My grandma used to say that the best magic tricks are performed by the ones who believe.
Itâs true. I see it all the time at Silveria Circus. The best magicians are always the ones who understand that the true magic at the heart of a trick is possibility.
Maybe thatâs why no one looks my way now. Because I believed in magic too.
Abe Mead lies dead on the factory floor. That fucker. Wouldnât mind having another shot at killing him if I could. Maybe Iâd have done a few things a little differently.
I pull my attention away from his cooling body. I donât want him to take another second of my time.
So I put all my focus on something beautiful instead. Lachlan and Lark. They hold each other in a crushing embrace. They sway like two trees that have twisted together and weathered storms side by side. Maybe this will be the last big one. A thunderstorm that leaves clean air and vibrant colors behind. Iâd like to think the weather will always be fair for them now, the skies always clear. I think thatâs what Iâll choose to believe.
I glance down at my shirt. Thereâs almost nothing to show for everything thatâs happened. Just a small hole in the flannel fabric on my side, right beneath my ribs. Thereâs no more than a few drops of crimson to stain my shirt. A little trick. Nothing to see.
But I can feel it.
It burns right there, while the rest of me feels cold. No one notices when I lie down on the floor.
Lachlan and Lark are still wrapped together when a door flies open somewhere nearby. Running footsteps echo against machines and concrete walls.
âRose,â Fionn calls out. Thereâs panic in his voice. He repeats my name over and over. It sounds like itâs growing more distant. Not coming closer.
It feels like the first time I flew through the metal cage on my motorcycle. The terrifying roar of the engine. The flip of my stomach when I realized I didnât know which way was up. I just pulled back on that throttle and sped through the sphere until everything else faded away except the headlight in front of me.
âSheâs here,â Lark calls back when I donât answer, but she sounds far away too. âOh my Godââ
âChrist Jesus. Fionn, helpââ
The world doesnât go dark. It goes bright white. In the final moment before the light washes the shadows away, I see Fionn in the distance. And I know heâs my home. My person.
My love.
Maybe magic is real after all.