Magic Mansion by Jordan Price (best fiction books to read .txt) 📕

wide on a narrow ledge on each side of the lid. Immediately the lid slid forward, and Faye squirmed out in her gold mini dress.

Ricardo dropped into the cabinet stage right, shedding his gold tuxedo pants, and ripping off his outer shirt and vest. He wadded the costume into the corner of the cabinet, and then snatched up the bag. The bag was tricky. It felt like he was turning it around and around endlessly in his cramped semi-fetal position, searching for an open bottom that had somehow ceased to exist, as the seconds on the scoreboard ticked relentlessly away. And he wondered, while he did it, if Kevin had somehow known it would happen. If he had some way of predicting that for all his training and all his experience, Ricardo would be bested by something as stupid as a trick bag. Monty’s voice filtered through the sides of the box, punctuated by the sound of rope rasping on wood as Faye worked the granny knot open. Of course Kevin couldn’t have known. Even if he was a True magician, he couldn’t see the future…could he? Finally, Ricardo forced out all thoughts of Kevin Kazan, took a calming breath, focused, and felt his fingers slip into the bag’s bottom. He pulled the bag over his head and called, “Ready!”

It was less than a second between his signal and the moment that Faye slid open the lid—couldn’t possibly have been more than that. But in that brief pause, Ricardo felt a sense of déjà vu rush over him—and it was as if he was back on the screened-in porch in St. Paul…thirteen years old? No, younger than that. Twelve. And Krista Franke, his very first assistant, had just duct-taped him into a refrigerator box.

Krista hadn’t stood on top of that corrugated cardboard cabinet while Ricardo freed himself from a laundry bag, though it probably would have borne her weight. She’d never exceeded a hundred pounds, even when the two of them were carb-loading as competitive skaters. She had a figure like Faye. Tiny, but strong.

Strong enough—years later—to leave a hand-print on his cheek when she discovered the Tom of Finland chapbook in his skating bag (pages full of swarthy men with lusciously rounded asses, and dark nipples gleaming as if they’d been oiled) and she realized the reason he’d become so unaffectionate, so distant, had nothing at all to do with her being the one to nab the McLoraine Figure Skating Scholarship.

She’d been looking for his ever-present pack of Trident. Ever since then, the taste of chewing gum turned Ricardo’s stomach—even now. Half a lifetime away.

A tug—it was Faye hauling on the slipknot now, not Krista. Heck, back then, Ricardo hadn’t even known how to tie one. A quick smooth of his hair, and Ricardo held his head high as the bag fell away, and he turned toward the cameras—surely he was allowed to look in their direction during a challenge—and smiled.

“That’s one minute, fourteen seconds for the Gold Team,” Monty said happily, but his tone was nothing to judge by. He always sounded perky.

Ricardo bent toward Faye and said in her ear, “What about Red Team?”

Faye nuzzled Ricardo’s cheek with her head and said, “They never stood a chance.”

Red Team’s cabinet lid hit the floor with a clatter, and Fabian, covered by the bag, stood. Ken untied the bag and revealed a rumpled-looking Fabian a full twelve seconds after Ricardo had emerged, smiling, from his own bag. Though they hadn’t won, the Red Team members faced the cameras with dignity and good sportsmanship, and gave a bow. Then they turned toward the Gold Team to give them a congratulatory salute.

As Ricardo waved back, he saw Ken’s fly was open.

On television.

He was so mortified for Ken, so completely flabbergasted, he actually froze for a moment with his hand mid-wave, and it took all his effort to keep his smile from slipping.

“So close,” Monty said to the Red Team. Hard to tell if he could even see the open fly from where he stood. “You were fast, but unfortunately, not fast enough to beat the Gold Team.” He turned to face Ricardo and Faye. “That means, Gold Team, that you win the Metamorphosis Challenge. And as your prize, you’ll spend tomorrow getting your own personal metamorphoses—that is, makeovers—from stylist to the stars, Eliza Watt!”

“Makeover?” Faye said through her smile, between clenched teeth. “If they’re planning on messing with my hair, they can think again.” She was almost as good a ventriloquist as Charity…who really could have used that makeover.

Ricardo had just had his hair trimmed and his brows waxed that week, but heck. He wasn’t averse to a bit of star treatment. Maybe it was exactly what he needed to stop rehashing the Worst Days of his Life at the first sign of stress.

“Unfortunately, Red Team,” Monty said, “you’ll be participating in a metamorphosis of your own. Some hedges behind the mansion were skipped on the last round of garden maintenance. You’ll spend the day trimming them back into shape.”

“I guess I’d rather have the makeover,” Faye whispered. “As long as they don’t try to give me a haircut. My hair grows really slow.”

“Okay, everybody,” Iain called, “that’s a rap. Eat, drink, be merry, have a cigarette, go back to your room and cry, or do whatever it is you do. A small camera crew will be present, as usual, to record your reactions to the day’s events. We expect you to be up and at ’em bright and early, ten a.m., for your makeovers or your slave labor. Any questions?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Ricardo flinched, startled.

Apparently Ken Baron had finally noticed the state of his fly.

_____

“Looks like another wild night at the mansion is already underway. The Gold Team is enjoying its moment in the spotlight, with champagne flowing all around. Amazing Faye and Ricardo the Magnificent truly earned their appellations in this challenge.

“The leader of the Red Team took a gamble with some risky strategy, and his gambit didn’t