Page 12 of Illusionist
“Twenty-eight seconds.” The third lock falls open. The chains drop from her body at my feet and she straightens, meeting my gaze directly. “Satisfied?”
“Getting there.” I pick up the chains, noting how she'd bypassed the false gates entirely—a technique most escape artists never learn. “Where'd you train?”
“Here and there.”
“That's not an answer.”
“It's the only one you're getting.” She tilts her head, studying me with those striking eyes. “Unless you want to tell me why an illusionist is doing second-string admin work for a traveling carnival?”
The question hits closer than she could possibly know. I keep my expression neutral, but something must show because her lips curve slightly.
“Everyone's got their demons,” she repeats softly.
A sharp cry from Jules cuts through the air, followed by the distinctive sound of a hand meeting flesh. Nova's eyes widen slightly.
“Jesus Christ.” She runs a hand through her auburn hair. “Do they ever stop?”
“Eventually.” I gather the chain, taking my time. “Though Elias has impressive stamina when he's properly motivated.”
“And she motivates him?”
The note in Elias's voice as he growls Jules's name answers that question better than I could.
“You could say that.” I study the woman in front of me, noting the way she holds herself—ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.
The woman's got secrets buried deeper than a carnival's debt, but I file that away for later. Right now, she's here, she's talented, and she's exactly the kind of trouble that keeps life interesting.
“You handle those chains like a lover.” I step closer, letting my voice drop to match the intimate darkness around us. “All gentle touches and knowing exactly where to apply pressure.”
Her eyes flick up to mine, a spark of heat mixing with wariness. “Locks respond better to finesse than force.”
“So do most things worth opening.” I run my thumb along one of the chains, maintaining eye contact. “Though sometimes a little force has its place.”
She shifts her weight, not quite stepping back but creating space between us. “Speaking from experience?”
“More than you might expect.” I wrap the chains around my forearms in a practiced motion, the metal links sliding against my skin. “I've been working on chain escapes myself. Started about six months ago.”
Her eyebrows shoot up, genuine surprise breaking through her guarded expression. “You're kidding.”
“Why would I kid about that?” I flex my wrists, demonstrating the proper tension needed for a wrist-chain escape. “Magic's all about misdirection, but escape artistry? That's pure skill. No smoke and mirrors, just you against the restraints.”
“Most illusionists think escape work is beneath them.” She watches my movements with interest, her earlier defensiveness temporarily forgotten.
“Most illusionists are pompous asses who couldn't pick a padlock if their lives depended on it.” I unwind the chains slowly, enjoying the way her eyes track the movement. “I prefer expanding my skill set.”
“Show me.”
The challenge in her voice makes me grin. I wrap the chains around my wrists properly this time, using a standard eight-wrap configuration. The locks click shut, and I roll my shoulders, settling into the familiar discomfort.
“Time me.” I begin the careful process of dislocating my thumb—just enough to create slack.
She doesn't pull out a phone or watch, just counts under her breath while I work. The chains bite into my skin as I maneuver, using a different technique than she'd demonstrated, contortion.
Forty-five seconds later, the chains hit the ground.
“Not bad for a magician.” She crosses her arms, but I catch the impressed glint in her eyes. “With some work, you could get that down to thirty.”
“Or...” I gather the chains again, an idea forming. “We could work together. A double act. The illusionist and the escape artist.”
