Honest illusions(BookZZ.org) (3 page)

Luke tucked his suddenly nervous hands in his pockets and gauged his surroundings. He knew he’d just walked into a trailer but there was a strong illusion of some exotic den. The scents, of course, and the colors from the plush, vivid pillows heaped here and there, the small richly woven mats tossed helter-skelter over the floor, the draping silks over the windows, the mysterious dip and sway of candlelight.

And, of course, Maximillian Nouvelle himself.

“Ah.” His amused smile half hidden by his moustache, Max toasted the boy. “So glad you could join me.”

To show he was unimpressed, Luke shrugged his bony shoulders. “It was a pretty decent show.”

“I blush at the compliment,” Max said dryly and waved with the back of his hand for Luke to sit. “Do you have an interest in magic, Mr . . . . ?”

“I’m Luke Callahan. I figured it was worth a buck to see some tricks.”

“A princely sum, I agree.” Slowly, his eyes on Luke, Max sipped his brandy. “But a good investment for you, I trust?”

“Investment?” Uneasy, Luke slid his eyes toward Mouse, who seemed to be hulking around, blocking the door.

“You took several more dollars out with you than you came in with. In finance we would call it a quick upward turn on your money.”

Luke resisted, barely, the urge to squirm and met Max’s eyes levelly. Well done, Max thought to himself. Quite well done.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I gotta take off.”

“Sit.” All Max did was utter the single syllable and raise one finger. Luke tensed, but sat. “You see, Mr.

Callahan—or may I call you Luke? A good name that. From Lucius, the Latin for light.” He chuckled, sipped again. “But I digress. You see, Luke, while you were watching me, I was watching you. It wouldn’t be sporting of me to ask how much you got, but an educated guess would put it at eight to ten dollars.” He smiled charmingly. “Not at all a bad turn, you see, on a single.”

Luke narrowed his eyes to slits. A thin trail of sweat dribbled down his back. “Are you calling me a thief?”

“Not if it offends you. After all, you’re my guest. And I’m being a remiss host. What can I offer you as refreshment?”

“What’s the deal here, mister?”

“Oh, we’ll get to that. Indeed, we’ll get to that. But first things first, I always say. I know a young boy’s appetite, having been one myself.” And this young boy was so thin Max could all but count the ribs beneath the grubby T-shirt. “Mouse, I believe our guest would enjoy a hamburger or two, with all the accompaniments.”

“ ’Kay.”

Max rose as Mouse slipped out the door. “A cold drink?” he offered, opening the small refrigerator. He didn’t have to see to know the boy’s eyes cut to the door. “You can run, of course,” he said casually as he took out a bottle of Pepsi. “I doubt the money you have tucked in your right shoe would slow you down very much. Or you can relax, enjoy a civilized meal and some conversation.”

Luke considered bolting. His stomach rumbled. Compromising, he slid an inch closer to the door. “What do you want?”

“Why, your company,” Max said as he poured Pepsi over ice. His brow lifted a fraction at the quickly smothered flash in Luke’s eyes. So, he thought as his own mouth grimaced. It had been that bad. Hoping to signal the boy that he would be safe from that sort of advance, Max called for Lily.

She stepped through a curtain of crimson silk. Like Max, she was also in a robe. Hers was pale pink and trimmed with fuchsia feathers, as were the high-heeled slippers on her feet. She tapped over the scattered rugs in a wave of Chanel.

“We have company.” She had a pippy voice that seemed to be stuck in perpetual giggle.

“Yes. Lily, my dear.” Max took her hand and brought it to his lips, lingered over it. “Meet Luke Callahan. Luke, my invaluable assistant and adored companion, Lily Bates.”

Luke swallowed a hard knot in his throat. He’d never seen anything like her. She was all curves and scent, her eyes and mouth exotically painted. She smiled, batting incredibly long lashes. “Pleased to meet you,” she said, and snuggled closer to Max when he slipped an arm around her waist.

“Ma’am.”

“Luke and I have some things to discuss. I didn’t want you to wait up for me.”

“I don’t mind.”

He kissed her lightly, but with such tenderness, Luke’s cheeks went hot before he looked away.
“Je
t’aime, ma belle.”

“Oh, Max.” That French business always made Lily’s toes curl.

“Get some sleep,” he murmured.

“Okay.” But her eyes told him, quite clearly, that she would wait. “Nice meeting you, Luke.”

