The Beautiful Ones - Silvia Moreno-Garcia Page 0,19
dangling above the audience’s head. He lost his grip and plummeted and everyone shrieked. Nina pressed a hand against her mouth, jumping up from her seat, the clangor of a cymbal punctuating the beating of her heart, but then he rose again, smiling, and everyone let out a breathless sigh as the music swelled and the announcer declared that this was Hector Auvray, ladies and gentlemen, the one and only.
“Please put your hands together for Mr. Auvray,” said the announcer.
Nina obeyed and clapped as hard as she could. Valérie pulled her back down, onto her seat, with an angry scowl.
When the show ended, Nina and Valérie remained in their box. Valérie slowly fanning herself, Nina fiddling with her gloves—she’d taken them off and now struggled to put them on again. Hector arrived shortly after. He had changed into more casual wear, a gray dinner jacket, an overcoat under his arm. Tall, slim, and charged with a palpable magnetism that might have been the energy left from his performance, he stepped forward, and Nina dropped one of her gloves.
“Ladies,” he said with a bow, kissing Valérie’s hand, then Nina’s. “I hope you enjoyed yourselves.”
“It was amazing!” Nina said at once. “I’ve never seen the likes of it.”
She might have told him a thousand things she had enjoyed, but he turned to Valérie politely.
“And you, what did you think?” he asked Valérie.
“It was a fine performance.”
“Had you ever seen a show of this type?”
Valérie’s mouth was grave. She shook her head. “Not on this scale,” Valérie replied.
“You must tell me how you do it. Especially the process with the cards,” Nina said.
“Don’t be a bother, Nina. I’m sure he does not want to explain the finer details of his work.”
“Perhaps in the future we can discuss it,” he said.
She felt vindicated by his words. Valérie made it seem like it was horrid to be interested in telekinesis. Nina could not see the harm in it. It was not as if she could pretend she was not a talent of a sort herself. Ever since she was a girl, she’d made things move. She’d given the maids a bit of a fright at times—the rain of stones upon the house lingered heavy in everyone’s memory—and she couldn’t control it well, but Nina tried to consider it all in a scientific light. The universe was unveiling new wonders every day, the motorcar and the photographic camera, to name but a handful of the inventions dazzling the world. She preferred to classify herself as one of these new wonders.
On occasion her thoughts turned less jovial. There were taunts and misunderstandings, angry recriminations when her ability disturbed the household. Even Mama and Madelena had at times looked at her with worry.
“Would you like to go to Maximilian’s?” Hector asked.
“Can we?” Nina asked, turning to Valérie.
“Only for a few minutes,” Valérie replied.
Maximilian’s was close by. They walked. At this point in the night, the restaurant was busy, but Hector had either secured a reservation or was deemed sufficiently important that they were quickly shown to their table.
The inside was brightly illuminated, gleaming silver and sparkling glass and lacquered tables dazzling the eye. Hector ordered champagne and ether-soaked strawberries. The combination was tangy, but not unpleasant.
When they socialized, Valérie invariably directed the conversation, but Nina was emboldened, either by the setting or the company, and she raised her voice and her glass.
“You must tell me what Iblevad is like,” Nina said.
“It would be difficult to describe a whole continent,” he said soberly.
“Do try,” she said.
Nina had seen drawings in books, colorful plates that reproduced the flora and fauna of Iblevad, but she wanted him to speak of it, to make it more real. He seemed to give it a thought.
“The north is gruesomely cold in the winter. Sometimes when you take a breath, it hurts, that is how cold it is. But to the south there are jungles, and if you walk there in the summer, under the heat of the noon sun, you will truly believe you will be cooked alive even if you wear a straw hat.”
“And armadillos roam all around?” she asked.
“There are armadillos, yes.”
“Iridescent butterflies, too.”
“Yes.”
“It must be a sight, Port Anselm in the spring.”
He had, until that moment, been distracted, but his eyes fixed on her then as if he had just noticed they were sharing a table, and there was mirth in his gaze. What she’d said had pleased him, and his words came more easily, regaling her with an exact description