. Precisely because it’s so simple.’
‘Okay,’ said Bianca. ‘Time to make the real magic happen.’ She limped up the stairs and down the corridor to her dressing-room, calling out for Sage to follow her.
Bianca inched her way down onto her chair, keeping her ankle straight, and bent over to open a large steam trunk in a corner of the room. ‘I’m sure I’ll have something your size in here,’ she said, pulling out bits and pieces of costume.
Sage watched as Bianca produced a jewelled crown, a velvet cape, a furry tail, a pair of lederhosen and a pair of moose antlers. ‘Ah!’ she said at last, holding up something blood-red and sparkly. ‘Try this on. I think I’ve got some shoes in here too.’ She disappeared back into the trunk.
It was a spangly, glittery number – a little more conservative than Bianca’s, but not by much. It had a tasseled fringe skirt and a close-fit, sequined bodice. Bianca politely averted her eyes while Sage squeezed into it. It wasn’t easy. Sage looked at herself in the mirror. Bits of her bulged from underneath the tight elastic.
‘No way,’ she said. ‘I look ridiculous.’
‘You look gorgeous. You just need a little makeup, and a bucketload of confidence.’
‘Nope,’ said Sage. ‘Not gonna happen.’
Bianca smiled sympathetically. ‘Let me tell you a secret,’ she said. ‘The secret to being beautiful. You can make anything look good, as long as you wear it with a little sass. Hold your head up, throw your shoulders back and own it.’
‘That’s easy to say when you look like a supermodel,’ muttered Sage.
Bianca shook her head. ‘It’s all in the attitude. I’m telling you. Here.’ She handed Sage a pair of red high heels.
‘I can’t wear these,’ said Sage. ‘I never wear heels. I’ll fall over. There’ll be two sprained ankles.’
Bianca rolled her eyes. ‘You’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘They’re dancer’s shoes, anyway. Very comfortable.’
Sage doubted that very much.
‘Now sit.’ Bianca pulled over a second chair and grabbed a little bottle of foundation.
Sage sat. ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ said Bianca.
‘This was never a position I imagined finding myself in,’ said Sage. ‘I remember once when I was little, my grandma told me I was pretty, and that if I grew taller I could become a model. I told her that models were brainless coathangers with eating disorders and cocaine addictions, and that, as a feminist, I wanted to be valued for my mind, not my body.’
‘How old were you?’
‘Eight.’
Bianca chuckled.
‘And yet here I am, having my face painted, wearing ridiculous shoes and a skimpy, spa
rkly outfit. A professional bimbo.’
Bianca’s smile faltered a little, and she looked away.
‘Oh, Bianca! I’m sorry,’ said Sage. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. Of course you’re not a bimbo. You’re amazing and clever and I know that being an assistant is so much more complicated than just smiling and looking beautiful. I’m just scared because I know I can’t do any of the complicated stuff that you do, and I’m not beautiful or glamorous enough.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Bianca. ‘You’re definitely beautiful enough.’ She swung Sage’s chair around so she could look at her reflection.
‘I look stupid,’ said Sage, staring at the red-lipped, smoky-eyed girl in the mirror. ‘Like a hooker.’
‘You do not,’ said Bianca. ‘I know it looks a bit over the top up close like this, but trust me, under the theatre lights you’ll look like a million dollars.’
‘Wow,’ said Herb when he saw her, but it didn’t sound like a good wow.
He was dressed in his own costume – a dark suit with a white shirt and skinny black tie. It made him look older, and Sage felt like a little kid playing dress-ups next to him.
‘You’re supposed to say she looks beautiful,’ said Bianca with a stern look.
Herb raised his eyebrows. ‘She looked beautiful before. Now she looks ridiculous.’
Sage felt her cheeks go hot with mortification. Bianca hissed something angry to Herb as she headed back to her dressing-room. He gave Sage a cheerful smile.
‘You look great,’ he said. ‘Really. You look like a magician’s assistant. Remember the thing I said about the painting? You look like a very expensive masterpiece.’
