Zigzag Effect Read online

  ‘There is, however, a kind of innocent charm to these pre-Photoshop photos.’ Yoshi looked up at the fuzzy, semi-transparent fairies again. ‘So that’s your first assignment. I want an undoctored photo that tells a lie. You may interpret that how you will – I’m very happy for you to think outside the box. But you can only take a photo of what’s in front of the camera. There is to be no doctoring of the negative, or any digital manipulation.’

  He clicked to a new slide. It was one of his most famous photos, a photo of a fifties-style family. The husband sat at the kitchen table, reading a newspaper and smoking a pipe. A pretty wife in an apron stirred something on the stove. Through the window, you could see two children playing with a dog. Everyone had huge smiles on their faces, revealing white teeth. But their eyes were dead, giving the impression that they were all only pretending to be happy, and that inside they were all screaming.

  A photo that told a lie.

  Sage knew this photo was also a lie because the handsome, square-jawed man in the photo was actually Yoshi’s husband.

  Sage thought of a photo she’d taken just after they’d arrived in Melbourne, of Mum and Dad unpacking boxes in the kitchen. They’d been horsing around laughing. Dad put a copper pot on his head and bent down on one knee before Mum, with a wooden spoon in his mouth. Mum was laughing so hard, tears were running down her cheeks.

  Had that photo been a lie?

  Sage arrived at the theatre on Wednesday an hour before the evening show to find Herb and Bianca sitting on the stage. Bianca wasn’t in her costume, and the stage wasn’t set for the show.

  ‘Armand sent another text,’ Bianca told her. ‘Apparently there’s been some kind of family emergency, and he’s had to leave town for a few days.’

  Sage frowned. ‘Are we sure he’s okay?’

  ‘Who cares?’ said Herb. ‘I just want to know when he’ll be back. We’ll have to cancel again.’

  Bianca yawned, and Sage noticed how tired she looked. Maybe the one-night stand hadn’t just been one night after all. ‘Well,’ she said, standing up. ‘I’m going to tidy up my dressing-room. Then I’m going home.’

  She disappeared into the wings.

  ‘Have you tried calling him?’ Sage asked Herb, hoisting herself up onto the stage to sit next to him.

  Herb nodded and scowled. ‘He’s not picking up.’

  ‘And you don’t think that’s kind of weird?’

  ‘What can I say? Armand’s a weird guy.’

  ‘Has he done this before? Disappeared with no warning?’

  Herb shook his head. ‘Not that I know of.’

  They sat in silence for a moment, Sage enjoying the feeling of his warm arm next to hers, and wondering if he was planning on putting that arm around her.

  ‘About the other night—’ Herb started to say, before he was interrupted by the sound of Bianca screaming.

  They jumped to their feet and sprinted down the corridor to Bianca’s dressing-room to find Bianca standing in front of the mirror, her hands clasped over her mouth and her eyes wide with horror.

  Sage felt a chill around her heart as she looked at the mirror. On it, in blood-red letters, was written a single word.

  RETRIBUTION

  ‘Is – is it blood?’ asked Sage.

  Herb walked up to the mirror and touched a finger to the glass. ‘Lipstick,’ he said, sniffing his finger. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’

  Bianca stared at him. ‘Why would I write that?’ She turned to Sage. ‘I think you were right,’ she whispered. ‘About the curse.’

  Sage blinked. ‘What? No. I was just joking.’

  Bianca swallowed. ‘I did some research on the theatre ghost,’ she said. ‘It’s the spirit of a magician who used to perform in a variety show here, in the 1920s. His name was Renaldo the Remarkable.’

  Herb sighed. ‘Let me guess,’ he said. ‘Remarkable Ron died onstage, performing an effect.’

  ‘How did you know?’ Bianca turned wide eyes on him.

  ‘Using my incredible powers of clairvoyance,’ said Herb wearily.

  Bianca’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she tossed her head. ‘You’re right, it was an escapology routine. He died right here on the stage, in front of everyone. Heart attack.’

  ‘Really?’ said Sage. The scrawled red letters on the mirror seemed to shift and take on meaning. Everything felt different, as if the spilled life force of a human being still inhabited the creaking walls of the theatre.

