Born of Illusion Read Free Page B

Jacques just made my part in the show more valuable than she’s comfortable with. 
    “Perhaps we should have a young singer come in?” he continues, oblivious to his faux pas. “And then follow it up with some dancers? Give the society people a little thrill. But not for too long. We don’t want them restless.”
    “Do you have anyone in mind?” I ask, trying to distract my mother from his comment, though I’m secretly gratified by his high regard for my magic.
    He nods decisively. Of course he does. Irritation ripples across my skin. He’s adept at making my mother think everything is her idea, when it’s already planned. This has probably been set for weeks.
    “I recently signed a young singer, and I know of a dance troupe looking for a job.”
    “Wonderful.” Mother reclines regally on the couch, her eyes alight as she and Jacques discuss our opening, his earlier blunder forgiven.
    I have to hand it to her; Madame Marguerite Estella Van Housen has come a long way from little Maggie Moshe of Eger, Hungary. Our fortunes have gone up and down over the years, but my mother has never lost her ruthless poise. Whether she’s in a cheap boardinghouse in the Midwest or in the drawing rooms of the rich, she is always the same—regal, mysterious, and completely at ease.
    I might admire her if she wasn’t my mother.
    Jacques helps himself to another cup of tea and gives us a benevolent smile. “I will make the arrangements today. Are you and Anna ready for the big time?”
    Mother’s lips tilt upward. “Of course, I’ve always been ready.”
    Jacques turns to me. “And you, Anna?”
    “Anna was born ready.”
    My mouth tightens when my mother answers for me. As if I can’t speak for myself.
    She places another cigarette in a long black holder and leans forward for Jacques to light it. When the flames flicker, her eyes zero in on me. “Anna and I had the most interesting discussion last night.”
    I shift, my neck and shoulders tightening. I’m the one she’s going to punish for Jacques’s thoughtless comment.
    “Did you?” Jacques looks from me to my mother as if sensing the tension.
    “Yes. It seems our Anna is getting a bit bored with our private séances.”
    Bored? Bored doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel about them. I hate bilking money out of grief-stricken, innocent people. But the moment I try letting my mother know how I feel—that perhaps we should give up the séances and just do the shows—this is what I get.
    Jacques frowns, his silky mustache drooping downward. “But I thought we’d all agreed that giving a few exclusive séances a month will give you extra cachet?” He turns to me and his frown deepens. “Between the shows and the séances, you stand to make a fortune.”
    We haven’t held a séance since we’ve come to New York, and I’ve cherished the break. Our first one is tomorrow night after our opening. The thought of it turns my stomach. 
    “That’s what I told her, but children can be so ungrateful,” my mother says, staring at me.
    I lower my eyes.
    Jacques crosses his long legs and I focus on his striped trousers rather than meet my mother’s gaze. “Perhaps Anna is ready for a bigger piece of the profits?”
    I feel rather than hear Mother’s hiss of anger. My eyes jerk up to meet Jacques’s. “My mother knows better than that and if she doesn’t—she should.”
    Our eyes clash and a long, tense moment spins out between us.
    Then Mother breaks the silence. “Of course not. I share everything with her. Besides, Anna has been in charge of our finances since she was twelve. I trust her completely.”
    She doesn’t and we both know it. I don’t think my mother has ever fully trusted anyone.
    Jacques clears his throat. “Then perhaps Anna wants a bigger part in the show? That wouldn’t be surprising, considering . . .”
    He raises a brow and I shake my head, glaring. Considering who my father is, he meant. Or at least who my mother claims my