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Synopsis
Sleight Of Hand Dragomir Starkov poses as an illusionist, a showman performing tricks, his Romanian accent and dark good looks all just a part of the drama. That's how Rose Carlisle first sees him. She's a respectable girl—she wouldn't accept witchy birthday gifts from a demon. But the hustle and bustle of 1912 New York City offers plenty of ways to slip around the strict old rules of propriety. A good thing, too, because once Rose meets Drago, she no longer cares about being respectable. But the only illusion in Drago's act is that his magic is smoke and mirrors. Every word of power he speaks is as real as Rose before him, in thrall to his lust and adoration. Drago knows about Rose's curse, that she will die on her next birthday. But the shadowy threat that stalks her hasn't won her yet. If she can trust him, perhaps he can save her too. . . "An intriguing twist on a classic fairy tale." —Jennifer Estep, New York Times bestselling author Praise for Beauty and the Wolf "Dynamic and sensual, paranormal readers will gobble up this sexy read." —Donna Grant, New York Times bestselling author of Midnight's Warrior "Beauty and the Wolf is a deliciously dark retelling of the classic tale that will make you fall in love all over again." —Erin Quinn, author of The Five Deaths of Roxanne Love 75,000 Words
Release date: August 1, 2014
Publisher: eOriginals
Print pages: 274
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Sleeping Beauty and the Demon
Marina Myles
A torrential downpour bounced off the sloping roof of the Sunshine Theater. Inside the auditorium, an eager audience sat riveted by Dragomir Starkov’s onstage presence.
Dressed in black, he moved with confidence. With his hair slicked back from a widow’s peak and his eyes drawing the crowd into his mirage, he spoke in a heavy, Romanian accent. “Ladies and gentlemen, I will now attempt something few magicians dare. I will bring a creature back to life.”
Turning to the rear of the stage, he hid his hands from view. When he faced the audience again, he presented the body of what appeared to be a dead kitten. The small animal hung limply across his open palm. Murmuring a low chant, he waved it from one side of the stage to the other. Then, with a flick of his white-gloved fingers, he urged the kitten back to life.
The small cat sat up erect and blinked in astonishment. As it let out a satisfied “meow,” it sprang to the floor.
The audience clapped wildly. In turn, Drago stepped forward. That’s when he spotted the woman he had willed to come to tonight’s show.
With an abundance of flaxen hair that swayed from a ponytail like wheat in a summer breeze, and a flawless complexion that glowed against the stage’s low-lying gaslights, the young woman’s beauty imprisoned Drago like a padlock. In the sparkle of her violet eyes he saw something amazing—a unique essence of goodness that compelled him as he often compelled others.
She’s even more beautiful than she was in my vision.
The girl flashed him a smile—and when it illuminated his world of darkness like a bright spotlight, the need to protect and possess her rose within him. But it didn’t matter how he felt. He was here to banish a cruel curse cast upon her when she was a baby. And if he wanted to weave his unique spell around her, he needed to hypnotize her now.
A hush fell over the theater. Clasping his hands behind his back, Drago paced the stage like a caged animal. “For my next trick, I need a female volunteer from the audience.”
Numerous hands went up. He ignored them. Once he unlaced his dark cape, he threw it into the wings. “I need a very special participant for this mystifying trick.”
Pressing his forefinger to his temple, he pretended to use his powers of telepathy. Just then, the beautiful blond girl left her seat, accompanied by her dark-haired friend. They scurried to the theater’s center aisle, apparently averse to the thought of being called on to volunteer.
“You there!” Drago thundered.
The duo froze in their tracks and wheeled around.
Pulling on her thick, blond ponytail, Rose—her name popped into Drago’s head suddenly—blushed.
“You, my dear.” He galloped halfway down the staircase at the side of the stage and extended his hand.
“Go on, Rose!” her friend encouraged. Drago was right about her name.
Rose smoothed her gingham dress. She joined him on the shadowed staircase, then took his hand. As Drago grasped it, an alarming chill raced up his spine. And when her pink lips spread into another shy smile, he found himself completely enchanted.
Leading her to center stage he said, “Please tell the audience your name, Miss.”
“It’s Rose Carlisle.”
“Have we ever met before, Rose?”
“ No.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to tell the spectators how old you are.”
“I don’t know how you could guess that, but very well,” she replied in a sweet, clear voice.
He cleared his throat. “Today is your birthday, and you are twenty years old.” The number surfaced in his mind as surely as he knew his own birthday.
Rose’s jaw dropped open. She nodded vigorously. “How did you know?” Her friend, who had returned to her seat in the front row, mirrored Rose’s stunned expression.
Drago felt his affinity for the doe-eyed beauty grow. Yet he urged himself to be careful—and to make her feel as comfortable with him as possible.
“It doesn’t take a magician to see that you’ve attended this show without your parents’ permission,” he said. “Is that right, Miss Carlisle?”
