My brother Demetri glares at me from the front row. His eyes say,Stick to the script.He knows all too well how tired I am of the same old routine.
I’m sick of pretending to be some trickster magician who makes her assistant disappear. For once, I’d love to perform honestly—to use my magic for the gift it is and stop trying to hide who I am. To let people see the fullness of our power, rather than a mere hint of it. To prove to my family that I can control it. I want to be proud of it.
Bright lights flash behind me. I lift my hand, and the stardust spiral rises, spinning like a funnel cloud. And I do what is expected of me.
“Tonight, I’m going to make someone’s dreams come true,” I call out, eyeing the eager, mostly white audience. “Raise your hand if you want me to spin this stardust into your greatest wish.”
The audience members scoot to the edges of their chairs, hands held high as they lean forward. I walk into the crowd, staring at their captivated faces as I pretend that I’m searching for someone special.
Demetri, still seated in the front row, is a vision in a white zoot suit,complete with a skinny black tie and high-waisted balloon-leg trousers. He fiddles with the lapels on his drape coat and brushes something off his padded shoulders. A black wide-brimmed hat shades his eyes. He usually wears a dimpled smile so bright and movie-star handsome that people always notice him. Tonight, though, he frowns at me. Right on cue, he raises an exasperated hand.
I pause by his chair. He keeps his hand high. This is the part where I’m supposed to pick him and grant his wish for me to pull a fluffy white rabbit out of his hat. I’m about to do it for the millionth time when something catches my eye. An inky fog rolls across the velvet carpet toward Demetri. That’s definitely not part of my act. I look around for Papa. Did he add a surprise illusion to the set tonight? No, he is nothing if not methodical.
Demetri follows my gaze, before crumpling back in his seat, eyes wide. I tilt my head, wondering why this strange fog has him so rattled. My brother is usually calm, even in a crisis. His obvious fear makes my fingertips tremble.
The vapor rolls over Demetri’s shoe as he sits frozen like a statue. The audience stares at me, puzzled by my lack of movement. None of them are looking down. Maybe they can’t see it.
The haze creeps toward the stage, toward me. I step back. Demetri opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, the fog thins into a coil of smoke and melts into a glittery gold thread by my feet. Demetri remains stuck for a moment. Then, as if he’s been released from a trance, he shakes his head and straightens his hat.
Whispers crackle around me. People are starting to notice my silence. My stillness. Demetri sends me a pointed look. The show must go on.
I send him a look in return. Does he know what the fog was about? What it means? If he thinks he can weasel out of explaining what just happened, he’s sorely mistaken. But my interrogation can wait until after my act.
“You, sir,” I begin in my cheeriest voice, pretending not to recognize my older brother.
Next to Demetri is the little girl who clapped when she saw the stardustraining on the tent. In the brighter light, I notice a bruise on her cheek and a sadness in her eyes. They chill me almost as much as the fog has.
Maybe I’m shaken because her eyes slope like Grace’s. Maybe I just want to take my mind off the fog, bad omens, and a family who won’t be honest with me. To bring joy to those little eyes and make this child smile again.
I swipe my brother’s hat and plop it onto my head. “You, sir, have great taste in hats.” My brother frowns, but the crowd loves it. This isn’t part of the script. I turn to the girl with a smile. “But you, young lady, I think you deserve a wish.”
“My mom,” she says softly, pointing to the woman next to her. The lady is skeleton-thin and white as bones. She quakes, clutching the thick arm of the beefy man to her right, as a scarf masks her throat and dark glasses block her eyes.
Is she afraid of crowds? Attention? I wonder.
“Can you grant my mom a wish instead?” the girl asks.
“Of course,” I reply with a wink. I try to stroll to the stage, but Demetri grabs my wrist, jerking me to a stop.
“But what about my wish?” he teases. His eyes plead with me to stick to the routine. But nothing has been routine about tonight, not the raven, the fog, or the way it rattled him. I shake him off, knowing he won’t make a scene in public. He leans back in his chair, nervously twisting a button on his jacket.
I step onstage, raise my hand, and look at the frail woman in the audience. The stardust shimmers and swirls above my palm, casting a tiny shadow on my fingers.
“Behold the starlight,” I call out, “for it will show you a glimpse of your past—and, in so doing, it will reveal what your heart most desires for your future.” For a moment, nothing happens, and my stomach sinks. What if I can’t pull this off, after all? What if all those hours of daily practice weren’t enough? With relief, I see an image begin to appear in the glittery cloud above my hand, faint at first, before growing clearer and more distinct. The image shows the beefy man shoving the child. It expands to show thewoman racing to save her. The woman is slapped to the ground. Her eye turns red, then black, from the assault.
The audience gasps. Concerned murmurs buzz through the crowd.
“This is fake!” The beefy man launches out of his chair, face red, nostrils flaring.
My jaw clenches. “I assure you, nothing you’ve seen tonight is fake.”
Demetri starts to rise from his seat, but I toss him his hat and give him a look that says,Sit down. I got this.He complies, grumbling.
I have to prove myself, even though I’m still learning to control the power of the stardust. I can pull it from above, but I can’t manipulate or control the visions of the past that it reveals. Learning how to spin its power into wishes has been a difficult process. But if I can use it to conjure a rabbit in my brother’s hat, I should be able to grant this woman’s wish too. Maybe she’ll wish for a getaway car—that should be easier to conjure than something living. Or maybe she wants money so she and her daughter can escape into a better future. I know all about wanting to escape.
The stardust morphs into a dark, murky cloud, and the man sits back down. The image changes as the stardust glows and shimmers with the woman’s unspoken wish. Every night in our show, when my brother wishes for a white rabbit, I see that white rabbit clearly—its floppy ears and pink twitching nose. But this image? This one is hazy. It’s not even as clear as the image of the past from moments ago. In fact, I’ve never seen a wish this cloudy.
She must be wishing for something intangible, like freedom and peace for herself and her child. That would be my wish too, if I were in her shoes.
