Sage felt a chill run through her. ‘Herb killed the mice?’
Bianca shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘But I just can’t believe it was a coincidence.’
‘What did Armand do?’
‘Nothing. He just scooped the mice into his hat as usual. He didn’t say anything to Herb afterwards. But you could tell he was angry.’ Bianca took a deep breath. ‘But that’s not everything.’
‘There’s more?’
Tears started to roll down Bianca’s cheeks. ‘It was my fault,’ she whispered. ‘You can’t blame Herb. He was angry and hurt. And it was all my fault.’
‘Why?’
Bianca swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment before continuing. ‘W-when Herb asked Armand if he could have the spot, Armand said he’d think about it. Then, after the show, Armand asked me what I thought. I told him that Herb was too green, that he wasn’t ready.’ She looked over at Sage, her eyes full of sadness. ‘I told him not to let Herb have the spot. I crushed Herb’s dream.’
Sage went over and put her arms around Bianca. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said. ‘You just gave your honest opinion. That in no way justifies what Herb did to those mice.’
And to Armand, she thought.
‘Am I interrupting something?’ It was Jason Jones, standing just outside the dressing-room. He carried another gold-wrapped package, but this one was small and thin. Jewellery, thought Sage, as Bianca pulled out of her hug. He’s trying too hard.
‘Um,’ said Bianca, looking uncomfortable. ‘Jason, you remember Sage.’
‘Of course.’ Jason turned his smile onto Sage, but the magic had totally gone. He just looked like a smarmy con-artist.
‘I just have to make a quick phone call,’ said Bianca. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
‘I hear tonight’s show was a bit dramatic,’ Jason said mildly to Sage. ‘I hope everyone’s okay.’
Sage gave him what she hoped was a polite smile. ‘I know that for some reason Bianca likes you,’ she said, feeling bold. ‘I can’t imagine why, because you seem completely odious to me. But I just thought I’d let you know that if you hurt her, I’ll kill you.’
Jason blinked in surprise, and then smiled a lazy smile. He reminded Sage of a crocodile basking in the sun. She started to head towards the office, but Jason spoke.
‘I remember my first solo show,’ he said. ‘It was a total disaster.’
Sage remembered the newspaper clipping they’d found in Armand’s dressing-room. ‘Was it?’ she said, turning around to face Jason. ‘Why?’
Jason shrugged and smiled a self-deprecating smile that Sage almost believed. ‘You know,’ he said. ‘It’s hard starting out, when you’re so inexperienced.’
‘But you had a good teacher, didn’t you?’ She didn’t fall for any of Jason’s bullshit. There was something creepy about him, and she was going to get to the bottom of it.
Jason looked genuinely surprised. ‘Armand?’ he said. ‘I thought everyone had forgotten that we used to work together.’
‘You mean that you used to be his assistant.’
‘I like to think it was an equal partnership.’
Sage snorted. ‘Yeah, I bet every assistant would like to think that. Doesn’t look that way from where I stand, though.’
Jason’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you’re referring to,’ he said. ‘I assure you that any claims Armand has made against me are entirely false.’
Claims? This was interesting. Had Jason stolen from Armand? What if that had a connection to the missing money, and Armand’s disappearance?
‘Okay, I’m ready.’ Bianca was back, rugged up in her red duffel coat and her bag slung over her shoulder.
‘Lovely to catch up, Sage,’ said Jason. ‘Could you do me a favour?’ He pulled a white envelope from his bag. ‘Could you give this to Herb, next time you see him?’
Sage felt a sudden chill, but the envelope didn’t look anything like the creepy notes Bianca had been receiving. ‘What is it?’
Jason smiled blandly. ‘Just some fan mail,’ he said. ‘Come along, Bianca. I’ve made dinner reservations.’
Sage found Herb sitting at his desk, staring at his notebook and shaking his head.
‘This is for you,’ she said, and dropped the white envelope on his desk. Herb ignored it.
‘I just don’t know where it went wrong.’ His hair had started to dry, and it stuck out in all directions, making him look young and rather lost.
‘I think you should go home,’ said Sage. ‘Get some sleep. You’ll get it right tomorrow.’