  Bianca nodded. ‘The story goes that he still haunts the theatre. People have said they’ve seen him sitting in the audience. And strange things have been known to happen here. Maybe we … we made him angry. When we broke the wand and Herb showed such disrespect for the theatre spirits.’

  ‘So what, the ghost of some dead magician wrote on your mirror in lipstick?’ Herb’s voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘Why? Retribution for what?’

  ‘The curse,’ said Bianca. ‘We angered the spirit by breaking a magic wand onstage. The spirit of Renaldo the Remarkable.’

  Sage shivered. The theatre seemed to take on a kind of musty consciousness. She felt like the walls were watching her, and listening to every word she spoke.

  ‘Do you think that this is related to Armand’s disappearance?’ she asked.

  Herb groaned. ‘Not you too,’ he said. ‘Tell me you don’t buy her bullshit.’

  Bianca ignored him. ‘N-no,’ she said slowly. ‘No, I don’t think it’s related.’

  ‘Why your room?’ asked Sage suddenly. ‘Why not our office? I’m the one who broke the wand, and Herb was the one who was such a dick about it.’

  ‘Hey!’ said Herb.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Sage. ‘But you were kind of a dick about it.’

  He pouted. ‘Maybe. But you didn’t have to come out and say it like that.’

  Sage thought somewhat resentfully that she should be able to say what she liked, especially since Herb had taken her out on a date, practically ignored her the whole time and then hadn’t called for three days.

  ‘I don’t know why it’s in my dressing-room,’ said Bianca. ‘Maybe Renaldo’s spirit knows that I’m the only one who’ll listen to him.’

  Sage nodded. ‘I wonder if there’s anything on Armand’s mirror.’

  Bianca looked uncomfortable. ‘He hates it when people go into his dressing-room,’ she said. ‘He’s very private.’

  Herb started towards the door. ‘Let’s do it,’ he said. ‘I’ve actually never been in there.’

  Bianca pulled a tissue from a box and started to clean her mirror. ‘You can go ahead,’ she said. ‘I’m staying here.’

  Herb shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’

  Sage hesitated for a moment, then followed Herb out into the corridor. Someone had to keep an eye on him.

  9. Switch: one item is covertly exchanged for another.

  Armand’s dressing-room was much bigger than Bianca’s, with a little ensuite bathroom off to one side. It was sparsely decorated, unlike the feminine clutter of Bianca’s room. A few books on magic rested on a small shelf. A trunk that Sage assumed contained various kinds of magic equipment was tucked up against the dressing table. Armand’s suit hung on a wire hanger, the coat-tails just brushing the floor.

  Warren was asleep on the dressing table. Herb shook his head. ‘I have no idea how he gets into closed rooms.’

  ‘So what are we looking for?’ Sage whispered.

  ‘Why are you whispering?’ asked Herb in a normal voice. ‘Afraid the ghost might hear you?’ He laughed.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Sage, no longer whispering but unable to raise her voice to its normal speaking volume. ‘I just feel like we’re breaking in – like we’re somewhere forbidden.’

  ‘You’ve been spending too much time with Bianca.’ Herb emptied the wastepaper basket onto the floor. ‘To answer your question, we are looking for clues.’

  ‘Clues?’

  Herb pulled open the drawer of the dressing table and rifled through its content
s. ‘I don’t really know Armand,’ he admitted. ‘I don’t know anything about him. I don’t know where he lives. I don’t know whether he has a wife, or a girlfriend, or a boyfriend. I don’t even know his real name.’

  Sage blinked. Of course Armand wasn’t his real name. He was about as French as Warren was. ‘You’re worried about him, aren’t you?’

  Herb ran a hand through his hair and nodded. ‘Yeah. At first the idea of an Armandless theatre seemed pretty appealing. But it’s not like him to just vanish like this. He’s usually the one who makes other things vanish.’

  Sage looked at Armand’s desk. The pile of papers he’d been studying was gone. Sage wondered again about the missing money, and told Herb.

  ‘How much was missing?’

  ‘Not much, about nine hundred dollars. But that was just what I found. There could be more. He seemed weird when I asked him about it. Really weird. Maybe he’s in debt, or made a bad investment or something. Maybe that’s why he’s had to go away, to try and sort something out.’

