it’s going to be a long run. I’ll need to freshen the act sometime. I’ve ordered a new trick, a real beauty.”
Thalia could not help the tiny pang of envy she felt at the thought of being successful enough to commission a completely new trick from the Ostrova Magic Company. Firmly she told herself she was not the least bit curious about what sort of trick it was.
Von Faber gave Thalia another admiring look. “An artist like me, I see possibility everywhere. Don’t you feel left out either, Thallie. I can always use another pretty assistant.”
Thalia stiffened and drew herself up to her full height. Von Faber’s disrespectful admiration made her skin crawl. The man was old enough to be her father. If he talked like that to her, how did he treat his actual assistant? The man was a bully. Thalia despised bullies. “Don’t call me Thallie.”
Nutall said, “Stop this impertinence.”
Von Faber ignored them both. “I saw a matinee of yours in Trenton. I don’t think much of the Lady of the Lake bit. It’s old-fashioned. But the chains are good, Thallie. I liked you in chains.”
Deep inside, Thalia’s disgust stirred her anger. Before she could respond, Nutall’s hands closed around Von Faber’s throat. Before he could protest, Von Faber was off balance, pressed back against the wooden counter, eye to glaring eye with the Englishman.
Nutall’s voice was ice and velvet. “Can I possibly have heard you correctly?” He tightened his grip. “Do you dare to offer Miss Cutler an insult?”
Von Faber’s heavy jaw worked for a moment before he got words out. “Unhand me, sir.”
Nutall’s grip didn’t change. Neither did his cold, soft tone. “Thalia, please go find Madame Ostrova. You don’t need to see this.”
Von Faber had gone beefy red. “Let me go, you sod. Don’t touch me.” He shoved Nutall back. Grappling and swearing, they fell to the floor, struggling for advantage in their wrestling match. Von Faber, growling, tried to bite Nutall. They rolled this way and that, knocking the spittoon into the far corner.
Thalia stepped away from the wall, judging the angles as the fight continued. If the opportunity came, she would take a swing at Von Faber herself.
A gunshot froze them, and all eyes turned to the inner door. Madame Sophia Ostrova stood scowling at them, with what closely resembled a Colt .45 in her hand. Thalia glanced at the tin ceiling. It was unmarred. Behind Madame Ostrova, the elegant Mr. Ryker looked on, obviously fascinated.
“Was a blank,” Madame Ostrova informed them. Her thickened voice betrayed the fact that she was suffering from a head cold. “Next one is not.”
Nutall released Von Faber, got to his feet, and gave Madame Ostrova a courtly bow. “Good morning, Madame Ostrova. So sorry we disturbed you. I think you remember Miss Thalia Cutler.”
Von Faber struggled to his feet. “You are my witness, Madame Ostrova. This man attacked me. I think he is crazy.”
Madame Ostrova glared at all of them. “Whatever this is about, you’re all wrong. This is my place. No call to settle things here.”
Nutall inclined his head. “My apologies for the disturbance. I assure you it was not unprovoked.”
Madame Ostrova’s grimness eased. She gave Nutall a nod. His apology had been accepted. She turned her glare to Von Faber.
Unwillingly, Von Faber muttered the apology Madame Ostrova was so obviously waiting for. She gave him a nod of his own.
Calmed by this, Von Faber put his silk top hat back on, straightened the diamond stickpin in his cravat, and gave Thalia a crooked half smile. “My offer stands, girl. I’ll pay top dollar for your father’s old-fashioned tricks. You’ll have steady work as my assistant. I can promise you good working conditions as long as you … cooperate.”
His dirty little smile made Thalia want to kick him in the face, throw her shoe away, and scrub her foot raw. She did her best not to let any of that show. She could tell she wasn’t fooling Nutall. With great difficulty she limited herself to a curled lip and the words “Go to hell.”
Mr. Ryker, still watching from the doorway, gave Thalia a bit of applause. “Miss Cutler, I admire a woman of spirit.”
Thalia ignored him.
Von Faber said to Nutall, “Some lady you’ve got there. I see you’ve made a silk purse into a sow’s ear.”
Madame Ostrova cocked her gun. She was still pointing it at the ceiling, not at Von Faber, but her scowl had returned. “Go.”
“Gladly.” When Von Faber left, he slammed the door