Born of Deception

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A circle of children surround me, their bright faces turned upward, as if eagerly awaiting the cascading lights of a fireworks show. They’re not, of course. The stuffy, proper salon of the Rex would never allow something as gaudy as fireworks to invade its gilded interior. The impromptu magic show I’m performing is probably as garish a display as the ship has ever seen.

“What’s up your sleeve today, miss?” The little boy’s British accent reminds me of Cole, and I smile.

I’d been heading to the upper deck to catch my first glimpse of England when I was waylaid by a mob of beribboned, curly-headed girls and freckle-faced little boys in short pants. It had begun the first day aboard ship, when I’d shown a sobbing child a simple magic trick to help her harried mother. From that moment on, I’d been like the Pied Piper of Hamelin, followed by children wherever I went. They seemed to communicate by some unseen network of signals because they would appear out of nowhere, demanding tricks. I didn’t mind. Performing simple tricks for children is a joy.

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