“Where? By the Ferris wheel?”
“Just come. I’ll find you.”
“And my brother?” she asks.
I pick up my guitar and strum. The noise of the roaring crowd finds its way into the room.
“You’ll meet me?” A strange eagerness grows in my chest as I release her hand. She spreads her fingers, and stardust lifts from her nails and into a ball. She fires it at me like a grenade.
I gasp as the energy pummels my chest. My legs fling out from under me. I crash down.
“Don’t double-cross me. I’ll be there,” she shouts before disappearing into the hall.
My body shakes, my heart racing. “See you soon, Emma Baldwin.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEmma BaldwinPHILADELPHIA, 2024
As I peek through the curtain, the unfrozen crowd looks confused. Murmurs ripple through the theater like a tidal wave, crashing against the stage. Demetri’s head jerks around, his face pale under the amber lights. His frantic gaze sweeps the room before locking on mine.
I step out from behind the glittery black curtain, my hair wild, my red gown streaked with crimson splatters from the bleeding roses in the hallway. My lungs sting, each breath scraping raw.
“Emma!” Demetri shouts, his voice slicing through the chaos—people pushing, gasping, their faces masks of confusion and fear. Some shout at each other, while others edge toward the exits, their footsteps pounding like war drums against the wooden floor. He pushes through the crowd, his eyes blazing with fear and fury, but his brow furrows once he has a chance to take me in. “You’re a mess, Emma. What the hell happened?”
I stagger forward, gripping the torn fabric of my dress. “I was frozen too,” I blurt, the lie spilling out. “It was… weird. One minute I was here, and the next I was backstage.”
“Backstage?” Suspicion curls around the word like smoke as his eyes linger on the blood streaked across my gown. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” I pause, faking confusion. “It’s not my blood.”
His lips press into a hard line. “Whose blood is it?”
“No one’s,” I bite out.
His stare hardens, his jaw tight. I know what he’s thinking, that I’m impulsive, reckless—lying. He might be right, but I’ll never admit it.
I brush past him, my heels clicking sharply against the empty stage, each step an exclamation point ending the conversation.
The heavy theater doors creak as we push them open, spilling us out into the humid night air. Golden streetlamps cast warm light across the avenue. The smell of popcorn and cinnamon mingles with the rich aroma of candied yams and jambalaya from the food trucks. The city hums with life, but dread twists in my stomach when I think of going home.
“Emma,” Demetri whispers, his steps quickening beside mine. “Were you fighting someone? Are we in danger? What’s going on?”
“Everything’s fine. Just drop it.” If Demetri knew I’d chased Malcolm down a hallway dripping with blood and confronted him while staring down a flaming lion, he’d drag me home, his hand locked around my wrist, his voice a hurricane of lectures about safety and all the things I don’t want to hear.
“Emma,” he says, stopping before the magical alley we entered earlier. “You’re not acting like yourself.”
I spin to face him, frustration boiling over. “And you are? You’ve been lying and keeping secrets, Demetri. So don’t act like you’re entitled to the truth from me.”
A suffocating silence spreads between us. Finally, he exhales, his shoulders sagging under the weight of whatever he isn’t telling me. “Fine,” he mutters. “Let’s just go home.”
We step into the alley, and the magic starts to fade as we move back into the world we left behind. The air shifts, crackling like static. Glitter swirls around us. The cobblestones dissolve into cracked concrete. The brownstones, the smells and sounds of the city of Philadelphia, greet us. My glittering gown melts away, pooling into smoke before re-forming intoplain jeans and a T-shirt. My hair untangles, the glitter evaporating as my red wig settles back into place. Only now it’s tilted.
Demetri’s transformation is just as swift. His crimson jacket shrinks into a blue T-shirt, his sleek black pants fading back into scuffed jeans. The top hat disappears, leaving his hair damp in the humid air.
“Lost my watch,” he mutters, glancing at me as we near the car. “Whatever happened back there,” he says quietly, “you don’t have to tell me. But you know Gran’s gonna want answers.”
“I know,” I whisper.
We slide into the oppressive silence of the car. On the outside, we look calm and composed, but the dread of the drama waiting at home pulls me down like a riptide.