Herb shook his head. ‘I can’t do the show tomorrow,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to cancel again.’
‘Okay,’ Sage said, trying to sound soothing. ‘That’s fine. But you should still go home. I’ll call the people who have booked.’
‘I don’t want to go home,’ said Herb. ‘I want stay here and invent a time machine so I can go back and erase the last few hours from history.’ He looked up at her, his eyes plaintive. ‘Console me over dinner?’
Sage felt her heart break. ‘I–I can’t.’
‘Come on,’ said Herb, leaning in towards her. ‘Throw a drowning man a life raft.’
The cinnamon and theatre smell of him almost made her dizzy. She closed her eyes and saw three dead mice, and a spike through Armand’s head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, pulling away.
Sage opened the bookings folder and picked up the phone to call the first name on the list. Herb stood there for a moment, watching her, his face a picture of misery. Sage took a deep breath and dialled, keeping her gaze firmly on the folder in front of her. After a moment, Herb sighed and walked away.
Sage spent most of Sunday in her bedroom, looking over the photos she’d taken of Armand. They were beautiful, the balance of light and shadow perfectly capturing the severe drama and mystery of Armand’s features.
She was almost certain that Armand hadn’t really been called away on an urgent personal matter. His disappearance had to be linked to the other strange things going on at the theatre. Could Herb have done away with him in order to further his own career? And what about Jason Jones?
And where was Armand? Had he been kidnapped?
Could he be … dead?
Sage shivered, and pulled the ghost photo from her folder. Was there a connection between Armand’s disappearance and the ghost? If it really was the ghost of Jasmine, then maybe she wanted a magician to replace her dead husband. That was the kind of thing that ghosts did, wasn’t it? Maybe Armand was just one in a series of magicians that Jasmine had lured away to the underworld.
‘What’s that?’ It was Dad, hovering outside her bedroom door.
Sage looked up, startled. ‘A photo I took at the theatre.’
‘Can I see?’
Dad came into Sage’s room and perched on the end of her bed. Sage handed him the ghost photo. Dad peered at it, frowning.
‘Is this some kind of arty something-or-other that I’m not supposed to understand?’ he said.
Sage shook her head. ‘I’m not sure what it is,’ she said. ‘I think it might be …’
‘What?’
‘A ghost.’ It sounded stupid to say it out loud.
Dad looked at the photo again. ‘I suppose it does look a bit like a person crouching down,’ he said. ‘Did you see anything when you took the photo?’
Sage explained about the time-lapse. ‘It seems too solid to be a trick of the light,’ she said. ‘It’s not light reflecting off a dust particle, or any of the other things that sceptics point to in ghost photos.’
‘Spooky,’ said Dad. ‘Have there been any other ghostly sightings in the theatre?’
‘Sort of,’ said Sage. She told him about Renaldo the Remarkable and the theatre curse, but didn’t mention Armand’s disappearance or her strange dream. She didn’t want Dad to get too freaked out.
‘Maybe a little research is in order,’ said Dad. ‘See what you can find out about thi
s Renaldo. If he died onstage, then there was bound to be something in the paper about it. Maybe you’ll find a clue.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ said Sage, wondering why she hadn’t thought of it herself.
Dad hesitated, still looking at the ghost photo. ‘Is everything else okay?’ he said at last. ‘You’ve seemed pretty happy since you started at the theatre, but today … not so much.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Sage. ‘Just tired, I guess.’
Dad glanced at the calendar on Sage’s wall, and the red circle around July 16. ‘Nervous about starting school?’
Sage blinked. She’d totally forgotten about the dreaded red circle. After all the drama of the ghost, Herb’s betrayal and Armand’s disappearance, starting at a new school didn’t seem very scary anymore. ‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘I’m not nervous. It’ll be good. I’m looking forward to meeting some new people.’
People who didn’t work in the magic industry.
Dad smiled and ducked his head in an apologetic nod. ‘Moving here has been hard on the whole family, but I think it’s been hardest for you,’ he said. ‘Thanks for being such a good sport about it. You’re a pretty awesome kid.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’
Dad handed the photo back to Sage. ‘Good luck hunting your ghost,’ he said, and headed for the door.