“Ma’am,” he managed again as she swayed back through the red curtain.

“A wonderful woman,” Max commented as he offered Luke the glass of Pepsi. “Roxanne and I would be quite lost without her. Wouldn’t we,
ma petite?”

“Daddy.” On a little huff of breath, Roxanne crawled under the curtain then popped to her feet. “I was so quiet, even Lily didn’t see me.”

“Ah, but I sensed you.” Smiling at her, he tapped a finger to his nose. “Your shampoo. Your soap. The crayons you’ve been drawing with.”

Roxanne made a face and shuffled forward in her bare feet. “You always know.”

“And I always will know when my little girl is close.” He lifted her up and settled her on his hip.

Luke recognized the kid from the act, though she was dressed for bed now in a long ruffled nightgown.

Bright, fiery red hair curled halfway down her back. While Luke sipped his drink, she twined an arm around her father’s neck and studied their guest with wide, sea-green eyes.

“He looks mean,” Roxanne decided, and her father chuckled and kissed her temple.

“I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

Roxanne debated, then temporized. “He looks like he could be mean.”

“Much more accurate.” He set her down and ran a hand over her hair. “Now say a polite hello.”

She tilted her head, then inclined it like a little queen granting audience. “Hello.”

“Yeah. Hi.” Snotty little brat, Luke thought, then flushed again as his stomach growled.

“I guess you have to feed him,” Roxanne said, very much as though Luke were a stray dog found rooting through the garbage. “But I don’t know if you should keep him.”

Torn between exasperation and amusement, Max gave her bottom a light swat. “Go to bed, old woman.”

“One more hour, please, Daddy.”

He shook his head and bent to kiss her.
“Bon nuit, bambine.”

Her brows drew together, forming a faint verticle crease between them. “When I grow up, I’ll stay up all night when I want.”

“I’m sure you will, more than once. Until then . . .” He pointed toward the curtain.

Roxanne’s bottom lip poked out, but she obeyed. She parted the silk, then shot a look back over her shoulder. “I love you anyway.”

“And I you.” Max felt that old, always deep warmth flutter into him. His child. The one thing he had made without tricks or illusions. “She’s growing up,” Max said to himself.

“Shit.” Luke snorted into his Pepsi. “She’s just a kid.”

“So it seems, I’m sure, to one of your vast years and experience.” The sarcasm was so pleasant, Luke missed it.

“Kids’re a pain in the butt.”

“In the heart, quite often,” Max corrected, sitting again. “But I’ve never found one that gave me any discomfort in another part of the anatomy.”

“They cost money, don’t they?” A trickle of old anger worked its way into the words. “And they get in the way all the time. People have them mostly because they get too hot to think about the consequences when they screw around.”

Max stroked a finger over his moustache as he picked up his brandy. “An interesting philosophy. One we’ll have to discuss in depth sometime. But for tonight . . . Ah, your meal.”

Confused, Luke looked at the door. It was still closed. He heard nothing. Only seconds later there was the scrape of feet and the single quick rap. Mouse entered carrying a brown bag already spotted with grease. The smell had saliva pooling in Luke’s mouth.

“Thank you, Mouse.” Out of the corner of his eye, Max noted Luke restraining himself from snatching the bag.

“You want me to hang around?” Mouse asked and set the food on the small round table that fronted the sofa.

“Not necessary. I’m sure you’re tired.”

“ ’Kay. Good night then.”

“Good night. Please,” Max continued as Mouse closed the door behind him. “Help yourself.”

Luke shot a hand into the bag and pulled out a burger. Striving for nonchalance, he took the first bite slowly, then, before he could stop himself, he bolted the rest. Max settled back, swirling brandy, his eyes half closed.

The boy ate like a young wolf, Max thought as Luke plowed his way through the second burger and a pile of fries. Starved, Max imagined, for a great many things. He knew perfectly well what it was to starve—for a great many things. Because he trusted his instincts, and what he believed he saw behind the sly defiance in the boy’s eyes, he would offer a chance for a feast.

“I occasionally do a mentalist act,” Max said quietly. “You may not be aware of that.”

Because his mouth was full, Luke only managed to grunt.

“I thought not. A demonstration then, if you will. You’ve left home and have been traveling for some time now.”

Luke swallowed, belched. “Got that one wrong. My folks have a farm a couple miles from here. I just came for the rides.”