  Herb nodded. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Who could tell with Armand? He does a great job of being mysterious. A great magician is like glass – your gaze just slides over him, like he isn’t really there. You never consider looking any deeper.’ He pulled out a handful of objects. ‘On the other hand, I am very clever.’ He dropped the objects on the table and spread them out. ‘Bianca!’ he yelled. ‘Come in here!’

  Bianca appeared at the door. ‘You rang, Your Majesty?’

  ‘I thought you might be interested in watching my display of psychic ability or, as I like to call it, cold reading.’

  Bianca rolled her eyes. ‘Get on with it then,’ she said. ‘I still don’t think we should be in here.’

  ‘Armand is a smoker,’ said Herb, holding up a crumpled but almost full packet of cigarettes. ‘But he’s trying to quit. I found these in the bin.’ Herb held up a Medicare card. ‘His real name is Louis Smyth, and he’s fifty-three years old. He doesn’t return library books.’ He waved a printed-out email with the subject heading OVERDUE BOOKS, then picked up a small electric razor. ‘And he trims his nose-hair. Or ear-hair. Or both.’

  ‘I don’t really see how this is helpful,’ said Bianca with a sigh. ‘It’s just nosy.’

  ‘It’s interesting. And interesting is always helpful.’ Herb slid a folded piece of yellowed newspaper from underneath Warren, and smoothed it out. ‘Well, well,’ he said softly. ‘Will you look at that.’

  He passed it over to Sage. It was a clipping, an article from fifteen years previously.

  THE GREAT ARMAND: THE NATION’S MOST BELOVED MAGICIAN

  The article was about how Armand had just returned from a successful world tour, and was selling out major venues throughout the country. There was also going to be a TV special, during which he’d promised to make the prime minister’s suit change colour.

  ‘Look,’ said Herb, pointing at the photo accompanying the article.

  ‘Armand looks so young,’ said Sage. The man staring out at her was barely recognisable. The confident sweep of his arm, the arrogantly cocked head. Armand looked strong and powerful – not like the slightly shabby, cranky man that she knew.

  ‘Look harder,’ said Herb.

  Sage frowned, staring at the photo. Armand was posed onstage, a glittery assistant beside him on one side, and a black-clad stagehand hanging towards the back. Sage squinted.

  ‘Is that …?’

  ‘It’s Jason Jones,’ said Herb. ‘Huh. Jason Jones used to work for Armand. No wonder Armand hates him so much. Also, how old is Jason? Is he taking some sort of unicorn-blood youth tonic?’

  ‘So?’ Bianca took the article. ‘It’s a small industry. Everyone has worked with everyone else. I’m not in the least surprised.’

  ‘But Armand was really famous,’ said Sage. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Things change,’ said Herb. ‘Magic isn’t cool anymore, unless it’s fancy mentalism, or that big showy stuff, like Criss Angel making all of Las Vegas disappear or whatever. I guess Armand couldn’t keep up with the changing times.’

  ‘That’s sad,’ said Sage.

  ‘That’s life,’ replied Herb.

  Bianca said nothing, just stared at the photo, her expression even more distant and sad than usual. She misses him, thought Sage. Even though he’s horrible to her. It’s still her job. Without him she’s nothing. She made a face. It was an awful thought.

  ‘I don’t know about you two,’ announced Herb. ‘But I’m starving. I’m so hungry I could eat Warren.’

  Warren’s ears twitched at the sound of his name, but he went on sleeping.

  ‘Anyone up for burgers?’ asked Herb.

  Bianca shot him a cold look. ‘So that’s it, is it? A ghost writes a creepy message on my mirror, and you want to get a burger?’

  Herb looked confused. ‘I have to eat,’ he said. ‘I can’t survive on the smell of a cucumber like you can. I get low blood sugar.’

  Bianca stalked back to her dressing-room. Herb turned to Sage with a lopsided grin. ‘Just you and me then, I guess. Come on, we can do the cancellation phone calls later.’

  Sage felt a confused twisting inside. The last time she and Herb had gone out for a meal, there had been kissing. Admittedly there had also been urinating in a bucket, but Sage was choosing to focus on the kissing.

  ‘I love this bit of the city,’ said Herb, as they walked the five blocks to the CBD.

  ‘Are you kidding?’ said Sage. ‘It’s like a ghost town that’s been taken over by fast food chains and crappy laundromats.’