‘A ghost!’ Zacky’s head whipped around the doorframe and he bounded into Sage’s suddenly crowded bedroom. ‘Like Nearly Headless Nick?’
‘Sort of,’ said Dad, ruffling Zacky’s hair.
Zacky peered over Sage’s shoulder at the photo and looked disappointed. ‘That’s not a ghost,’ he said firmly. ‘It’s just a fuzzy blob. You can’t see a face, and it isn’t see-through or floaty the way ghosts are supposed to be.’
Dad looked at Sage with a twinkle in his eye. ‘You’re probably right, mate,’ he said. ‘Come on, I said I’d take you and Roman to the park today.’
Zacky whooped and raced out of the room, waving his arms above his head and making wooo-oooo ghost noises.
Sage didn’t sleep well that night. She couldn’t stop thinking of Herb, damp and humiliated, and how she’d rejected him. Had she done the right thing? Herb had lied to her, and if Bianca was right, he could easily let his temper get away from him.
Sage’s bedside clock blinked 3:00 AM at her, and she sighed and rolled over so she couldn’t see it.
When she finally fell asleep, she dreamt she was on a fairground-style House of Horrors ride. The car she was strapped into was careening down a hill in a zigzag. Every time it zigged or zagged it jolted sharply sideways, and a shape loomed out at Sage. Armand. Jason Jones. Bianca. Herb. Renaldo. Jasmine.
Even in the dream, Sage’s head pounded and her stomach churned from being wrenched from side to side. She hoped the ride would end soon, but it seemed to go for hours and hours.
‘Sage.’ It was Mum, shaking her awake.
Sage glanced blearily at the clock on her bedside table. It was seven thirty-five on Monday morning. Mum was all dressed up for work, her handbag slung over her shoulder.
‘Mngg?’ said Sage. The daylight stabbed into her eyes and made her head throb even more.
‘I was just heading out the door,’ said Mum. ‘There’s someone here to see you.’
‘Whzz?’ Sage managed.
Mum raised her eyebrows. ‘A young man who claims to work with you,’ she said. ‘He seems rather anxious.’
Sage tried to clear the fog from her head and wake up properly. ‘Whehzacky?’
‘I just dropped him next door. I’m running late, so shall I just tell your gentleman caller to wait in the living room?’
‘Hnng.’
Mum took this as a yes, and dropped a kiss on Sage’s forehead before hurrying out of the room. Sage rubbed her face, trying to keep her eyes open. She’d never been much of a morning person, and the chilly Melbourne mornings made it all the harder to wake up. She could hear muffled voices downstairs, then the sound of high heels on floorboards. Then the front door closed.
Sage sat bolt upright.
Herb. Herb was in her house.
She leapt out of bed and grabbed her dressing-gown, wrapping it tightly over her pyjamas and thick bed socks.
Herb was sitting on the couch, looking painfully uncomfortable. He had his hands folded in his lap, and he was silently mouthing words to himself as if he were practising a speech.
‘What are you doing here?’ said Sage, pausing on the third step from the bottom.
Herb looked up and jumped to his feet. ‘I need to talk to you.’ His voice was low and urgent. ‘I have no idea what’s going on with you, or with us, and right now I don’t really care. I just really, really need to talk to you.’
I don’t really care. It was like a knife in Sage’s heart. But she supposed it would be easier this way.
‘How did you know where I live?’ asked Sage.
He shot her a puzzled frown. ‘We work together,’ he said. ‘I helped you fill out your employment card. Your address is on file.’
Sage slowly made her way down the last two steps to the floor, but didn’t move any closer. If Herb really was behind the terrible things happening at the theatre, was she in danger too? She was completely alone with him. No Bianca. No Mum. No one at all to hear her scream.
‘W-what do you want?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
‘I was wrong,’ said Herb. ‘When I said that the bad things happening in the theatre were all coincidences. And you were right about Armand’s disappearance being suspicious.’
Sage’s blood turned to ice. Was this it? Was Herb really going to confess to her? What then?
‘It’s Jason Jones,’ said Herb. ‘I think he’s trying to frame me.’
‘Oh!’ said Sage with a start of relief. ‘Really?’
