without being given a chance.”
Guilt escalated inside her. They’d been friends for a long time and she hated to spoil that friendship, but she had no desire to be courted by him.
“Don’t you care that Starkov hurt me last night?” Patrick shouted. “Fractured my jawbone?”
“Of course I do . . .” her tone softened.
“Dragomir Starkov pounded me like a madman, Rose!”
“You struck him first.”
He winced at the truth.
“I’m sorry if I humiliated you,” she said quickly. “I’m also sorry that you got hurt.”
Anthony walked over and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Rose has apologized, mate. Let’s go.”
Patrick seemed to come to his senses. He stepped back. Tugging on his vest, he looked embarrassed as he ran a hand over his hair to smooth it. “I’m sorry too, Rose. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I just wanted to prove a point.”
“I’m going to say this as kindly as I can. I don’t care for you the way you care for me.” Rose’s eyes began to mist. “I’m going to return the necklace you gave me.”
Her gaze switched to Anthony as she said, “I’ll go to my bedroom and get it right now.”
Turning on her heel, she heard Patrick throw something against the wall. She flinched from the loud crash but kept walking.
“You wouldn’t be so loyal to Dragomir Starkov if you heard what he said to me during his magic show!” he yelled behind her.
Shoulders tensed, Rose tried to shut the door before she heard another word. But she caught, “Drago claimed you’d never be mine! Even if he had to murder someone and take you from this world to do it!”
Rose was horrified at the words. As she rode a streetcar to the Sunshine Theater, she became more and more afraid. Had Drago really threatened Patrick that way? Does he actually mean to kill Patrick—and then me?
She gave her hat a straightening. I won’t leave until I get the truth.
The streetcar clattered and rumbled while a conversation between a middle-aged man and woman snagged her attention.
“I can’t believe what the papers are saying about that magician. ” The woman folded her hands primly in her lap.
“What magician?” the man asked.
“Dragomir Starkov.”
“I’ve heard of Harry Houdini, but I haven’t heard of him.”
“Houdini, while he’s talented, is merely an escape artist,” the woman, who Rose presumed was the man’s wife, replied with an air of importance. “On the other hand, Dragomir Starkov has talents only the devil could deal out. He wills animals back to life and transports himself to a different location right on stage. He even disappears into thin air.”
“Unfortunately, Josephine”—the man patted her chubby arm—“the press sensationalizes everything.”
Josephine, a solid woman with frizzy red hair, held up a copy of The Gotham Times and shook it. “My dear husband, it says right here that Starkov vanished off a clothesline as though he’d never been there. If you’re such a genius, tell me how he did it.”
Hemming and hawing, the man shrugged. “Must have been mirrors, I’d say.”
“Mirrors, Murray? Nine stories up?” The woman folded her beefy arms across her bosom.
“I dunno. It’s a mystery.”
Josephine pointed to the newspaper again. “Apparently, Dragomir the Magnificent has been wooing a young woman. That girl must be crazy! If I were her, I’d be terrified. One argument and she might go up in a puff of smoke.”
The couple laughed while Rose slouched in her seat. I’m not crazy. I’m being controlled by the amulet Drago gave me.
The streetcar stopped in front of the theater. Rose jumped off and knocked on the side door. When there was no answer, she remembered what Drago told her about the time he spent in the basement workshop.
“I come here every day—right before my show.”
Rose glanced at her pin watch. It was six-thirty. She knew he was here.
Someone who looked like a member of the stage crew exited the building.
Guilt escalated inside her. They’d been friends for a long time and she hated to spoil that friendship, but she had no desire to be courted by him.
“Don’t you care that Starkov hurt me last night?” Patrick shouted. “Fractured my jawbone?”
“Of course I do . . .” her tone softened.
“Dragomir Starkov pounded me like a madman, Rose!”
“You struck him first.”
He winced at the truth.
“I’m sorry if I humiliated you,” she said quickly. “I’m also sorry that you got hurt.”
Anthony walked over and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Rose has apologized, mate. Let’s go.”
Patrick seemed to come to his senses. He stepped back. Tugging on his vest, he looked embarrassed as he ran a hand over his hair to smooth it. “I’m sorry too, Rose. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I just wanted to prove a point.”
“I’m going to say this as kindly as I can. I don’t care for you the way you care for me.” Rose’s eyes began to mist. “I’m going to return the necklace you gave me.”
Her gaze switched to Anthony as she said, “I’ll go to my bedroom and get it right now.”
Turning on her heel, she heard Patrick throw something against the wall. She flinched from the loud crash but kept walking.
“You wouldn’t be so loyal to Dragomir Starkov if you heard what he said to me during his magic show!” he yelled behind her.
Shoulders tensed, Rose tried to shut the door before she heard another word. But she caught, “Drago claimed you’d never be mine! Even if he had to murder someone and take you from this world to do it!”
Rose was horrified at the words. As she rode a streetcar to the Sunshine Theater, she became more and more afraid. Had Drago really threatened Patrick that way? Does he actually mean to kill Patrick—and then me?
She gave her hat a straightening. I won’t leave until I get the truth.
The streetcar clattered and rumbled while a conversation between a middle-aged man and woman snagged her attention.
“I can’t believe what the papers are saying about that magician. ” The woman folded her hands primly in her lap.
“What magician?” the man asked.
“Dragomir Starkov.”
“I’ve heard of Harry Houdini, but I haven’t heard of him.”
“Houdini, while he’s talented, is merely an escape artist,” the woman, who Rose presumed was the man’s wife, replied with an air of importance. “On the other hand, Dragomir Starkov has talents only the devil could deal out. He wills animals back to life and transports himself to a different location right on stage. He even disappears into thin air.”
“Unfortunately, Josephine”—the man patted her chubby arm—“the press sensationalizes everything.”
Josephine, a solid woman with frizzy red hair, held up a copy of The Gotham Times and shook it. “My dear husband, it says right here that Starkov vanished off a clothesline as though he’d never been there. If you’re such a genius, tell me how he did it.”
Hemming and hawing, the man shrugged. “Must have been mirrors, I’d say.”
“Mirrors, Murray? Nine stories up?” The woman folded her beefy arms across her bosom.
“I dunno. It’s a mystery.”
Josephine pointed to the newspaper again. “Apparently, Dragomir the Magnificent has been wooing a young woman. That girl must be crazy! If I were her, I’d be terrified. One argument and she might go up in a puff of smoke.”
The couple laughed while Rose slouched in her seat. I’m not crazy. I’m being controlled by the amulet Drago gave me.
The streetcar stopped in front of the theater. Rose jumped off and knocked on the side door. When there was no answer, she remembered what Drago told her about the time he spent in the basement workshop.
“I come here every day—right before my show.”
Rose glanced at her pin watch. It was six-thirty. She knew he was here.
Someone who looked like a member of the stage crew exited the building.
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