The crowd chuckled lightly at the joke. Rose looked stunned. “I haven’t seen my parents since I was a baby. But my adoptive parents don’t know I’m here.”
“I see,” Drago remarked lightheartedly. But when he saw Rose clutching her hands together nervously, he sensed her pain ran deep.
“Have you ever been a magician’s assistant?”
“No,” Rose replied. “In fact, this is my first magic show.”
“We’ll have to make it one you’ll never forget.”
When he reached for her small, velvet hand, it trembled inside his at the suggestion.
“Promise me you won’t be anxious,” he said. “I would never allow harm to come to you.”
She slid a glance his way—and they locked eyes for what felt like an eternity.
“I’ll try not to be nervous,” she finally promised. “What do I have to do?”
“Absolutely nothing. Just close your lovely eyes and remain in one spot.”
Rose did as she was told. Drago took the opportunity to study her high cheekbones, dainty mouth, and hourglass figure. Though she was tall, her demeanor lent her a fragile air. She seemed to him a delicate, porcelain doll which could be broken easily if handled improperly.
Frowning, he tried to concentrate on performing his illusion. While Rose kept her eyes closed, he massaged the air in front of him with his fingertips. As he murmured something inaudible, he willed Rose’s feet to rise slowly off the ground.
It appeared as if someone was pulling her legs out from under her. Eventually, her torso, limbs, and head reached a plane parallel to the stage and she was levitating in space.
The crowd gasped as Drago reached for a large silver hoop. He proceeded to pass the circle back and forth over Rose’s stiff body. When he twisted and turned it in every direction, the audience gasped again. The trick, which he’d performed only once before, proved it had the power to intrigue.
“Are you doing all right, Rose?” Drago asked in a gentle voice.
She nodded. Her ponytail swung toward the wooden floor.
“Excellent.” Drago passed the silver hoop to his brunette assistant, Katherine. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have a confession to make. The second half of this trick is new even to me. However, it’s something I feel bold enough to try with Miss Carlisle’s help.”
Drago’s assistant cast him an angry look. He continued on anyway. “Katherine, would you hand me that red silk drape?” he asked.
Clearly irritated, Katherine moved to the tiny prop table in the corner. Once she’d passed a large cloth to Drago, he unfolded it and draped it over the length of Rose’s levitating body.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in a low tone. “Making a woman levitate in midair is one thing. But what if I made her . . . disappear?”
He whipped off the red drape and exposed nothing but air. Men in pinstriped suits leapt to their feet and women touched their hats in astonishment.
When the audience’s enthusiastic clapping subsided, Drago removed his gloves. “Now I’ll make our lovely Rose reappear. Just . . . like . . . that.”
Snapping his fingers loudly, he moved to a cabinet in the middle of the stage. He opened the cabinet’s door with an exaggerated gesture and there stood a pale-faced Rose. Grinning, Drago took her hand and helped her out. Together they walked to the front of the stage and were greeted with thunderous applause.
As he took one step away from Rose, Drago bowed to her as well. Her cheeks regained their color—and she looked at him as if he were the most wonderful man in the world.
Although leaving her was the last thing he desired to do, he had no choice. Drago came closer to her and pressed something into her hand. Then he mouthed the haunting words, “Wear this and come back to me.”
Rose’s hand closed around the item the handsome magician had placed in her palm. The curtain closed with a dramatic whoosh—and as she stumbled up the aisle, she unfurled her hand and stared at the object. It was a beautiful amulet that bore a silver chain and mysterious Egyptian engravings.
One hour later, the rain stopped and the moon smiled over Coney Island. The lively amusement park exploded with laughter and lights, but the gaiety swirling around it in contagious circles was to be short-lived.
A creature—half beast, half human—lurked in the shadows between the carousel and the half-built Wonder Wheel. Awaiting its chance, the hulking figure, robed in black trousers and the remnants of a shredded white shirt, crouched out of sight.
On this starless night, along the broad strip of beach, it had the urge to claim a new soul in order to sustain its immortal existence.
The figure had lived for many centuries. Over the years, it’d been virtually everywhere . . . from the green valleys of Austria to the stone castles of Scotland and to the colorful bazaars of Marrakech. It had experienced history alongside emperors and had witnessed the rise and fall of kings. It had also mourned the death of loved ones.
Now the monster found itself here, in a city where the Statue of Liberty signified new opportunities.
No one knew the creature in America, at least not in its demon form. And that was precisely its intention. Recently, it had come to the end of one existence and had proceeded on to its next identity.
Why? Because it felt a certain someone drawing it here.
As the tepid June breeze lapped over the demon, the need to maintain its longevity swept through the creature with a relentless force.
Stepping from the shadows, it scurried up the steel construction planks of the Wonder Wheel. Moonlight spilled over the creature’s savage face, cragged jaws, scaly skin, and razor-sharp claws. And because tonight was the anniversary of its making, the demon’s height rose from its normal measurement of under six feet to well over eight feet tall.
