Chapter 22: And for My Last Trick...
Mr. White Rabbit's voice, all velvet and bravado, filled the garden with a flourish. "I need a volunteer! Anyone? Anyone daring enough for a little magic?" His gloved hand swept over the crowd, his eyes hidden in the dark behind that ridiculous bunny mask as he started pretending to search, pretending he didn't see Penelope's hand waving like a flag at the Olympics.
Addison and Alaric shared a look, a silent pact forged in years of sibling code. Addison leaned back, arms folded, shaking her head so her dark ponytail swung. "Not a chance," she muttered, just loud enough for the kids at their table to hear. "I'd rather eat vegetables at my own birthday." Alaric, ever the quiet kid, even more so compared to his sister, shifted his chair a few inches farther from the aisle, as if proximity alone might rope him into participation. He shot Addison a sideways glance, lips twitching with understated gratitude.
Meanwhile, as Mr. White Rabbit kept the crowd's focus with his showman's patter, four more helpers appeared as if conjured from the shadows. They glided between tables, each one in a full face mask and top hat, their costumes crisp black and white, the fabric divided straight down the middle, very much a perfect echo of Ace's monochrome suit. No one paid them much mind at first, just more props in the spectacle, until they started placing vases of flowers, one at each table. The vases were tall, slender, all glass and silver stems, filled with blooms that looked suspiciously perfect, the flowers, lilies, roses, even a few rare orchids.
Beryl watched them, her eyes narrowing briefly with interest, this all might be a little much and, even for a rich, spoiled girls birthday party, and then there was something off about the way they moved, too smooth, too synchronized, like dancers trained to vanish into the background. She caught the tall one's eye for half a second, but the moment she glanced down at the flowers, her mind drifted, focus smudging at the edges. The petals seemed to shimmer, or maybe it was just the heat, but Beryl felt her thoughts dull, going quiet, like someone had turned the volume down on her inner monologue. By the time she looked back at the stage, she'd already forgotten what she'd meant to notice.
The helpers moved in a ripple, bowing as they returned to the stage. They lined up behind Mr. White Rabbit and Ace, hands folded, still as statues, masks blank and unreadable.
Mr. White Rabbit, ever the performer, finally "noticed" Penelope.
He let his gaze linger over every table, making a show of searching, as Penelope bounced in her seat, nearly launching herself out of it with every wave. She was the only one desperate to be picked, the only hand up, the only kid in the garden who hadn't clocked that something was off or at least the only one that didn't care or notice.
He waited until her face was flushed and her gloved fingers ached from waving, then he grinned, wide and white and somehow menacing beneath the mask. "Ah, there she is! The birthday girl herself! Please, join us on stage, Your Highness."
Penelope squealed, practically flying out of her chair, her blue dress billowing as she rushed forward. Addison muttered, "Show-off," under her breath, but there was no real heat behind it.
While all eyes were on the stage, Kairo was locked in his own little world, holding tight to Rebecca. Up close, her trembling was almost invisible, somehow just the faintest shake in her hands, a sheen of sweat at her hairline. It was her eyes that gave her away, darting between Ace and the flowers and back again, never settling, never softening. Kairo squeezed her hand, hoping it might ground her, keep her anchored. He called out to Beryl, but she didn't answer, her gaze glazed and empty, lips parted in a slight, unfocused smile.
He tried to stay calm, reminding himself that he knew a little magic, enough to know when something was wrong, even if he didn't have the words for it yet. He looked up at Ace, the girl on stage, and caught her watching Rebecca just as intently, her own expression flickering between confusion and something almost like hope.
On stage, Mr. White Rabbit bowed low, flourishing his top hat with a sweep that made the crowd laugh. "Now, for the birthday girl, a true royal gift!" He turned to Ace, who stepped forward, her every movement crisp and deliberate. She reached into the air and, with a flourish worthy of any magician, produced a golden crown. It spun in her hands, gleaming in the sunlight, before she settled it gently onto Penelope's head.
Mr. White Rabbit knelt beside her, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "And what does the princess wish for on her special day?"
