Prologue
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Keflavík Airport, Reykjavík, Iceland
First the announcement came in Icelandic, then it was made again, in matter-of-fact English.
The airport was closing, and all flights were now grounded. Tom listened to the tinny announcement in disbelief, before slumping against a nearby wall. He’d seen for himself the billowing clouds pouring forth from Eyjafjallajökull, and had been following the news all day, aware that airport closure was a possibility. Still, there was a bitter sense of irony and resignation within him as he settled his belongings around him on the floor. He’d left home eighteen months ago, dejected and jaded, and after a year and a half of travelling, of seeing what the world had to offer, and remaining distinctly unimpressed with it, he was finally on his way home. To be stopped now — when he was willing to return to the family he’d left behind, even if he didn’t really want to — felt like a sign.
The lights from the airport dimmed as people settled in for the night. Clothes became makeshift blankets, bags were usedfor pillows. Someone brought him a coffee, hot and bitter on his tongue, and Tom stretched out his long legs irritably, trying to get comfortable on the hard tile floor. All around him people were annoyed and running low on patience, getting increasingly angry at the harangued airport staff. Somehow, this situation, this delay, was made out to be their fault, as though the staff themselves had pulled the lava from the ground and choked the sky.
Tom knew he’d never get to sleep, so instead he opened his bag and drew out a pack of cards. It was his oldest set, faded and worn from years of play. Once upon a time, these cards had belonged to his great-grandmother, a family heirloom of which his mother was immensely proud. If he was honest with himself, Tom had never been a fan of his family history, or the house full of knick-knacks that had been collected over generations. His childhood had been spent in a house that felt more like a museum than a home, and he’d hated the relics of the past found in every corner of every room.
He liked these cards though. French in style, the deck was prettily decorated with hand-painted images of kings, queens and knights. He thumbed through them, shuffling them absently, lost in his own thoughts.
He was laying the cards out for a game of solitaire when he sensed someone watching him. Looking up, he found a woman sitting across the terminal from him, her eyes intently watching his hands. She wasn’t staring at him, not as such, but peering closely at his cards. Tom noted how she followed his hands curiously, watching as he dealt them onto the ground, her eyes steady and intent, her gaze flush with interest. Feeling a spike of annoyance, Tom abruptly stopped what he was doing, giving her a sharp glare.
He didn’t like to attract attention — didn’t like to be noticed. Woebegone, jaded and running from home, Tom kept his headdown and voice quiet. At home he’d felt trapped and suffocated by both his parents and his brother, the weight of their lofty expectations for him heavy upon his shoulders. Running away, disappearing into the ether, had seemed like the right idea at the time. Tom Somerset had been left behind in America, while Tom Miller had been born in Europe.
He figured Marnie and Doug would be looking for him, just as he figured Corentin would be helping them. It had been eighteen months, and they must miss him, Tom reasoned. He missed them too, and often thought about them. He missed his mother’s firm voice and his father’s flippant playfulness, just as he missed Corentin’s quirky brilliance. Still, as much as he looked forward to seeing them, he also dreaded it. Sometimes he wasn’t quite sure if he was ready to face them, or the foolishness he’d left behind.
The woman was still watching his hands, even though he’d paused his game, and so he narrowed his eyes at her. Under the intense weight of his gaze, she finally looked up from the cards, and surprisingly didn’t falter under the hostility in his eyes. Instead, she licked her lips, before giving him an embarrassed smile, slow and warm, her eyes bright and achingly blue.
The flip to his stomach was instantaneous, the pounding of his heart hard within his chest. She blushed again, before looking down to the battered paperback clutched in her hands. Still, the memory of her smile lingered in Tom’s mind, and his fingers shook when he picked up his cards once more.
For five minutes, he glanced occasionally in her direction. The lights of the runway flickered prettily behind her, turning the ash blonde of her hair into a golden halo. He took note of her fingers, long and delicate as she flicked through her book. She was looking at him too, Tom realised, knowing by the instinctive tingle to his skin that she was stealing glances at him, just as he was at her. Finally, he could bear it no longer. He put his cardsdown, crossing his arms and staring firmly in her direction. When she next gazed up, meeting his eyes, she blushed instantly at having been caught looking. Before she could look away, he called out to her.
“Hey,” he said, watching as she gazed at him, clearly uncertain. “Want to play a game?”
She licked her lips again, and Tom’s stomach flipped once more, a surprising pull of longing rising within him.
“A game?” she asked softly, and he delighted to hear a British twang to her voice, clear and pronounced.
“A card game,” he clarified. “A magic trick, if you like.”
“I don’t believe in magic,” she replied, shifting on the unforgiving terminal floor.
“That’s because you haven’t seen mine,” he told her, giving her an easy grin.
She hesitated, looking around her, taking note of the now nearly deserted airport, the stranded passengers sleeping on the floor. When she looked back to him, she put her book down and folded her arms across her chest, mirroring his position.
“You’re a magician?”
He shrugged. “I’m many things. Right now, I’m stranded in this airport, with a long night ahead of me and nothing to do, and you look about the same.”
At that she smiled. “All right.” She stood and walked towards him.
Tom’s heart picked up tempo, because this woman was something else. Crouched on the floor, she’d been pretty, but now, standing and moving her long legs, he could see just how beautiful she was. Sweet-faced and slim, her hair falling to her waist, she was perfection wrapped in a white sweatshirt and jeans — his mouth watered at the sight of her. Dropping his gaze, Tom took a deep breath, concentrating on the cards within his hands. Still, he couldn’t help his heart from giving a treacherousleap when he felt her slip to the ground beside him, just as his skin tingled when it made the briefest of contact with hers.
“So,” she began, “what do you want me to do?”
He gestured to the deck spread on the floor before them. “You just have to choose a card.”
“That’s it?”
He nodded. “That’s it.”