Max opened his eyes. There was power in them and something that made the power more acute. Simple kindness. “Don’t lie to me. To others if you must, but not to me. You’ve run away.” He moved so quickly, Luke had no chance to avoid the hand that clamped like steel over his wrist. “Tell me this, have you left behind a mother, a father, an aged grandparent with a broken heart?”

“I told you . . .” The clever lies, the ones that he’d learned to tell so easily, withered on his tongue. It was the eyes, he thought on a flutter of panic. Just like the eyes in the poster, which seemed to look into him and see everything. “I don’t know who my father is.” He spat it out as his body began to vibrate with shame and fury. “I don’t figure she knows either. She sure as hell don’t care. Maybe she’s sorry I’m gone ’cause there’s no one around to fetch her a bottle, or steal one for her if she ain’t got the money.

And maybe that bastard she’s living with is sorry because he doesn’t have anybody to knock around anymore.” Tears he wasn’t even aware of burned in his eyes. But he was aware of the panic that had leaped like a dragon to claw at his throat. “I won’t go back. I swear to God I’ll kill you before you make me go back to that.”

Max gentled his hand on Luke’s wrist. He felt that pain, so much like his own at that age. “The man beat you.”

“When he could catch me.” There was defiance even in that. The tears shimmered briefly, then dried up.

“The authorities.”

Luke curled his lip. “Shit.”

“Yes.” Max indulged in a sigh. “You have no one?”

The chin with its faint cleft firmed. “I got myself.”

An excellent answer, Max reflected. “And your plans?”

“I’m heading south, Miami.”

“Mmmm.” Max took Luke’s other wrist and turned his hands up. When he felt the boy tense, he showed his first sign of impatience. “I’m not interested in men sexually,” he snapped. “And if I were, I wouldn’t lower myself to pawing a boy.” Luke lifted his eyes, and Max saw something there, something no twelve-year-old should know existed. “Did this man abuse you in other ways?”

Luke shook his head quickly, too humiliated to speak.

But someone had, Max concluded. Or someone had tried. That would wait, until there was trust. “You have good hands, quick agile fingers. Your timing is also quite keen for one so young. I could make use of those qualities, perhaps help you refine them, if you choose to work for me.”

“Work?” Luke didn’t quite recognize the emotion working through him. A child’s memory is often short, and it had already been a long time since he’d known hope. “What kind of work?”

“This and that.” Max sat back again, smiled. “You might like to learn a few tricks, young Luke. It

happens we’ll be heading south in another few weeks. You can work off your room and board, and earn a small salary if you deserve it. I’d have to ask that you refrain from lifting wallets for a time, of course.

But I doubt if anything else I’d ask would cramp your style.”

His chest hurt. It wasn’t until he’d let out a breath that he realized he’d been holding it until his lungs burned. “I’d, like, be in the magic show?”

Max smiled again. “You would not. You would, however, assist in the setting up and breaking down.

And you would learn, if you have any affinity for such things. Eventually, you may learn enough.”

There had to be a catch. There was always a catch. Luke circled around the offer as a man might circle a sleeping snake. “I guess I could think about it.”

“That’s always wise.” Max rose, setting his empty snifter aside. “Why don’t you sleep here? We’ll see where we stand in the morning. I’ll get you some linens,” Max offered, and walked out without waiting for a response.

Maybe it was a scam, Luke thought, gnawing on his knuckles. But he couldn’t see the trap, not yet. And it would be good, so good, to sleep inside for once, with a full stomach. He stretched out, telling himself he was just testing his ground. But his eyelids drooped. The candlelight played hypnotically over them.

Because his back still troubled him, he shifted to his side. Before he let his eyes close again, he judged the distance to the door in case he had to get out quickly.

He could always take off in the morning, he told himself. No one could make him stay. No one could make him do anything anymore.

That was his last thought as he tumbled into sleep. He didn’t hear Max come back with a clean sheet and the pillow. He didn’t feel the slight tug as his shoes were removed, and placed beside the sofa. He didn’t even murmur or shift as his head was lifted and laid, quite gently, on the linen-cased pillow that smelled faintly of lilacs.

“I know where you’ve been,” Max murmured. “I wonder where you’ll go.”

For another moment he studied the sleeping boy, noting the strong facial bones, the hand that was clutched in a defensive fist, the deep rise and fall of the frail chest that spoke of utter exhaustion.