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“They were just babies when we rescued them,” the other magician said, patting one of the panthers on its alabaster muzzle. “We nursed them to health. Raised them as our own.” More photos showed the little panthers in Biedermeister’s and Bitschi’s arms, frolicking in a backyard, meeting a golden retriever, and playing with an oblivious-looking child.
“Awww,” the audience cried. The women in front of Aria dabbed at their eyes.
The magicians went on about how much they loved the panthers for a little while longer, and then it was back to the show. They trapped a showgirl in a box, stuck fake knives through an audience participant, and encouraged one of the silver panthers to disappear through a flaming hoop. It reappeared in a glass cage on the runway that extended into the audience. A young girl reached up to give the creature a hug, but one of the animal handlers leapt forward and intervened.
When one of the magicians coaxed a panther to balance on its hind legs and dance with him, Aria began to applaud—it was kind of cute. Hallbjorn kicked her. When she looked over, he was staring at her in horror.
“What?” she whispered.
Hallbjorn just stared. Aria slumped down in her seat. What was he so grumpy about?
After another half hour of bad eighties guitar riffs and more crowd swoons, Biedermeister and Bitschi disappeared into a puff of smoke. Everyone went wild. Hallbjorn grabbed Aria’s hand and yanked her up even before the magicians could return to the stage for their curtain call. He walked so quickly out of the theater that she could barely keep up. In the lobby, Hallbjorn glared at the poster of the magicians, then kicked it off its easel.
“What was that for?” Aria cried.
“How can you even ask that?” Hallbjorn’s eyes were wild. “Wasn’t that the most disgusting thing you’ve ever seen? Those guys need to be arrested for animal cruelty!”
Aria glanced at the closed theater door. The crowd was still cheering. “You thought they treated the panthers badly?” she said slowly. “But what about that story they told about rescuing them from Africa? Poachers were going to turn them into carpets! Biedermeister and Bitschi fed them bottles and let them sleep in their beds!”
Hallbjorn snorted. “They didn’t rescue those panthers—they stole them from their natural habitat. And for what? To be chained up twenty-two hours of the day? To be forced to walk on their hind legs? They rode them onto the stage like horses! Where’s the dignity?”
“How are you so sure the panthers are chained up for twenty-two hours a day?”
“I just have a hunch,” Hallbjorn spat. “I gave this show a chance—I thought they would be kind and compassionate to the animals. But it was disgusting. I’ll bet you any amount of money these panthers live in tiny cages, sleep in their own feces, and have no chance to roam free. People shouldn’t be clapping for those magicians. They should be shooting them.”
Aria recoiled. But before she could protest, the doors to the theater opened, and the crowd began to spill out. Aria steered Hallbjorn away from the stream of people, afraid he was going to tell someone who’d had a perfectly good time that the magicians were no better than Michael Vick. “I didn’t realize they were being treated so badly,” she said quietly. “If it’s true, I’m sorry I dragged you to that. That really sucks.”
“It does really suck.” Hallbjorn placed a curled fist into his palm. “There must be something we can do. I can’t stand by and just let this happen.”
Aria gave him a wary look. “I can’t stand by either, but let’s just relax tonight, okay? Have some fun.” She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. She felt him softening. “Didn’t you tell me you’re a master at roulette? I bet I can win more money than you can.”
Hallbjorn paused. He glared at the people leaving the theater, then at the Biedermeister and Bitschi poster, but then he took a deep breath, grabbed Aria’s hand, and smiled. “You’re on,” he said, and led them to the casino.
Chapter 9
Big Winner!
A few hours later, Aria and Hallbjorn were standing over the roulette wheel, watching as it spun around and around. The air was hazy with cigarette smoke, and Aria’s brain was starting to go to mush with the maddening sounds of a zillion slot machines all chirping at once.
“I’m telling you, I think number seventeen is jinxed,” she whispered when the little ball fell into the double zero slot and the croupier raked everyone’s chips away. “We haven’t won once. Maybe we should bet on another number.”
“But seventeen is lucky,” Hallbjorn argued. “My birthday is August seventeenth. My family lives at Seventeen Bergstadastraeti. And the café where you and I met? It was at Two Hundred Seventeen Laugavegur. I think it’s a sign.” He shuffled the remaining chips in his pile. “Just one more bet on seventeen? Please?”
Aria pressed her lips together, staring at the fuzzy green felt on the table. Since there were no windows in this place, she had no concept of what time it was, but she and Hallbjorn had made the rounds of the blackjack, poker, and craps tables, sometimes winning a little, but mostly losing. It had been a lot of fun—Aria had worried about Hallbjorn being opposed to gambling, saying it was wasteful or that the chips were made out of non-biodegradable materials, but he’d seemed just as into it as she was, using his own savings to play the tables. But they were down a hundred dollars—money they couldn’t afford to lose.
“Really, we should be done. We need money for our marriage license and your visa.” Aria looked again for a clock on the wall before she remembered there wasn’t one. “Besides, I bet it’s getting late.”