  ‘That’s why it’s so awesome,’ said Herb. ‘At first glance, it’s all cheap and nasty. But then you look up …’

  He pointed at a shop selling cheap mobile phone cases. It had a handwritten sign in the window and barely any shop fittings. Sage tilted her head and gasped.

  Although the ground floor just looked like an ordinary shopfront, the first and second storeys of the terrace building were beautiful. Pale blue paint flaked away from grey stone, and from the intricate plaster roses that wound around the window frames. A crumbling gargoyle clung to the drainpipe at the very top of the building, leering over the edge of the roof and laughing at commuters below.

  ‘Just about every building in this area is like that,’ said Herb.

  Sage kept her head tilted up as they walked. She saw a KFC that sprouted shingled turrets, and an accountant’s office with an elaborate wrought-iron balcony. Everywhere she looked there were art-deco friezes and Grecian pillars.

  ‘I had no idea,’ she murmured.

  ‘You have to look up in this city.’ Herb steered her around a fire hydrant. ‘All the best things are above street level.’

  They squeezed into a tiny, nondescript café and perched on stools by the window, watching commuters scurry by, hunched over against the icy wind.

  ‘Does it ever get warm?’ Sage asked, thinking longingly of her old home.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Herb. ‘Horridly so. Baking heat, and of course nobody has an air conditioner.’

  Sage sighed. ‘I miss the heat.’

  ‘You won’t when it comes around. I bet you a million dollars that by January you’ll be longing for winter.’

  Sage felt a smile tug at her mouth. Would Herb still be around in January?

  ‘What happens when the show finishes?’ she asked.

  ‘It doesn’t,’ said Herb, slurping at his lemonade. ‘We have a few months off during term time, then open up again for the September school holidays. Then another break, then back on from November to February. But it works pretty well – most of the shows are in the evenings, so there’s plenty of time to hang out at the beach during the day.’

  ‘I don’t believe that this city has a beach,’ Sage said. ‘It’s just not possible.’

  Herb grinned. ‘You will love the beach,’ he said. ‘There’re buskers and street performers and lots of interesting food trucks. You’ll see.’

  Sage nibbled on a chip, trying no
t to look too pleased. Herb clearly thought that she’d still be around for summer. Then her stomach plummeted. Maybe she wouldn’t be. Maybe she’d be back in Queensland with Mum. Sage put down the chip and changed the topic of conversation.

  ‘Don’t you believe Bianca?’ asked Sage. ‘About the magician who died in the theatre?’

  ‘Not particularly.’

  ‘You think she’s lying?’

  Herb frowned. ‘Have you seen any evidence of this Ron the Rambunctious? Any newspaper clippings? Tried a Google search?’

  Sage hesitated. ‘But why would Bianca lie?’ she said at last.

  ‘To win,’ he said. ‘To scare the pants off you to get you onside with this ridiculous spiritualism-believing nonsense.’

  ‘No.’ Sage shook her head. ‘She wouldn’t.’

  Herb hesitated for a moment, then sighed. ‘You’re right. She wouldn’t. She’s far too bloody moral.’

  ‘So what, then?’ asked Sage. ‘If she’s not lying, isn’t there a possibility that it’s true?’

  ‘There’s a possibility that lots of things are true,’ said Herb. ‘There’s a possibility that the universe was created by a giant flying spaghetti monster. But it’s pretty unlikely.’

  ‘Don’t you ever just get a feeling?’ asked Sage. ‘In a building or something? Don’t you think that places can be affected by the things that have happened there?’

  ‘Only because of the emotions and memories that people bring to a space. If everyone thinks that a building is haunted, then they’ll feel clammy fingers touching them, and hear whispers in their ears. Draughts will become ghosts passing through them. Water damage becomes the Virgin Mary’s face. It’s called pareidolia – when a random stimulus is perceived as being significant.’

  Sage watched a couple walk past, huddled together against the cold. The girl had her hand in the pocket of her boyfriend’s coat, and they were laughing. She scowled at them. They made it look so easy.

  ‘Does it happen often?’ she asked, trying to get her mind off Herb’s ridiculous mixed signals. ‘Magicians dying, I mean. Are there lots of magic tricks that are really dangerous?’