Herb slumped back on the couch, pulling a crumpled envelope from his jacket pocket and tossing it onto the coffee table. It was the same one that Jason Jones had given her to pass on to him. Sage looked at it. Was Herb trying to lure her closer? She tried to remember the moves from the self-defence course she’d taken in Year Eight. Herb was looking at her expectantly. Sage took a deep breath and crossed the room to pick up the envelope. She sat down in an armchair, keeping the coffee table between them, opened the envelope and read the enclosed letter. It was a cease-and-desist from a law firm called Watkins & Tucker, on behalf of Jason Jones.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said, frowning at the legalese.
‘He’s claiming I stole his effect,’ said Herb. ‘Houdini’s Return. He filed a patent for the mechanism a week ago.’
‘But – but this is your trick,’ said Sage. ‘You’ve been working on it for ages.’
Herb nodded miserably. ‘I don’t know how he did it. I only performed it the day before yesterday!’ he said. ‘But the paperwork seems to be valid.’ He kicked out at the coffee table in anger. ‘I’ve been working on that effect for years!’
Sage folded up the letter and put it back in the envelope. ‘What went wrong?’ she asked. ‘On Saturday?’
‘I still don’t know,’ Herb said, rubbing his hand over his head. ‘I can’t stop thinking about it. I haven’t slept.’
‘What was supposed to happen at the end?’
‘I’m supposed to emerge from the barrel that is now miraculously water and not wine, holding a lit candle.’
Sage knew better than to ask how the effect was achieved. ‘It sounds impressive.’
‘It is,’ he said. ‘When it works.’ He looked up at her. ‘I bet it was him. I bet Jason Jones sabotaged the whole thing, to make sure I couldn’t perform it before he stole it from me.’
It was certainly possible. Sage had wondered whether Jason had stolen money from Armand, when he was Armand’s assistant. But what if he’d stolen something much more valuable? What if he’d stolen Armand’s magic secrets?
Sage swallowed. If Jason Jones was responsible for Armand’s disappearance, and was trying to steal Houdi
ni’s Return from Herb … what did that mean for Bianca? Did she know what Jason was up to? Could she possibly be involved?
No, thought Sage. Bianca is sad and lonely and strange, but she’d never betray us like that. Would she?
She chewed her bottom lip, frowning. ‘So what happens now?’
‘I don’t do Houdini’s Return anymore. I can’t.’
Sage desperately wanted to believe him. She wanted to get up and throw her arms around him and kiss the smile back onto his face. But she wasn’t sure. What about her dream?
‘There’s more,’ said Herb. ‘I got an email this morning from the Magician’s League. Jason Jones has reported me. They could take away my membership.’
‘You need a membership to be a magician?’
Herb sighed. ‘Not exactly,’ he said. ‘But I couldn’t compete in any tournaments. I couldn’t register any effects under my name. It’s like … being excommunicated. Or kicked out of your own family. Nobody in the magic community will speak to me. There’s nobody worse than a magician who steals from another magician. That’s why I need your help.’
‘My help?’ said Sage, feeling even more uncomfortable. ‘Why me?’
Herb spread his hands. ‘You’re all I’ve got,’ he said. ‘Bianca hates me, plus she’s too busy making up stories about curses. Armand is off dealing with his family crisis – or maybe that’s all fake too. Maybe Jason Jones has done away with him. Who else is going to help me?’
Sage swallowed. ‘What kind of help do you need?’
‘Come with me. Help me figure out what Jason’s up to. We’ll follow him. It’ll be fun – like we’re in a detective show or something.’
Sage thought about long afternoons sitting in cafés, waiting for Jason Jones to appear. She imagined Herb leaning in and kissing her, to hide their faces from view. She imagined them ducking around corners and laughing breathlessly.
Then she remembered seeing Herb’s desk in her dream. She remembered the mail spike through the image of Armand’s head. She remembered Bianca’s look of horror when she mentioned the three dead mice.
‘I–I can’t,’ said Sage. ‘Sorry.’
He stared at her for a moment. ‘You know,’ he said. ‘I thought you were different. I thought we had … something. But I guess I was wrong.’
Zigzag Effect Page 19