Penelope thought, her forehead creasing with real effort, before cupping a hand to Mr. White Rabbit's ear and whispering her secret.
He straightened, face hidden but body language triumphant. "A wish fit for a queen!"
He tapped his foot, twice, sharp as a gavel. Ace, her face unreadable, flicked her wrist and pulled a curtain from the air itself, throwing it high above the stage. The fabric billowed, shimmered, and then as if not impossibly it transformed in mid-air, folding and twisting until, with a flash of light, an actual Pegasus landed on the stage. Its wings unfurled, white and silver, eyes wide and wild. The crowd gasped, all pretense of grown-up composure gone.
Kairo hardly noticed. He was still holding Rebecca, feeling the tension bleed away as she calmed under his grip. But the second he let go, the shaking started again, her breath coming too quick, her fingers curling into fists. He pulled her close, whispering nonsense, anything to keep her in the present.
On stage, Penelope's eyes were huge, her mouth open in delighted shock as she reached for the Pegasus's mane. Mr. White Rabbit took a bow, Ace standing perfectly still, watching Rebecca with that same sad, searching gaze.
Kairo looked back and forth between the stage and the table, finally feeling the wrongness settling in his bones. The magic was too big, too thick, the air shimmering with the weight of something old and hungry. He knew, without knowing how, that whatever was happening wasn't for Penelope at all . . .it was for Ace, and Rebecca, and maybe, in the end, for him.
But for now, he held on, steady and sure, as the show went on and the garden filled with cheers and laughter, and no one but him seemed to notice that not all magic is meant to be celebrated.
Penelope was already halfway up the Pegasus when Mr. White Rabbit leaned in, one hand steadying her as she clambered awkwardly onto the enormous white beast's back, her princess skirts gathered in nervous fists. The smile on her face was so wide it nearly split her cheeks, and for a moment. . .just a small, perfect, moment. . . .everything looked like the sort of birthday magic she'd always been promised. The crowd clapped, not quite sure who started it, but the sound rolled through the garden like a wave, echoing off the tables and the stage, bouncing back from the stone lions at the gate.
Everyone clapped,
everyone except Kairo and Rebecca, who were both huddled under their table, hidden behind a drape of pastel tablecloth.
Kairo held Rebecca close, his hands shaking only a little as he tried to keep her calm. Whatever was coming off the girl on stage, it wasn't magic. Or if it was, it was a kind he'd never felt before. He wanted to do something, anything, but every time he reached for the part of himself that could slow or shift time, he found it muffled, locked away. Aurielis was silent, deeper asleep than ever, the golden watch around his neck heavy as a stone. No matter how much he nudged at it, called, begged . . . .nothing.
He was alone in the noise, and the best he could do was keep a grip on Rebecca's wrist and hope his own heart didn't give him away.
Ace, up on stage, watched them vanish under the table. She didn't look alarmed, or even surprised. She just looked away, her eyes flicking back to Mr. White Rabbit, her voice low and flat, the kind of tired that comes from long nights and longer days. "Having too much fun, Jervis? Or can we get on with the plan?"
Mr. White Rabbit spun on his heel, his whole manner shifting in the space of a breath. The mask came off with a flourish with no blood, no drama, just a rabbit's head becoming a man's
. . . .and there he was: Jervis Tetch, the Mad Hatter himself, smaller than you'd expect, all sharp lines and twitchy grace, every part of him vibrating with a nervous energy that made the air around him hum. His straw-blonde hair stuck out in unruly tufts beneath a crooked, emerald-green top hat, and his blue eyes glittered with a kind of glassy, restless calculation. He wore a long, mismatched coat that looked hand-patched a hundred times, a vest buttoned too tightly over a shirt that had seen better centuries, gloves that didn't match, and shoes that didn't care to match either.
He stretched like a cat, rolling his shoulders before brushing off his coat with a flick. "Patience, my dear Ace. Magic's best when it lingers, just a little anticipation, a little dread, and then…" He clapped, a sharp, echoing sound.
