One of his shoes taps lightly on the ground, keeping time with my accelerated heartbeat.

I’m stuck like a freaking rabbit in a hat, except I can’t make myself disappear, so I drop my hand and glare up at him.

He gives me a wicked grin, catching the cards dancing between his lithe fingers in one hand. Holding out his other hand to me, he says, “Give a round of applause for my lovely assistant.”

I force myself from my chair, ignoring his outstretched palm as I step around him into the aisle.

He lets out a roaring laugh and leans down to spike-hair. “Pleasant company, isn’t she?”

Spike-hair laughs at my expense with the rest of the audience.

My skin tingles from embarrassment, and my pulse beats too hard in my throat, like all my blood’s trying to make a run for it, and I can’t tell if it’s begging me to turn and leave or begging me to take the stage. I choose the latter.

At least a couple of people give me a jealous glare as I pass.

When we reach the steps, he holds out his hand for me again. Probably because he knows I won’t take it. I don’t. He gives a soft chuckle only I can hear—a joke between us and not the audience.

I hope I get to throw knives at him.

The spotlights shift and follow us to center stage. Squinting, I tug at the hem of my T-shirt, wishing I’d worn some of my new clothes.

The boy gives me an exaggerated bow as the audience laughs.

Rising, he splits the deck between both hands and flicks his thumbs at the same moment, creating two perfect fans of cards. Bringing them together, he flaps them toward the audience like a childish butterfly. One clearly drunk girl in the front row giggles. He raises an eyebrow at the rest of the crowd. “No?”

Someone boos, but the boy only chuckles in response before turning back to me. A red stone in a brown leather cuff on his wrist blinks in the light as he angles the cards for only me to see.

“Choose your fate.”

Not my card. He’s awfully dramatic, yet the words pause my hand. I glance up at his face, relaxed and amused, but his eyes don’t match—green and burning like an unnatural fire on damp spring grass. They narrow at my hesitation.

I focus back on the cards and raise my hand, plucking the queen of spades from directly under his thumb and pulling it back against my chest. Mom’s favorite card.

A sly smile crosses his face, like he already knows what I chose. It changes from sly to dazzling as he turns back to the audience.

“Show these lovely people your card, please. Don’t let me see it.”