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with laughter.
Well, my father had a few things to say about that when it came time for my
first Communion, Gabriel says, altar-boy earnest now. I try not to stare at him.
Religious devotion does not figure into what little I remember about Gabriel's
father, Uncle Phil. Unless he was a member of the Church of Boring Sports. In that
case, I do remember a lot of Goddamns and thank you, Jesuses being shouted
at the football and baseball games that flickered in and out of reception on the
rickety television set my mother had placed in a small side room. That was
where you couldalways find Uncle Phil ensconced--if you wanted to do such a
thing. Most of us didn't.
Good man, Uncle Roberto grunts.
I might have a few things to say about that, too, if Beatrice and I ever . . . well. .
. that's not talk for a party, now is it? Then he shakes away whatever he was
thinking, steps forward, and claps a hand on Gabriel's shoulder.
Let's see this trick. But this is a real trick, right? None of your . .
He swallows and I suddenly feel a pang of sympathy for Uncle Roberto.
Apparently, there is some truth to what Gabriel said about not knowing how he
tolerates the family.
None of it at all. Not my Talent, anyway, Gabriel says, honest at last, and the
cards snap in his hands and suddenly the movement of his fingers is too fast to
follow. After a few seconds of complicated shuffling and rearranging, he fans
the cards and holds them out to Uncle Roberto.
First pick one card, any card Uncle Roberto does so and holds it in his hands
expectantly.
And you can look at it, but please do not show it to me or my assistant. Uncle
Roberto nods, his face going carefully blank as he takes a quick peek at the
card.
Now place it in your left pocket, Gabriel instructs.
Good, excellent. Now pick another, whichever one you'd like. And look at it,
please, but again don't show it to anyone . . . Perfect. Now hand it to my
assistant face-down so I can't see it. Perfect. She's going to place it in your right
vest pocket I step forward, my heart suddenly thwacking my rib cage. Hoping
thatUncle Roberto won't notice that my fingers are trembling, I reach for the
second card. The slick plastic feels cool to my fingers, and as I step closer to
Uncle Roberto, I can smell the sweet perfume of alcohol and after-shave
coming off him.
Sorry, sir, I mumble as my fingers slip against his chest.
You did this trick on ladies, too? Uncle Roberto says with another bellow of
laughter.
That's why I have my lovely assistant. So no one can complain, Gabriel says, his
voice magnanimous and light, betraying no hint of the nerves I know he must be
feeling.
Okay, Ta--er, Agatha. Place the card in his front right pocket now. Now,
Gabriel coaxes me, and suddenly, just as I realize that he has nowhere to go
with this trick, Uncle Roberto takes the card from me and places it in his own
pocket, smiling kindly at me.
I think your assistant needs a little practice, he says gently and then turns with
an expectant look on his face.
And now what, my young man?
And now . .
Gabriel says and pauses for what must seem like a dramatic flourish, but really I
know it's his way of buying time.
And now, please take the first card out of your pocket and look at it again As
Uncle Roberto fumbles for the first card, Gabriel sends me a look that clearly
reads as what the hell is wrong with you and I send him a look back that I hope
conveys I'm sorry! Now what? Uncle Roberto says, holding the card aloft,
looking at each of us in turn. He rocks back on his heels a little, smiling happily.
It's still the same card? Gabriel asks.
That it is.
Are you sure? Gabriel says, stepping closer.
I am, Uncle Roberto replies with the first hint of impatience.
Look--
But what about your second card? Please, allow me, Gabriel says, and before
Uncle Roberto can react, Gabriel steps in smoothly, inserts his hand into Uncle
Roberto's pocket, and flicks the card free. It tumbles to the ground, landing
face-up. The queen of hearts winks at me.
That's not your first card? Gabriel says with a swagger.
No, it certainly isn't, Uncle Roberto says with a grin. He thinks he's beaten the
trick.
I think it's not just your assistant who needs a little practice.
Maybe so, Gabriel concedes with a disarming smile and then adds,
But I'm not so sure. Let me see what other cards are in here.
Oh, ho! Uncle Roberto says, clearly willing to give us one more second.
Gabriel, don't, I say with a catch in my throat as he leans forward and draws
out the pocket watch from Uncle Roberto's pocket. He is holding it by the chain,
his fingers not quite touching the watch face. For one second, one minute, one
eon, nothing happens,and then Uncle Roberto steps back, a frown creasing his
face.
See here, what's this about? It's not it, I think with a sinking heart, and then
Gabriel gives a short, sharp twist and the pocket watch comes free of the chain
and spins through the air, its face gleaming and glittering. With a flash Gabriel
puts out his right hand and catches it just before Uncle Roberto does.
Tamsin, Gabriel gasps.
This is--
Idiot, I moan. Silvery ribbons are snaking up from the watch, entwining
themselves with a sinuous fluidity all around Gabriel's hand before shooting up
his forearm.
Cold, he murmurs.
So cold.
What's . . . I. . . why did you--do something, Uncle Roberto blusters, and with a
shock I realize he isn't talking to me. I turn and Aunt Beatrice glides forward from
the shadows, cocking her head to the side and examining Gabriel
dispassionately.
Do something, Uncle Roberto says again to his wife, and she smiles at him, a
gentle smile, one that a teacher would give to a pupil who wasn't maybe her
best and brightest but who held her heart just the same.
I am doing something, dear. What I'm supposed to be doing. But this isn't
something you should have to see And with a light brush of her fingers she
touches her husband's forehead tenderly. All at once Uncle Roberto stops
moving. His eyes remain wide open but unblinking. I lurch toward Gabriel, but
somehow Aunt Beatriceblocks my path, anchors me to her by grabbing both of
my wrists in one hand. She is holding me so tightly that my palms and fingers
tingle unpleasantly.
Gabriel! I shriek.
Drop it. Drop it now. With what seems like great effort, Gabriel turns his hand
over, but the pocket watch has adhered to his fingers.
Good thing it wasn't his left hand, Aunt Beatrice says musingly as she turns her
attention back to Gabriel.
Otherwise, he'd have died by now. But then again it'll just take another minute
or two to reach his heart this way.
What? I cry, tearing my eyes away from Gabriel's stone-colored face.
Stop this! I say fiercely to Aunt Beatrice, trying to pry her fingers from my wrist.
Now or you'll regret it. She smiles at me, a very different smile from the one
she just gave her husband, and my skin crawls trying to equate this sword blade
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