The fiend’s swirling black cloak danced around the tops of its knee-high boots. Suddenly, it caught the scent of a human.
“Clarence, you know I hate to wait in line.” A girl’s voice floated upward. “You go ahead.”
From its hiding place on the half-finished ride, the creature watched the girl with narrowed eyes.
“I’ll meet you by the hot dog stand in a few moments,” she instructed. Breaking from the man’s grasp, she blew him a kiss.
She was suitable for the demon’s purpose—and even from thirty feet away it could smell her perfume, infused with roses, rolling in and out on the soft coastal breeze.
Now that the girl was alone, she picked up her skirts and strode beneath the base of the Wonder Wheel. Pulling a powder compact from her handbag, she proceeded to pat her face with the talc.
The creature leapt up to the structure’s next level, moving as gracefully as a panther. Starved for a new soul, it studied the girl with steady eyes. All it had to do was catch her from behind and squeeze her so tightly that she would slump over, unconscious. Then the demon could proceed with what it had to do—what had kept it immortal for well over four hundred years.
Of course, no one was forcing the demon to claim another unfortunate victim. But an eternal existence had become all it knew—and it was time to sustain it.
The creature slid its cloak over its shoulder and fanned out its gigantic wings. Leap now.
Without warning, it crashed down on the girl and took her by surprise. The girl cried out but the demon quickly clamped a hand over her mouth to silence her. With its other claw, it grabbed the edge of its rippling cape and blanketed both of them with the heavy material.
Once the girl was enveloped in the fiend’s arms, the creature squeezed her hard enough to compress her lungs. She gasped for breath and just before she died, the demon opened its mouth and commanded her youthful soul to stream like a tornado funnel into its own body.
“You still haven’t told me what Dragomir Starkov gave you tonight,” Olivia Marconi prodded her best friend.
Rose touched a hand to her high-necked blouse. After she’d stuffed the amulet inside her handbag, she had dodged into the powder room to put it on. Now the necklace was hidden from view. And that’s precisely where it would stay.
It was all too exciting for words.
“Well?” Olivia asked.
“It’s our little secret.”
“Wonderful.” Olivia frowned as she went on. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you and that mysterious magician were married! Furthermore, I can’t believe you dragged me to his performance.”
Something commanded me to go. Shivering at the thought, Rose said, “I can’t believe Dragomir Starkov paid so much attention to me.”
“Don’t be silly,” Olivia said. “You’re gorgeous.”
“That’s what a best friend is supposed to say,” Rose teased her.
Olivia shook her head. “It’s true.”
“I guess Mr. Starkov doesn’t mind how tall I am.”
“Thank God you grew out of your gangly stage.”
Rose had grown out of her gangly stage, but she still wondered what a devilishly attractive man like Starkov could want with her. She was very young—on the cusp of womanhood, in fact. And he was older. Smoother. More experienced.
Yet the chemistry that had burned between them tonight could have set the city on fire.
Rose strolled arm-in-arm with Olivia to the Marconi home, breathing in the fresh smell of rain. She’d come to live with the vivacious Italian family when she was a baby. Upon her parents’ request, she was taken in by Lorenzo and Elena Marconi—friends of her mother and father before they’d dropped out of sight.
The entire scenario was set up to protect Rose. She would see her parents a year from now. While she could hardly wait, she’d be forever grateful to the Marconi family for adopting her. And she was especially thankful for the support of her best friend, Olivia, a girl whom Rose considered a real sister.
Her head remained in the clouds as she glanced at the Marconis’ front door. Without her reaching for the handle, the door flew open and a distraught Elena Marconi shot out.
“Rose! Where on earth have you been?” Elena whispered hoarsely. “The curse!”
“I’m fine, Mrs. Marconi. Besides, the curse isn’t supposed to take effect until my next birthday.”
“One never knows. Come inside quickly!”
Rose’s adoptive mother guided her into a cozy parlor where she greeted Anthony Marconi, Olivia’s ill-tempered twin brother, and her adoptive father, Lorenzo. Then she saw Anthony’s best friend, Patrick O’Leary. Stunned that all of them had waited late into the night for her, she clutched her stomach nervously.
Olivia leaned toward her and whispered, “Maybe Patrick is here to give you something. After all, he’s been trying to court you. And it is your birthday!”
“Do you think so?” Rose whispered back.
Patrick had been charmingly persistent in his affections, but there was her curse to consider. What’s more, she wasn’t sure how she felt about any man besides Dragomir Starkov after their intriguing encounter.
Olivia took her by the hand and steered her deeper into the room.
“There she is!” Patrick beamed. He strode closer and took her by the shoulders. “We were worried sick.”
“Because of the curse?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said.
