Page 59

Abracadabra

“It’s your turn, Marsh,” Jo encourages as the whole casino holds its breath for her to reveal her cards and end the tournament.

But Marsh shakes her head.

She doesn’t know what to do. Based on the cards, she’s almost certain that she—or rather, Chrysalis—has the best hand. But there’s no telling what will happen if she lets that victory play out. Or if she folds and forces Chrysalis to fail.

If only there were some way to get out of the tournament without having to win or lose.

“Are you all right?” Ren finally asks her, after she’s been silent for too long. Everyone at the table is staring at her, waiting for her move. A pin drop would be like an explosion. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do this,” she finally says.

Ren frowns. “You’re not enjoying the tournament?”

“No,” she admits.

He stares at her, trying to understand why Marsh is so upset. What she’s saying makes no sense to him, she knows, but there’s no point trying to explain.

“Don’t worry,” he replies at last, his voice much softer than before, the ridiculous bravado act dropped. “You’ll get it right next time.”

At first, it’s such a relief to hear him try to comfort instead of compete with her, that it takes a beat for Ren’s words to fully land.

Next time.

Marsh pauses.

What an odd thing to say.

Does Ren... know something?

She turns to him, uneasy. “What do you mean, next time?” she asks. The hairs are standing up on the back of her neck.

But Ren just shrugs.

“You know.” He gestures to the casino. “Next time. It’s an annual tournament. I’m sure you’ll make the finals again next year.”

Marsh watches him closely—but Ren’s gaze is steady, his expression in nocent. He doesn’t know about the show, about the choices. He’s just trying to show good sportsmanship.

“Yes,” Marsh agrees at last, and Ren smiles. “Next time will be better.”

“In the meantime, though.” Julie clears her throat, and Marsh’s heart jumps into her own. “We have this tournament to finish.”

SharpTruth217: Marsh, I can help

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SharpTruth is back! Marsh wants to jump out of her chair with joy. She doesn’t know how they can help get her out of this, but she’s so desperate, she’ll take assistance from anyone at this point.

SharpTruth218: Nod if you see this

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She nods as subtly as she can.

“We’re waiting,” Julie taunts, her patience running thin.

“Time to see your hand,” Victor says.

SharpTruth219: I’m trying, hang on

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SharpTruth220: Got it!

SharpTruth220: Best I could come up with

Marsh’s breath seizes as she waits to see what her mysterious benefactor has done.

SharpTruth220: Now, do—

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SharpTruth221: Do a magic trick—

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What?

She blinks, confused, as SharpTruth’s last comment disappears.

Do a magic trick?

What’s that supposed to mean?

How is a magic trick going to save her?

Frantic, Marsh looks down at her cards.

She’s still holding them. In fact, she’s holding the entire deck now, she realizes.

And she’s still in the casino, but they’re all not at a poker tournament anymore.

They’re at a magic show.

And Marsh is the magician.

“What an incredible illusion!” Victor, dressed in all black, like her assistant, perhaps, cries into a microphone from the corner of the stage— they’re on a stage now —and the audience below roars with applause at whatever she just did. “Let’s hear it for the Great Marshmallow!”

Marsh flinches as the spotlight on her grows even brighter to match the rising sound. She glances down at her sparkling black-sequined tuxedo, and then touches the brim of the black top hat on her head. The stage is emitting some moody fog from the bottom vents now, and it’s swirling around her feet, the cool mist licking at her ankles.

“Now, are you all ready for tonight’s last trick?” Victor asks the rapt crowd, once they’ve finally quieted. “We need one volunteer.”

“Oh, choose me!” Ren waves enthusiastically from the front row, where he’s seated next to Julie and Jo as part of the audience now. “Choose me!”

Marsh swallows and points at him. “The gentleman in the front,” she says. Her voice wavers, but her lips pull into a rictus stage grin.

Elated, Ren bounds out of his chair and rushes to climb the stairs onto the stage. A spotlight finds him as he approaches, and guides him to her.

“I love card tricks,” he crows, and the audience chuckles.

“Well, then...” Marsh holds out the deck in a fan, and tries to look confident. “Pick a card. Any card.”

Ren stares intently at the crescent of Sharp Purple butterflies on the backs of all the cards, trying to decide. Finally, he eases one from near the middle out, and cradles it dramatically in his palms as he raises it to his eyes.

“Now, remember your card,” Marsh instructs, and holds the deck back out.

Ren slides it back into the rest, and she collapses the fan into a single block.

She shuffles once, twice, her breathing shallow and fast.

“Abracadabra,” she whispers—and disappears.

When Marsh appears again, she’s still in the casino, but not onstage anymore. She’s several levels down—below hotel rooms, below the stage, below the gambling hall—in a basement service corridor that the maintenance staff use.

SharpTruth did it.

She actually escaped the tournament.

Her heart is thundering so loudly, she’s afraid it’s echoing all the way up to the gambling levels for everyone to hear. Her eyes drift down the plain white walls to the end of the empty hallway.

What now? she wants to ask.

SharpTruth222: Quick, pocket

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She jams her hand into one pants pocket, then the other. A set of car keys is now tucked into the fabric.

SharpTruth223: All I can do right now—

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Marsh pulls the little key and fob out and stares at them, her hands shaking.

She understands SharpTruth’s plan now.

She knows what to do.

As quietly as she can, she opens the rusty service door. A blast of hot, nighttime desert air hits her, and she stumbles through it into a casino parking lot jam-packed with darkened cars. She smashes the UNLOCK button on the plastic fob repeatedly, until a few rows away, a sedan’s lights flash against the dark. The engine rumbles as it starts, and Marsh winces—but nothing else moves. No one has figured out yet that her magic act was an escape plan.

After a moment, Marsh edges out of the parking lot and onto the street. A few turns later, she’s at the freeway. But she’s not heading deeper into the gaudy Las Vegas Strip. Those sparkling lights are in her rearview, not in front of her.

There aren’t many people out to begin with, and soon, Marsh’s is the only car on the road. The freeway turns from urban thoroughfare to bare highway, and then to a single-lane road, leading out into the desert.

Her eyes scan the harsh landscape as it rolls past, flat and parched and shadowed in deep purple beneath the night sky. A rusted highway sign listing the number of miles to distant cities whizzes by her window, and she grips the wheel harder, determined.

This latest life has placed Marsh closer to Phoenix than she’s been since the second half of the season started.

Closer to Dylan than she’s been since the second half of the season started, to be exact.

To find Dylan: Go to The Locked Door