Soul Surrender by Katana Collins Page B

repeated, his voice serious. The sort of deadpan tone I’d long ago learned was not to be argued with.
    I looked back to Buckley with a shrug. “He’s the boss,” I said with a smile.
    â€œHe sure is, isn’t he?” Buckley’s own predatory smile penetrated me to my belly and sent a shiver through my whole body. I didn’t like the look he gave Lucien. Not one bit. “Well, let’s get started then. Come up with me. What was your name?”
    â€œLucien,” he said into the microphone and followed Buckley to the stage. Hesitation gnawed at my gut, and Lucien flashed me a wink along with the tiniest reassuring smile he could muster as Buckley led the way.
    Buckley did a strange lunge and hand motion thing. “And Lucien—have you ever seen magic quite like this before?” With one hand in the air, sparks flew from his fingertips as though each nail were its own sparkler.
    Lucien quirked an eyebrow and slid a palm over his black ponytail. “I don’t know,” he answered coolly. “That Copperfield guy is pretty damn good.”
    There was a hum of laughter through the audience as Lucien held Buckley’s stare, unwavering. Buckley laughed right along with everyone else. “I think we’ve got our own comedian up here tonight!” He directed the statement to the audience. “A hand—for Lucien. I must confess, my assistant for this trick is almost always a woman. But this could be a fun twist. . . .”
    His words drifted off and the music blasted through the speakers. Two of the rogue angels rolled out a long, white box. It almost looked like the sort of thing you could purchase at a certain Swedish store and put together yourself during the course of one episode of The Bachelor .
    â€œAs you can see, this is a simple box! Nothing more, nothing less.” With one hand in the air, he levitated the box and brought it off the stage and over the audience. “Please, ma’am, in the front row—stand. Look inside and around back. Does this box appear to be anything out of the ordinary?”
    A plump woman stood and knocked a few times on each side, shaking her head. “Looks normal to me,” she shouted in a deeply southern accent.
    With a flick of his wrist, Buckley had the box lowered center stage once more. With a flourish he danced around, and Lucien stood statuesque with arms folded across his broad chest. His narrowed eyes followed Buckley’s fluid movements and yet he didn’t flinch when Buckley appeared in front of his face with a crack .
    â€œI think what we have here—is a doubter!” Buckley called to the audience. “What do you all say we try to make a believer out of him?” He turned to Lucien, gesturing at the box. “Please, sir. Enter.”
    I twitched in my seat and Damien grabbed my hand, circling his thumb over my knuckle. “It’ll be okay,” he whispered. “Lucien knows what he’s doing.”
    I nodded but didn’t quite believe it. None of us knew what we were doing—not when it came to Buckley and this damn bounty.
    Lucien clomped with slow, deliberate steps into the box. His dark eyes met mine. Only this time, he didn’t smile.
    â€œThis is the point in the show,” Buckley boomed, clutching a hand to the door, swinging open on its hinges, “where every other magician you know would shut this. However, here at the Rogue Angels, we don’t believe in closed door magic.”
    I snorted at that. I couldn’t help it. His whole shtick was just so ridiculous to anyone who had the slightest knowledge of the arcane. Of course most people here thought these were just some amazing parlor tricks.
    From the audience, I could see Lucien’s jaw clenching and unclenching. He cracked his neck to each side.
    Buckley began a chant, his palms in the air. Cool wind blew down on the audience from the ceiling, feeling as though a strong air