Damn my Aunt Morvina. As much as Rose tried to forget—even debunk—the spell the woman had doomed her with, it caused her to live in constant fear.
“Where were you?” Patrick asked.
“Olivia wanted to treat me to dinner on my birthday,” she lied. “After supper, I ran into an old school friend. We were catching up . . .”
Olivia shot her a startled look at the fib.
“It isn’t the wisest choice to roam New York City at night,” he reminded her gently. “But, nonetheless, you’re safe.”
Patrick was kind, considerate, and handsome in a fair-haired, boyish sort of way. Yet his good looks paled compared to Dragomir’s mysterious aura at the moment. The more Rose thought about how she’d flirted with the magician and how kind the Marconis had always been to her, guilt stabbed at her conscience. She hung her head and dove into the truth. “Olivia and I didn’t go to dinner this evening.”
“Where did you go, cara?” Mr. Marconi asked.
She sucked in a deep breath. “We went to a magic show.”
“I beg your pardon?” Patrick’s face twisted with confusion.
Rose should have known he wouldn’t understand. He shared little of what she considered interesting: literature, the arts, and anything remotely mystifying. Still, she spread her hands apart in an effort to explain. “It’s my birthday—and magic is something I’ve always been fascinated with.”
Anthony scowled at her from beneath thick brows. Stuffing his fingers inside the small pockets of his vest and puffing out his burly chest, he said, “You wasted your time and money on seeing a charlatan. . . a crackpot?”
The question infuriated Rose. “Dragomir Starkov is no crackpot. He’s a genius who performs spellbinding illusions. Just when you think you have his tricks figured out, he spins them around in the end.”
From the look of distaste on Patrick and Anthony’s faces, she knew she’d said too much. A moment later, Patrick urged her to sit. “It’s no matter,” he said. “I, for one, am glad you enjoyed yourself on your birthday.” When he took her hands, she noticed that his were clammy. “Rose, you’re probably wondering why I’m here at such a late hour.”
She nodded. Please don’t ask me if you can court me. I don’t know how I’ll respond.
“Everyone has had the opportunity to give you your birthday gift, except me. I want to give you something special.”
Rose’s heart dropped. “Something . . . special?”
She swallowed hard as Patrick stood up. Elena plucked a flat, black box off the parlor table and handed it to him. In turn, he presented it to Rose.
“Rose Emily Carlisle,” Patrick began.
Rose’s pulse pounded like a bass drum.
“Will you accept this necklace as a token of my affection?” His moss-green eyes glimmered with hope before he opened the box to reveal a ruby necklace. The main, oval-shaped jewel was tiny and hung on a flimsy gold chain.
Although Rose was relieved that Patrick hadn’t asked her anything more monumental, her mouth went dry. He was the best man she had ever known and she’d grown extremely fond of him. But tonight, when Dragomir stood before her, an icon of passion and mystery, she knew she longed for more of those sensations.
However, she told herself, this is just a birthday gift—not a marriage proposal.
“It’s beautiful,” she finally said. “Of course I’ll accept your gift, Patrick.”
Beaming like a boy who’d gotten the pony he always longed for, Patrick fastened the necklace around Rose’s neck. She could feel its weight against the amulet hidden beneath her blouse. She tensed.
“I saved up to buy you this,” he admitted, “and I’m glad I did. It looks stunning on you.”
Rose embraced him. After she pulled away, he took her into the hallway, where they could talk in private.
“You seemed uneasy in there,” he said.
Rose reached up and brushed back a lock of his blond hair. “I’m sorry. The magic show seemed so real that it threw me for a loop.”
“I nearly asked you to be my girl a minute ago.”
Her face went red. She didn’t respond.
“Would that have been so horrible?”
“Patrick. I can’t make any solid commitments until I’m free and clear of my curse. Besides, I can’t blame any man for hesitating to court me—considering my spell.”
He looked nonplussed. “I know you’re terrified, but the more I think about it, your curse must be nonsense. How can there be validity to a prophecy made by an old woman who went to a tarot card reader?”
“This is my Aunt Morvina we’re talking about!” Rose cried. “When my parents overlooked inviting her to my christening, she went to a tarot card reader who was also a witch. The witch cast a curse over me on Morvina’s behalf—”
“—and she doomed you to meet with a terrible accident on your twenty-first birthday.” Patrick paused. “I know the story by heart, Rose. Morvina made an unexpected appearance at your christening and terrified everyone with the news.”
She stiffened.
“I know you believe in this spell whole-heartedly,” he added.
“How can I not?” she cried. In fact, Rose could think of little else except her impending destiny. Dying at the tender age of twenty-one would mean she’d be cheated of any future. Perhaps that’s why she was drawn to magic. It was her only hope for reversing her fate.
“I’ve lived in fear of the prophecy ever since Elena informed me of it,” she went on. “Now I only have a year to live.”
