But then I felt the creases made by Arie’s hand, the wrinkles like Papa’s fingers on mine, and something deep inside me stirred as if being drawn from hibernation. A misery that shouldn’t be roused. I shoved the note under my pillow, weighted by my head.

She shrank back, seeming more wounded than disappointed.

It wasn’t my intention to cause either. “Listen,” I said. “I’ll read you something else. During the day, when it’s easier to see. Okay?”

She brightened again. “Like a book?”

“Sure.”

“You know, there was a girl who used to read stories to some of us, but then she got too old to live here.” A pause. “So you have some?”

“What?”

“Books.” She laughed softly, as if I was silly not to be following.

My Houdini book was stored in my valise under my cot. It hadn’t seen a speck of light since the morning I packed mindlessly, bringing essentials like my comb and clothes, leaving my drawing pad and all other amusements. Aside from the wooden train, which somehow I’d thought to grab.

“I do have one. But it’s not the kind with a story.”

She knit her brow. “What sorta book doesn’t have a story?”

“A book on magic.”

“Like…for spells?” She sounded worried.

“Just magicians’ tricks. For putting on a show.”

Her features eased, then promptly tightened with excitement. “Can you show me some? I’ve always wanted to see magic.” She barely contained her whisper.

“Maybe… I don’t know.”

“How come?”

Because it was hard to care about such things anymore. “I haven’t got my supplies.”

“Oh. Well, what do you need? Tell me and I’ll find a way to get ’em.”

Her prattling should have worn on me. Somehow it didn’t. Besides, we weren’t sleeping anyway. “Have you got a penny? Or a marble? Something small.”

She glanced around. “Ooh. I know.” She tugged off a quarter-sized button from the neck of her nightgown and shrugged. “It was loose already.”

I sat up and made space on my cot as Poppy crept over. Cross-legged, she set aside the train and delivered the wooden button that was just rough enough for a nice grip.

Her brows dipped in anticipation as I baited her gaze to follow the disk in a slow zigzag between us. I appeared to place it in my left hand, made a fist, and—poof!—palm splayed, the button was gone. Her mouth formed a small o, which tripled in size when the button reappeared in my right hand, and a squeak escaped her throat.