Born of Illusion (27 page)

Suddenly a block is thrown up so hard, I gasp. It’s like being flung headfirst into a brick wall. “What was that?”

Cole shifts in his chair and his eyes avoid mine. “I told you I was going to block you, so you can feel what it’s like.”

“Oh. Right.” I lick my lips. “Now what?” I pull my hand away from his and it trembles as I raise my coffee cup to my mouth.

He pushes on, his voice exuding a confidence I now know he doesn’t really feel. “I want you to practice on someone else without touching them. Feel them out, then shut it off.”

“How?”

“Most Sensitives I know use their imaginations to visualize the process. Try sending a silver ribbon across the room. Just imagine it in your mind reaching out to them. Since you already do that when you’re touching someone, I think you should continue along those lines and just imagine yourself cutting it with scissors or something.”

I hear Cole’s words, but I’m distracted. I can’t help but wonder if one of the other Sensitives he’s talking about is the one who sent the letter sitting in my pocket.

“Are you ready?”

I force the woman from London out of my mind and nod. “Who would you like me to try it on first?”

Cole nods toward the woman and her two daughters, who are now finishing up their breakfast. “How about them?”

I shrug. “Okay.”

I look at the woman, now drumming her fingers on the table as if she’s impatient to get going. I notice the shadows under her eyes and the tightness in her mouth before spinning out a thread toward her. The woman’s emotions zip back toward me with surprising speed. Then I remember that Cole makes my abilities stronger. I wonder if he feels the tension pulsing down the strand. My own stomach clenches in sympathy. Quickly, I imagine a pair of scissors to snip the line with. They hover for a moment before I force them to cut. For a second nothing happens, but then the feelings coming off the woman in waves simply stop.

My eyes widen as I turn to Cole. “I did it!”

He nods solemnly, but his eyes glint with amusement. “You did.”

“So now I can control it?” My heart races. This means freedom. Normalcy.

“I don’t know. Some people pick it up rather quickly, because they’ve been doing it unknowingly for years. Others take months of training. You have more experience than most because of your work with your mother—the muscle reading and the séances and so on.”

I wrinkle my nose. “The séances are the worst. The people who come to us are so heartbroken. It’s hard . . .” I look down at my hands.

“To offer them hope when there is none?”

My heart beats faster, but I say nothing. Some things cannot be shared.

After an awkward silence he continues. “Grief is a really intense emotion. It might be harder to control. Maybe that’s part of the problem.”

I think about it. “That makes sense.”

Cole shakes his head, sympathy lighting his eyes. “Maybe you need to start by practicing on people whose feelings are less intense, then move on to people who have really strong emotions? This is all guesswork right now.”

I lean back in my seat. Maybe I can learn more about the Society for Psychical Research. How much of what Dr. Bennett said is true? Cole already confirmed some of it, but how bad is it really? I’d like to ask him if he knows Dr. Bennett but don’t want to tip my hand, especially if Dr. Bennett parted with the Society on poor terms. “Tell me more about the Society for Psychical Research.”

He knits his hands together in front of him as if giving a lecture. “The Ghost Club, as it was originally called, was started in 1862. Past members include Charles Dickens and Sir William Barrett. It disappeared in the 1870s, and then in the 1880s it merged with the Society for Psychical Research. That’s the part people know about.”

“And the other part?” I ask.

Cole hesitates. “It’s rumored that the Society for Psychical Research disappeared because the researchers discovered that Sensitives actually existed and they went underground because they didn’t want to alarm the public with the fact that people who have special abilities live among them. Later they merged with the more scientifically based SPR and became public again, without any public announcement about the Sensitives. They keep the existence of Sensitives quiet for their own safety. There have been people who wish to use the Sensitives for their own gain. Secrecy helps protect them from that. For the most part.”

I want to ask him what he means by that, but just then Cole places his hand over mine. Our fingers twine together and my breath catches at the warmth in his eyes.

“Honestly, I wish I could tell you everything, but there is so much going on right now. And when I’m with you, everything over there feels so remote. Like it doesn’t matter at all.”

My skin heats and my heart turns into a swirl of sweet, melting chocolate. Everything I was going to say or wanted to say goes right out of my head.

I know exactly how he feels.

But will he feel that way after I give him the letter?

I pull my hand away and put it in my pocket, feeling the crisp edge of the envelope.

Give him the letter.

Taking a deep breath, I pull it out and place it on the table between us.

“What’s that?”

The noise around us dims and my mouth feels cotton stuffed. “A letter.”

“I know it’s a letter, Anna.” He smiles a small half smile and picks it up. His brows knit together, puzzled. “How did you get this?”

I swallow. “I took it. From your pocket.” At the look on his face I rush on. “It happened last week. I don’t know why I did it; I was confused. I’m so sorry.”

“You picked my pocket because you were confused?” Cole’s voice is tight and I wince. “Do you have any idea how important this might be?” He rips open the envelope.

I open my mouth, but he holds up one finger and I fall silent. After scanning the letter, he looks up, his lips compressed.

I try again. “You have to know I wouldn’t normally . . .” My voice trails off. There is no way to tell him how it felt, so close to him on the train that day. How I needed to make contact with him. “I mean, that’s not the kind of girl I am,” I finish lamely.

I look down at the table, unable to meet Cole’s eyes, but I can feel the anger and hurt coming off him in waves.

“Anna, I don’t know what kind of girl you are.”

Shame burns through me. “You don’t mean that. You know more about me in some ways than anyone ever has.”

“Right now all I know is you swindle people for money and pick pockets when you’re confused. Who knows? Maybe you rob banks in your spare time?

“I thought I knew you, but I was mistaken.” He tosses the letter on the table. “There. You wanted to read it so badly. Read it.”

And this time, he walks out on me.