Patrick squeezed her hand.
“I dream that Aunt Morvina creeps into my bedroom and kills me in my sleep,” she said in horror.
“Do you even know what the woman looks like?” He tried to draw out a smile.
“I’ve only seen one photograph of Morvina and she’s gnarled and hideous. According to Elena, she cast herself from society when she developed crippling arthritis.” Rose grimaced. As far as anyone knew, Morvina had become a recluse . . . a spinster wallowing in self-pity.
“But what does she have against you?” Patrick argued.
“I really don’t know.”
Patrick gave a shudder, yet he managed to say, “Not to worry.” He stroked her cheek and then gathered her to him. “I’m going to protect you from that horrible aunt of yours. And when I’m promoted to detective, I’ll make a more. . .
Dressed in black, he moved with confidence. With his hair slicked back from a widow’s peak and his eyes drawing the crowd into his mirage, he spoke in a heavy, Romanian accent. “Ladies and gentlemen, I will now attempt something few magicians dare. I will bring a creature back to life.”
Turning to the rear of the stage, he hid his hands from view. When he faced the audience again, he presented the body of what appeared to be a dead kitten. The small animal hung limply across his open palm. Murmuring a low chant, he waved it from one side of the stage to the other. Then, with a flick of his white-gloved fingers, he urged the kitten back to life.
The small cat sat up erect and blinked in astonishment. As it let out a satisfied “meow,” it sprang to the floor.
The audience clapped wildly. In turn, Drago stepped forward. That’s when he spotted the woman he had willed to come to tonight’s show.
With an abundance of flaxen hair that swayed from a ponytail like wheat in a summer breeze, and a flawless complexion that glowed against the stage’s low-lying gaslights, the young woman’s beauty imprisoned Drago like a padlock. In the sparkle of her violet eyes he saw something amazing—a unique essence of goodness that compelled him as he often compelled others.
She’s even more beautiful than she was in my vision.
The girl flashed him a smile—and when it illuminated his world of darkness like a bright spotlight, the need to protect and possess her rose within him. But it didn’t matter how he felt. He was here to banish a cruel curse cast upon her when she was a baby. And if he wanted to weave his unique spell around her, he needed to hypnotize her now.
A hush fell over the theater. Clasping his hands behind his back, Drago paced the stage like a caged animal. “For my next trick, I need a female volunteer from the audience.”
Numerous hands went up. He ignored them. Once he unlaced his dark cape, he threw it into the wings. “I need a very special participant for this mystifying trick.”
Pressing his forefinger to his temple, he pretended to use his powers of telepathy. Just then, the beautiful blond girl left her seat, accompanied by her dark-haired friend. They scurried to the theater’s center aisle, apparently averse to the thought of being called on to volunteer.
“You there!” Drago thundered.
The duo froze in their tracks and wheeled around.
Pulling on her thick, blond ponytail, Rose—her name popped into Drago’s head suddenly—blushed.
“You, my dear.” He galloped halfway down the staircase at the side of the stage and extended his hand.
“Go on, Rose!” her friend encouraged. Drago was right about her name.
Rose smoothed her gingham dress. She joined him on the shadowed staircase, then took his hand. As Drago grasped it, an alarming chill raced up his spine. And when her pink lips spread into another shy smile, he found himself completely enchanted.
Leading her to center stage he said, “Please tell the audience your name, Miss.”
“It’s Rose Carlisle.”
“Have we ever met before, Rose?”
“ No.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to tell the spectators how old you are.”
“I don’t know how you could guess that, but very well,” she replied in a sweet, clear voice.
He cleared his throat. “Today is your birthday, and you are twenty years old.” The number surfaced in his mind as surely as he knew his own birthday.
Rose’s jaw dropped open. She nodded vigorously. “How did you know?” Her friend, who had returned to her seat in the front row, mirrored Rose’s stunned expression.
Drago felt his affinity for the doe-eyed beauty grow. Yet he urged himself to be careful—and to make her feel as comfortable with him as possible.
“It doesn’t take a magician to see that you’ve attended this show without your parents’ permission,” he said. “Is that right, Miss Carlisle?”
The crowd chuckled lightly at the joke. Rose looked stunned. “I haven’t seen my parents since I was a baby. But my adoptive parents don’t know I’m here.”
“I see,” Drago remarked lightheartedly. But when he saw Rose clutching her hands together nervously, he sensed her pain ran deep.
“Have you ever been a magician’s assistant?”
“No,” Rose replied. “In fact, this is my first magic show.”
“We’ll have to make it one you’ll never forget.”
When he reached for her small, velvet hand, it trembled inside his at the suggestion.
“Promise me you won’t be anxious,” he said. “I would never allow harm to come to you.”
She slid a glance his way—and they locked eyes for what felt like an eternity.
“I’ll try not to be nervous,” she finally promised. “What do I have to do?”