The effect was instant. Every guest, every guardian, every parent, all the adults at the tables, then stood up in unison, their faces split into broad, empty smiles. Their eyes went glassy, their movements smooth and obedient, as if someone had pressed pause on their souls and left the bodies to marinate in delight. The only exceptions were the kids, the ones at the center table, and even they felt a chill run through them, the kind that made your teeth itch and your heart bang against your ribs.
Jervis tipped his hat and waved to one of his masked helpers, who now carried a cartoonishly large bag marked with a dollar sign. The helper bounded off the stage, weaving between tables, and the adults with their smiling, docile faces emptied their pockets, their wrists, their necks, their purses. Jewelry dropped into the sack with a clink. Watches, brooches, gold pens, the odd coin purse. There were no protests, no hesitation.
The helper skipped the kids' table, moving instead to the three tables where the richest sat, collecting treasures with the easy efficiency of a magician's assistant in a very high-stakes trick.
Jervis grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he watched the loot pile up. "Thank you, darlings! Don't you just love it when everyone plays along?" He produced a long scroll from his coat, the paper so white it glowed, and began reading names off, one by one. Each adult he marked with a name-tag, starting with Priscilla Penderghast, first, smiling stiffly even as he smoothed the sticker onto her lapel.
"Priscilla, Priscilla, Priscilla," he crooned, each repetition a little more delighted than the last. "Very, very, very, very rich. Marvelous. You do your ancestors proud, sugar."
He moved to Mrs. Cobblepot, whose diamonds were already clinking in the sack. "Oh, my dear Mrs. Cobblepot, you do know you'll have to tell your husband I send my love. The Penguin's going to be ever so cross about this, me, robbing, mind-controlling, and soon enough, kidnapping his wife and two of his darling children. Or is it three today? Depends on which paper you read." He winked, then stuck her with a tag and moved on, humming to himself.
He lingered over Beryl's name. "Dr. Wakati's helper!" he announced, loud enough for several heads to turn. "Not rich, but important! A guardian of the future, perhaps? Or just someone who keeps the secrets moving along. You'll fetch a decent sum, love, if you're clever about it." He winked, lips curling into a too-wide smile.
He checked off a few more names, some guardians, some staff, a couple of parents who looked as if they'd wandered into the wrong party but had the misfortune to be related to someone with an estate or a trust fund.
All the while, Jervis's mood seemed to grow lighter, the old madness bubbling up around the edges of his performance. "You see, ladies and gentlemen, I know every name here! Every face. Every secret. You're all very, very valuable. Gotham's best and brightest, yes indeed. Ransoms. Blackmail. Or maybe just a good old-fashioned story for the papers."
He finished the last name, then turned, slow and deliberate, scanning the garden until his eyes fell on the kids' table. The smile didn't fade, but something in his gaze sharpened, as if he were seeing them for the first time, or maybe just remembering a detail he'd left for dessert.
He stepped off the stage, top hat tilting forward, scroll in hand, and strode toward the kids. The helpers fell in behind him, their masks blank, their movements so smooth they barely disturbed the grass.
Kairo, still clutching Rebecca under the table, felt his mouth go dry. He watched as Jervis drew closer, each step measured, each glance calculated. Addison sat up straight, chin jutting out, while Alaric tried slid off his seat, but his body, not wanting to move, his commands lost in his head. Penelope, still glowing from her Pegasus ride, watched with a mixture of fascination and confusion, her crown sitting crooked atop her blonde curls.
Rebecca, her shaking subsiding for the briefest moment, squeezed Kairo's hand. "I'm ssorrry, please, . . . . . . Stay down and away from . . . . .," she mouthed, her voice barely a whisper.
Beryl, still under the spell, didn't move. Didn't blink.
Jervis stopped at the edge of the table, looking down at the small assembly of children. "Well, well, well," he purred, voice soft as velvet, dangerous as broken glass. "What do we have here? The future of Gotham, all tucked away behind a tablecloth."
He smiled, and it was the kind of smile that made you want to run and never look back. "Let's see if you're as clever as your elders, shall we?"
And with that, the chapter ended, the air thick with the promise of madness and magic, and the first real test of the day, and Kairo's life about to begin.