‘I feel like a Jackson Pollock,’ she told him.
‘No, no, no,’ said Herb. ‘Something classy and elegant. Like Georges Seurat’s Sunday Afternoon.’
Sage gave him a flat look. ‘Okay from a distance, but all blotchy close up?’
Herb coughed to hide a laugh and moved in closer to her, pressing his forehead against hers. ‘You look pretty awesome close-up,’ he said, his voice low. ‘I just like you better when you’re wild and natural.’
Sage forgot the spangly leotard for a moment and felt herself start to glow gently. She leaned into him.
‘Thanks for doing this,’ murmured Herb, brushing his lips against her forehead. ‘I really appreciate it.’
Sage’s anxiety about the routine, her stupid outfit and ridiculous makeup drained away, and was replaced by a kind of singing joy.
‘Let me take you out for dinner tonight,’ said Herb. ‘To Mr Pham’s. My treat. As a thank you. And a celebration of my debut as a performing magician, and yours as a magician’s assistant.’
‘Well, it is Friday night,’ said Sage. ‘I’d hate to disappoint Mr Pham.’ She turned her head to kiss him, a slow, melting kiss that made her entire body hum.
‘Just promise me you’ll wash off all this gunk before we go,’ said Herb, pulling away. ‘You’re covering me in glitter.’
Sage knew they were in trouble from the beginning, when Warren escaped from the special hidden pocket in Herb’s jacket and lazily made his way offstage, to uproarious laughter from the audience.
Things went downhill from there.
Herb fumbled a coin vanish, the coin falling and bouncing on the wooden boards of the stage with a ringing clatter. The wrong top hat had been set on the stage, so instead of pulling out a bunch of flowers, Herb pulled out an empty plastic bag. His patter became more and more frantic as he tried to compensate for the failing tricks, and his hair stuck to his forehead as he sweated and puffed. Sage missed nearly every single lighting and sound cue, and Bianca kept forgetting to open and close the curtains.
As Assistant’s Revenge drew closer, Sage felt a heavy, twisting sickness growing in her stomach. Her teeth started to chatter. Onstage, Herb accidentally swore out loud as he failed to guess which card a little boy had selected from a deck. The boy’s eyes opened wide, and there was a murmur of disapproval from the adults in the audience, along with much giggling from the children. Bianca nudged Sage, who slowly rose to her feet and shrugged off the cotton dressing-gown that had been covering the sparkly costume. She felt almost numb with cold.
‘You’ll be fabulous,’ whispered Bianca, as she slid into Sage’s seat in front of the lighting console.
Sage stood in the wings next to the Assistant’s Revenge set piece, which was all ready to be wheeled into place. Herb finally guessed the correct card and closed his eyes with relief as he sent the boy back to his seat. His eyes flicked over to Sage, and his mouth twitched in the tiniest of smiles. It was time.
Sage placed her hands on the metal railing of Assistant’s Revenge and pushed. It rocked as the casters bumped over the uneven stage. Sage hesitated. Was she seriously about to do this?
‘Go on,’ hissed Bianca, gesturing to the stage. Sage took a deep breath and stepped through the wings. The bright lights made it almost impossible to see anything, and she stumbled forwards, teetering in the ridiculous shoes. She dimly heard Herb say something about a beautiful assistant, and she wheeled Assistant’s Revenge into place and clicked the brakes on the casters with one glittery toe.
As Herb guided her into the restraints, Sage looked out into the black void that she knew contained approximately seventy-five paying audience members. She swallowed. They were all watching her. Looking at her. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She was a photographer. She was supposed to be the observer, not the observed. As her eyes adjusted, she saw dim outlines of people sitting in rows. Sage felt a jolt of recognition as her eyes slid over the front row, partly illuminated by the light spilling from the stage. Jason Jones was there. Jason Jones was there, watching them. Witness to their humiliating attempt at a magic show. He held a thin, flat box wrapped in gold wrapping paper on his lap, and had a lazy, sardonic smile on his face. Sage glanced at Herb, who nodded with a grim look on his face.