“Absolutely nothing. Just close your lovely eyes and remain in one spot.”
Rose did as she was told. Drago took the opportunity to study her high cheekbones, dainty mouth, and hourglass figure. Though she was tall, her demeanor lent her a fragile air. She seemed to him a delicate, porcelain doll which could be broken easily if handled improperly.
Frowning, he tried to concentrate on performing his illusion. While Rose kept her eyes closed, he massaged the air in front of him with his fingertips. As he murmured something inaudible, he willed Rose’s feet to rise slowly off the ground.
It appeared as if someone was pulling her legs out from under her. Eventually, her torso, limbs, and head reached a plane parallel to the stage and she was levitating in space.
The crowd gasped as Drago reached for a large silver hoop. He proceeded to pass the circle back and forth over Rose’s stiff body. When he twisted and turned it in every direction, the audience gasped again. The trick, which he’d performed only once before, proved it had the power to intrigue.
“Are you doing all right, Rose?” Drago asked in a gentle voice.
She nodded. Her ponytail swung toward the wooden floor.
“Excellent.” Drago passed the silver hoop to his brunette assistant, Katherine. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have a confession to make. The second half of this trick is new even to me. However, it’s something I feel bold enough to try with Miss Carlisle’s help.”
Drago’s assistant cast him an angry look. He continued on anyway. “Katherine, would you hand me that red silk drape?” he asked.
Clearly irritated, Katherine moved to the tiny prop table in the corner. Once she’d passed a large cloth to Drago, he unfolded it and draped it over the length of Rose’s levitating body.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in a low tone. “Making a woman levitate in midair is one thing. But what if I made her . . . disappear?”
He whipped off the red drape and exposed nothing but air. Men in pinstriped suits leapt to their feet and women touched their hats in astonishment.
When the audience’s enthusiastic clapping subsided, Drago removed his gloves. “Now I’ll make our lovely Rose reappear. Just . . . like . . . that.”
Snapping his fingers loudly, he moved to a cabinet in the middle of the stage. He opened the cabinet’s door with an exaggerated gesture and there stood a pale-faced Rose. Grinning, Drago took her hand and helped her out. Together they walked to the front of the stage and were greeted with thunderous applause.
As he took one step away from Rose, Drago bowed to her as well. Her cheeks regained their color—and she looked at him as if he were the most wonderful man in the world.
Although leaving her was the last thing he desired to do, he had no choice. Drago came closer to her and pressed something into her hand. Then he mouthed the haunting words, “Wear this and come back to me.”
Rose’s hand closed around the item the handsome magician had placed in her palm. The curtain closed with a dramatic whoosh—and as she stumbled up the aisle, she unfurled her hand and stared at the object. It was a beautiful amulet that bore a silver chain and mysterious Egyptian engravings.
One hour later, the rain stopped and the moon smiled over Coney Island. The lively amusement park exploded with laughter and lights, but the gaiety swirling around it in contagious circles was to be short-lived.
A creature—half beast, half human—lurked in the shadows between the carousel and the half-built Wonder Wheel. Awaiting its chance, the hulking figure, robed in black trousers and the remnants of a shredded white shirt, crouched out of sight.
On this starless night, along the broad strip of beach, it had the urge to claim a new soul in order to sustain its immortal existence.
The figure had lived for many centuries. Over the years, it’d been virtually everywhere . . . from the green valleys of Austria to the stone castles of Scotland and to the colorful bazaars of Marrakech. It had experienced history alongside emperors and had witnessed the rise and fall of kings. It had also mourned the death of loved ones.
Now the monster found itself here, in a city where the Statue of Liberty signified new opportunities.
No one knew the creature in America, at least not in its demon form. And that was precisely its intention. Recently, it had come to the end of one existence and had proceeded on to its next identity.
Why? Because it felt a certain someone drawing it here.
As the tepid June breeze lapped over the demon, the need to maintain its longevity swept through the creature with a relentless force.
Stepping from the shadows, it scurried up the steel construction planks of the Wonder Wheel. Moonlight spilled over the creature’s savage face, cragged jaws, scaly skin, and razor-sharp claws. And because tonight was the anniversary of its making, the demon’s height rose from its normal measurement of under six feet to well over eight feet tall.
The fiend’s swirling black cloak danced around the tops of its knee-high boots. Suddenly, it caught the scent of a human.
“Clarence, you know I hate to wait in line.” A girl’s voice floated upward. “You go ahead.”
From its hiding place on the half-finished ride, the creature watched the girl with narrowed eyes.
“I’ll meet you by the hot dog stand in a few moments,” she instructed. Breaking from the man’s grasp, she blew him a kiss.
She was suitable for the demon’s purpose—and even from thirty feet away it could smell her perfume, infused with roses, rolling in and out on the soft coastal breeze.