Twenty-two

I
should have at least received some credit for not reading the letter,
I think miserably a couple of days later. Then I wonder if it even matters. To my surprise, Cole had been waiting outside the restaurant when I finally emerged. I’d hoped that meant he’d relented enough to at least give me a chance to explain, but he didn’t want to talk. “I can’t leave you to walk home alone” was all he’d said.

I sigh and try to powder away the dark circles under my eyes and the leftover bruises from my abduction. Cynthia Gaylord is coming to pick me up to take me out to dinner with Dr. Bennett. I wonder who set up this meeting, Dr. Bennett or Cynthia? Maybe I’ll get more info on the Society. I’m a little uneasy, though.

Maybe I should just go ahead and talk to Cole about Dr. Bennett. They had to have at least heard of each other. Maybe he can give me some information on him. Or maybe I should talk to Dr. Bennett about Cole.

I try not to think about the fact that Cole may never talk to me about anything ever again. My insides hollow at the thought.

I hear a door shut, then a voice, and I know Cynthia must be here. Shaking my head, I snatch my coat off the bed, where I’d tossed it, and hurry down the hall.

My mother is standing in the kitchen with Cynthia, sly curiosity evident in the lift of her brow and the hidden quirk of her lips. “Cynthia tells me you two are going to dinner with a doctor who researches spirit manifestations and spiritualism? How . . . intriguing.”

My smile reflects nothing but innocent enthusiasm. “Yes, I think it will be a fascinating evening. Don’t you, Cynthia?”

Cynthia nods excitedly, her head a pale flower against the enormous dark fur collar of her coat. I wait for her to invite my mother, but she doesn’t. Then I smile. Of course not. Cynthia wouldn’t want to compete with my mother for Dr. Bennett’s attention. We head down to the car, leaving my mother’s eyes filled with questions. In light of everything, it seems only fitting.

The car turns onto Broadway and I stare in wonder at the giant signs advertising everything from Camel cigarettes to the Ziegfeld Follies. It’s pure magic to see the sun go down in the west, while all around you thousands of dazzling lights are blinking on. No matter how many times I see it, it still takes my breath away.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

Cynthia lights a cigarette and blows a smoke ring. “Have you ever been to Lindy’s?”

I shake my head.

“You’ll love it. Good food. Relaxing. Not fancy-pantsy at all. More my kind of place.”

I open my mouth to find out what she means by that, but she doesn’t let me get a word in.

“So tell me, which one of those two young sheiks are you stuck on?”

I blink. “What?”

Cynthia rolls her eyes. “The young men who were at the séance. Which one do you like? Because sure as I’m sitting here, they both like you. They couldn’t keep their eyes off you.”

“Oh. Um . . .”

Cynthia laughs. “Just string them both along till you figure out which one you like best. That’s what I did until my daddy decided for me. I’m so glad it was Jack. He had scads more money and is so handsome. The other man had a disgusting nose. I don’t know if I could have married that nose.”

I can’t think of anything to say to that, but luckily, she doesn’t seem to need an answer. She tosses her cigarette out the window and digs a silver-and-green enamel compact out of her bag. She pats some powder on her nose and reapplies her lipstick. “If I were you,” she says, snapping her compact shut, “I would go for the tall, dark-haired one. Like Jack, he has scads more money.”

The car slows and pulls over to the sidewalk. Cole? I laugh. “How do you know?” I ask.

“Oh, I just know these things,” she answers, sliding out of the car. “The other one might be more fun, though. Depends on what you’re looking for.”

What I’m looking for? My life would be far simpler if I knew the answer to that.

“Uncle Arnie!” I hear Cynthia squeal, and turn to find her in the arms of an imposing man in a tailored black suit. He’s tall, with thin lips and the imperious nose of a hawk. His hairline may be receding, but the fit of his jacket shows a man in his prime. He looks vaguely familiar and I wonder where I’ve seen him.

“How you doing, baby doll? How’s that swanky blue blood treating you?”

“Like a queen, Uncle Arnie, like a queen.”

“He’d better. Or I’ll have to break his legs.” He laughs, but the laughter doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Cynthia swats him. “You be nice. I brought a friend tonight.” She grabs my arm and pulls me next to her. “This is Anna Van Housen. She and her mother are famous mediums. They have their own show.”

He holds out his hand. “Is that so? I never believed in that stuff myself. No offense, Miss Van Housen.”

“None taken,” I assure him. The moment he touches my hand, a dark, ambivalent emotion snakes its way up my arm and I shiver. I don’t even know what to call it but I know for a fact I’ve never felt anything like it. The strange thing is that’s it’s not directed at me or Cynthia, or anyone in particular. It just is. He kisses my hand and releases it and I suppress a sigh of relief.

Another man in a black suit approaches and jerks his head to the side. Arnie nods and turns back to us. “Got to run, girls. Business calls. You take care of yourself and let me know if you need anything, okay, baby doll?” Cynthia nods. “Nice to meet you, Miss Van Housen.”

He turns to go and then turns back to me. “Van Housen? Say, you’re not that magician girl who’s Houdini’s daughter, are you?”

My jaw drops and Uncle Arnie laughs. “I know everything that happens in New York, sweetheart. Even if they’re just rumors. I used to know your father before he got all famous. We get our handcuffs from the same feller. He’s a good man, Houdini.”

He gives me another, friendlier nod and disappears with a group of men surrounding him.

Cynthia links her arm in mine. “Come on. Let’s go get a table. Dr. Bennett should be here in a few minutes.”

She bypasses the line and a waitress seats us right away. Lindy’s is a nice place, but not fancy or exciting like The Colony.

“Wait till you try the cheesecake,” Cynthia says. “It’s to die for.”

We take off our coats and open our menus.