Page 33 of The Sisters of Crimson House

“We keep the subjects confidential, listed in order of testing. As of today, you are the two hundred twenty-fourth person to attempt Occam’s Razor’s challenge.”

“Two twenty-four?”

He nodded.

She leaned forward and spoke into the recorder. “Two hundred twenty-fourth and final contestant.”

He smirked at her. “Duly noted.”

“I just find it highly ironic you were named Osiris.”

“Yeah?” he said, busying himself with a manila envelope.

“Yeah. His brother was jealous of his power and drowned him inside a box that he dumped in the Nile. His wife magically brought him back from the dead, and he became the god of the underworld. So, in essence, you were named after the dude in charge of ghosts.” She grinned at him. She’d never gone to college, but as far as she was concerned, she had minored in mythology. “Why fight your nature?”

“Sure. It’s also said that the story of Jesus was modeled on the resurrection of Osiris, so by that logic, I should be running around with a Messiah complex.”

“Should be, huh?”

Sy handed the manila envelope to Charley. “Open it,” he instructed.

She opened the folder.

“What do you see inside?”

She turned the folder upside down, a stack of paper and Sharpies falling into her lap. “Uh, I see a stack of paper and some Sharpies.”

“Excellent. Is there anything you see on the paper?”

She picked up the stack of paper, four sheets cut into a five-by-five size and held in place by a paper clip, turning them back and forth. “No.”

“Okay then. Put everything back into the folder and hand the folder to me please.”

She did as instructed. He walked to the other end of the stage, where he then stood, his back to her. “I am now drawing a picture on each piece of paper,” he called out to her. “I am going to return each piece of paper to the folder…” He briskly turned and walked down to the third row of seats, where he turned sideways to fit his frame into the narrow row. “I’m setting the envelope in the seat here.” He turned to her with a triumphant smile. He lifted the recorder to his mouth. She could see his smirk from the stage. “Subject two twenty-four will now attempt to guess the four images in the folder. You may begin.”

She felt her face grow hot. Sweat trickled down her back. What was it with this guy and guessing games? “I guess all four correctly, and I win a hundred thousand dollars?” she said as he made his way to the front row, sitting opposite her.

“You will advance in your quest to win a hundred thousand dollars, yes.”

She looked at him blankly. “Quest? I ace a test, and the prize is another test?”

“If you have magical powers, then you’ll ace them all. So, what is your guess for image number one?”

“I never said I had magical powers. I—”

He cut her off. “You’re stalling.”

“Telepathy isn’t magic,” she exclaimed, frustrated. “It’s a real ability that science has yet to investigate without all the condescension.”

He stared at her.

God. This guy.

“What is your guess for image number one?” He folded his arms, leveling her with a steady gaze. “Using your telepathic abilities?”

Could he read her mind that she wanted to strangle him? Psychic ability didn’t necessarily work on command, not even among her own family members who were celebrated for having it for real. But why else was she here?

He wanted magic? Fine. She thought of the line bisecting her palm, the same Star marking the skin of every woman in her family. She had as much right to be here as anyone. And what right did he have to try to destroy the very thing that made her confounding, maddening family so unspeakably beautiful? And her sister might as well be in cahoots with this man, working in tandem to make sure that ability failed to take root and blossom.