Now that the girl was alone, she picked up her skirts and strode beneath the base of the Wonder Wheel. Pulling a powder compact from her handbag, she proceeded to pat her face with the talc.
The creature leapt up to the structure’s next level, moving as gracefully as a panther. Starved for a new soul, it studied the girl with steady eyes. All it had to do was catch her from behind and squeeze her so tightly that she would slump over, unconscious. Then the demon could proceed with what it had to do—what had kept it immortal for well over four hundred years.
Of course, no one was forcing the demon to claim another unfortunate victim. But an eternal existence had become all it knew—and it was time to sustain it.
The creature slid its cloak over its shoulder and fanned out its gigantic wings. Leap now.
Without warning, it crashed down on the girl and took her by surprise. The girl cried out but the demon quickly clamped a hand over her mouth to silence her. With its other claw, it grabbed the edge of its rippling cape and blanketed both of them with the heavy material.
Once the girl was enveloped in the fiend’s arms, the creature squeezed her hard enough to compress her lungs. She gasped for breath and just before she died, the demon opened its mouth and commanded her youthful soul to stream like a tornado funnel into its own body.
“You still haven’t told me what Dragomir Starkov gave you tonight,” Olivia Marconi prodded her best friend.
Rose touched a hand to her high-necked blouse. After she’d stuffed the amulet inside her handbag, she had dodged into the powder room to put it on. Now the necklace was hidden from view. And that’s precisely where it would stay.
It was all too exciting for words.
“Well?” Olivia asked.
“It’s our little secret.”
“Wonderful.” Olivia frowned as she went on. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you and that mysterious magician were married! Furthermore, I can’t believe you dragged me to his performance.”
Something commanded me to go. Shivering at the thought, Rose said, “I can’t believe Dragomir Starkov paid so much attention to me.”
“Don’t be silly,” Olivia said. “You’re gorgeous.”
“That’s what a best friend is supposed to say,” Rose teased her.
Olivia shook her head. “It’s true.”
“I guess Mr. Starkov doesn’t mind how tall I am.”
“Thank God you grew out of your gangly stage.”
Rose had grown out of her gangly stage, but she still wondered what a devilishly attractive man like Starkov could want with her. She was very young—on the cusp of womanhood, in fact. And he was older. Smoother. More experienced.
Yet the chemistry that had burned between them tonight could have set the city on fire.
Rose strolled arm-in-arm with Olivia to the Marconi home, breathing in the fresh smell of rain. She’d come to live with the vivacious Italian family when she was a baby. Upon her parents’ request, she was taken in by Lorenzo and Elena Marconi—friends of her mother and father before they’d dropped out of sight.
The entire scenario was set up to protect Rose. She would see her parents a year from now. While she could hardly wait, she’d be forever grateful to the Marconi family for adopting her. And she was especially thankful for the support of her best friend, Olivia, a girl whom Rose considered a real sister.
Her head remained in the clouds as she glanced at the Marconis’ front door. Without her reaching for the handle, the door flew open and a distraught Elena Marconi shot out.
“Rose! Where on earth have you been?” Elena whispered hoarsely. “The curse!”
“I’m fine, Mrs. Marconi. Besides, the curse isn’t supposed to take effect until my next birthday.”
“One never knows. Come inside quickly!”
Rose’s adoptive mother guided her into a cozy parlor where she greeted Anthony Marconi, Olivia’s ill-tempered twin brother, and her adoptive father, Lorenzo. Then she saw Anthony’s best friend, Patrick O’Leary. Stunned that all of them had waited late into the night for her, she clutched her stomach nervously.
Olivia leaned toward her and whispered, “Maybe Patrick is here to give you something. After all, he’s been trying to court you. And it is your birthday!”
“Do you think so?” Rose whispered back.
Patrick had been charmingly persistent in his affections, but there was her curse to consider. What’s more, she wasn’t sure how she felt about any man besides Dragomir Starkov after their intriguing encounter.
Olivia took her by the hand and steered her deeper into the room.
“There she is!” Patrick beamed. He strode closer and took her by the shoulders. “We were worried sick.”
“Because of the curse?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said.
Damn my Aunt Morvina. As much as Rose tried to forget—even debunk—the spell the woman had doomed her with, it caused her to live in constant fear.
“Where were you?” Patrick asked.
“Olivia wanted to treat me to dinner on my birthday,” she lied. “After supper, I ran into an old school friend. We were catching up . . .”
Olivia shot her a startled look at the fib.
“It isn’t the wisest choice to roam New York City at night,” he reminded her gently. “But, nonetheless, you’re safe.”
Patrick was kind, considerate, and handsome in a fair-haired, boyish sort of way. Yet his good looks paled compared to Dragomir’s mysterious aura at the moment. The more Rose thought about how she’d flirted with the magician and how kind the Marconis had always been to her, guilt stabbed at her conscience. She hung her head and dove into the truth. “Olivia and I didn’t go to dinner this evening.”