‘I know,’ he said under his breath. ‘I noticed him straight away. But let’s face it, it’s not like the show can get any worse.’ He squeezed her arm reassuringly as he buckled the last strap.
Sage wanted to disagree with him, but it was too late. Herb walked a measured circle around her, drawing the curtain closed. As he disappeared from the audience’s sight, Sage stepped out of her bonds and Herb slipped in, their bodies briefly pressing together as they squeezed past each other. Herb was radiating heat, his brow moist with sweat, and Sage wanted to curl into his warmth and stay behind the curtain forever. But she stepped out and took his place, as he buckled the chains around his ankles and wrists with the velcro straps. Sage grasped the curtain and completed the circle, pulling the curtain open again and revealing Herb restrained within, his face twisted into a comic approximation of indignant rage. He scowled at her, and she walked around one final time. When the curtain parted again, the device was empty. Sage acted shocked, putting her hand over her mouth and shrugging. She peered behind the curtain. She lifted the black silk hat on Herb’s card table to reveal Warren sleeping underneath. The audience laughed.
Then Bianca raised the house lights to reveal Herb standing at the very back of the theatre, wearing a completely different suit. The audience burst into wild applause.
Herb made his way back onto the stage, and offered Sage his hand. Sage took it and they stepped forward together. Herb pulled her hand up into the air, and then down again in a bow. The audience cheered and whistled.
Sage felt a kind of fizzing bubbling in her chest. It had worked! The trick had worked! They’d fooled everyone! A smile spread over her face and, glancing over at Herb, she saw the goofy smile firmly plastered on his. He winked at her, and the fizzing feeling took on a rosy warmth.
The curtains swung closed, and Herb grabbed her in a bone-crushing hug. ‘Well done!’ he said. ‘You were awesome. A natural.’
Sage breathed in the smell of him – cinnamon and theatre-dust. She could get used to this. The applause died down, and Sage heard the sounds of t
he audience getting to their feet and shuffling out of the theatre. Herb gave her a final squeeze, and released her.
Bianca limped out onto the stage. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘That certainly was … a show to remember.’
Herb closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Don’t even start,’ he said. ‘It was a disaster. With the exception of Assistant’s Revenge, not a single effect went right.’
‘It wasn’t that bad,’ said Sage, trying to look reassuring. ‘And it was partly my fault. I kept missing the lighting cues.’
‘It was definitely that bad,’ Herb replied. ‘And none of it was your fault. Well, almost none of it.’
‘I think we all sucked,’ said Bianca. ‘Sorry about the curtains.’
‘Don’t be,’ said Herb. ‘I sucked the most. I’ll have to apologise to Armand when he gets back. The whole live-on-stage magician thing is harder than it looks.’
Bianca made a noncommittal noise and limped off towards her dressing-room.
Herb took a deep breath. ‘Go change,’ he said. ‘I want to see the real you. Then to Mr Pham’s. I’m going to need a lot of pho to drown my sorrows.’
Sage was suddenly starving. She’d left her clothes in a bag under her desk. She ducked into the office and bent down to pull it out. It was so much further to bend because of the red high heels. She slid into her chair for a moment to pull them off, and noticed a white envelope sitting on her desk, addressed by hand to The Lovely Assistant.
She opened it, and pulled out a sheet of very thin, white paper. The writing on it looked as though it had been typed on an old typewriter – the letters were uneven and smudged. Sage felt her theatre high drain out of her as she read.
‘Oh my god,’ she said to herself, and then sprinted barefoot out to the theatre, where Herb was resetting the props for the next show.
‘I hope Mr Pham has a well-stocked kitchen,’ he said, without looking up from the black table. ‘Because we are going to require an epic dinner tonight. The most awesome dinner of all time. Possibly followed by ice-cream. Do you like ice-cream? Of course you do, everyone likes—’
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