“Where did you go, cara?” Mr. Marconi asked.
She sucked in a deep breath. “We went to a magic show.”
“I beg your pardon?” Patrick’s face twisted with confusion.
Rose should have known he wouldn’t understand. He shared little of what she considered interesting: literature, the arts, and anything remotely mystifying. Still, she spread her hands apart in an effort to explain. “It’s my birthday—and magic is something I’ve always been fascinated with.”
Anthony scowled at her from beneath thick brows. Stuffing his fingers inside the small pockets of his vest and puffing out his burly chest, he said, “You wasted your time and money on seeing a charlatan. . . a crackpot?”
The question infuriated Rose. “Dragomir Starkov is no crackpot. He’s a genius who performs spellbinding illusions. Just when you think you have his tricks figured out, he spins them around in the end.”
From the look of distaste on Patrick and Anthony’s faces, she knew she’d said too much. A moment later, Patrick urged her to sit. “It’s no matter,” he said. “I, for one, am glad you enjoyed yourself on your birthday.” When he took her hands, she noticed that his were clammy. “Rose, you’re probably wondering why I’m here at such a late hour.”
She nodded. Please don’t ask me if you can court me. I don’t know how I’ll respond.
“Everyone has had the opportunity to give you your birthday gift, except me. I want to give you something special.”
Rose’s heart dropped. “Something . . . special?”
She swallowed hard as Patrick stood up. Elena plucked a flat, black box off the parlor table and handed it to him. In turn, he presented it to Rose.
“Rose Emily Carlisle,” Patrick began.
Rose’s pulse pounded like a bass drum.
“Will you accept this necklace as a token of my affection?” His moss-green eyes glimmered with hope before he opened the box to reveal a ruby necklace. The main, oval-shaped jewel was tiny and hung on a flimsy gold chain.
Although Rose was relieved that Patrick hadn’t asked her anything more monumental, her mouth went dry. He was the best man she had ever known and she’d grown extremely fond of him. But tonight, when Dragomir stood before her, an icon of passion and mystery, she knew she longed for more of those sensations.
However, she told herself, this is just a birthday gift—not a marriage proposal.
“It’s beautiful,” she finally said. “Of course I’ll accept your gift, Patrick.”
Beaming like a boy who’d gotten the pony he always longed for, Patrick fastened the necklace around Rose’s neck. She could feel its weight against the amulet hidden beneath her blouse. She tensed.
“I saved up to buy you this,” he admitted, “and I’m glad I did. It looks stunning on you.”
Rose embraced him. After she pulled away, he took her into the hallway, where they could talk in private.
“You seemed uneasy in there,” he said.
Rose reached up and brushed back a lock of his blond hair. “I’m sorry. The magic show seemed so real that it threw me for a loop.”
“I nearly asked you to be my girl a minute ago.”
Her face went red. She didn’t respond.
“Would that have been so horrible?”
“Patrick. I can’t make any solid commitments until I’m free and clear of my curse. Besides, I can’t blame any man for hesitating to court me—considering my spell.”
He looked nonplussed. “I know you’re terrified, but the more I think about it, your curse must be nonsense. How can there be validity to a prophecy made by an old woman who went to a tarot card reader?”
“This is my Aunt Morvina we’re talking about!” Rose cried. “When my parents overlooked inviting her to my christening, she went to a tarot card reader who was also a witch. The witch cast a curse over me on Morvina’s behalf—”
“—and she doomed you to meet with a terrible accident on your twenty-first birthday.” Patrick paused. “I know the story by heart, Rose. Morvina made an unexpected appearance at your christening and terrified everyone with the news.”
She stiffened.
“I know you believe in this spell whole-heartedly,” he added.
“How can I not?” she cried. In fact, Rose could think of little else except her impending destiny. Dying at the tender age of twenty-one would mean she’d be cheated of any future. Perhaps that’s why she was drawn to magic. It was her only hope for reversing her fate.
“I’ve lived in fear of the prophecy ever since Elena informed me of it,” she went on. “Now I only have a year to live.”
Patrick squeezed her hand.
“I dream that Aunt Morvina creeps into my bedroom and kills me in my sleep,” she said in horror.
“Do you even know what the woman looks like?” He tried to draw out a smile.
“I’ve only seen one photograph of Morvina and she’s gnarled and hideous. According to Elena, she cast herself from society when she developed crippling arthritis.” Rose grimaced. As far as anyone knew, Morvina had become a recluse . . . a spinster wallowing in self-pity.
“But what does she have against you?” Patrick argued.
“I really don’t know.”
Patrick gave a shudder, yet he managed to say, “Not to worry.” He stroked her cheek and then gathered her to him. “I’m going to protect you from that horrible aunt of yours. And when I’m promoted to detective, I’ll make a more. . .
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Sleeping Beauty and the Demon
Marina Myles
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