A thirty-piece orchestra joined in the applause for the man in the white tuxedo and top hat. Malakhai stood above them on the smaller stage of the platform and cast his shadow on the drawn red curtains hanging from the crossbar. High on the back wall of the Carnegie stage, a video screen made his image several times larger than life.
The audience rose to its feet in screams of „Encore! Encore!“ Feet were stamping, hands clapping.
At Malakhai’s bidding, the men and women of the orchestra stood up to accept their own bravos. The magician had come out from behind the platform curtains five times to answer his encores with a deep bow. And now the audience shouted as a single entity, amplified with three thousand voices, „Louisa, Louisa, Louisa – “
Mallory stood in the dark, watching through a narrow opening in the stage doors. The magician turned her way, one hand outstretched and beckoning.
To her? No, of course not.
„ – Louisa, Louisa – “
She stepped behind one door as the other one slowly opened and a shadow appeared on its lit surface. The edges of the dark silhouette were soft and the form was indistinct, but it moved, it even seemed to breathe, and Mallory was wary of it – wary of her.
„ – Louisa, Louisa, Louisa – “
Mallory’s eyes went everywhere, to the overhead bank of lamps and cables, then to the balcony lights, looking for the works and wires to make this happen.
The conductor’s baton was rising, and the crowd fell silent, straining to catch each note as the orchestra began to play again.
The silhouette darted onto the stage, encircled by a bright spotlight that failed to kill her dark form. The string section made light running notes as Louisa raced along the back wall. Then her shadow elongated on the platform staircase as she climbed the steps to thirteen soft strokes of the drum and rhythmic notes of oboe and cello that made her heartbeat. When she reached the top of the elevated stage, Louisa’s shadow stood beside Malakhai as she took a last bow with him. Their shadows were holding hands.
The audience was rising to a stand in waves that began in the front row and rippled toward the seats in the back of the theater, then up through the balconies to the ceiling, accompanied by the rumbling thunder of madly clapping hands – all for the dead woman.
The music shifted its shape, changing cadence away from the classical form of Louisa’s Concerto. The musicians played with only a few instruments – strings and soulful horns. So Riker had been mistaken; one could dance to this music.
Louisa did.
Malakhai turned to her and their shadows melded on the red curtain. The cheers nearly drowned out the music, as the pair turned in slow steps.
The solid man melted back behind the curtains. His shadow remained with Louisa. And now her silhouette was sharpening into a finer form; the profile was young and elfin. The stage walls deepened to indigo, and cymbal tings dropped into the music – the sound of falling stars.
And Mallory guessed it must be a year in the early forties, a very good year for wine and life. The boys were all together, and Louisa was still alive. The magician’s shadow had changed his top hat for a cap, and he was a boy again, dancing with his young wife. One by one, the musical instruments fell silent. The lovers turned slowly, gracefully, moving closer together in the bluesy riff of a single horn. The last note faded.
The audience went wild, filling the vast space with a deafening roar of cheers and the higher notes of whistles. And when the spotlight was killed and the shadows had died in the dark, the screams went on and on.
Mallory watched the center panel on the side of the platform, but no one appeared at the door to the interior room. Was Malakhai inside or standing behind the curtain?
A brief intermission was announced. The patrons were leaving their seats and moving toward the back of the hall. Mallory passed through the stage doors and fought against the opposing flow of workers carrying chairs and music stands toward the wings. Max Candle’s Lost Illusion would be accompanied only by the ticks of the clockwork gears on the crossbow pedestals.
Mallory walked along the stage wall for a better look at the back of the platform curtains. The magician was not up there. She walked to the center panel and put her hand on the pressure latch. The door opened on the lit interior room, but Malakhai was not there either. Crossing over to the other pair of doors, she followed the last musician out of the hall.
The backstage area was lit by two monitors and a shielded bulb over the abandoned lighting console. The man who worked at this post was headed for the 56th Street exit, pulling out a cigarette as he walked.
Where were the uniformed officers she had posted at the doors?
She heard voices in low conversation close by. Rounding a pillar of stacked furniture, she found Malakhai. He had changed into a dark suit and tie, and now he was talking with Officer Harris.
Well, at least one of the uniforms had not botched the job of guarding the stage exit. „Harris, where’s your partner?“
Malakhai answered for the man. „Officer Briant is over there.“ He pointed toward the open stage doors, and Mallory turned to see Charles and the second uniform installing pedestals in the wells of the platform step. Malakhai put one hand on the shoulder of the man beside him. „And Officer Harris has to join his partner before the intermission ends.“
„He’s not taking orders from you,“ said Mallory.
„Or you.“ Harris was not even trying to conceal impatience. „We were invited for the magic act, Mallory. Nobody said anything about guard duty.“ He walked off through the stage doors, heading for the platform.
Mallory looked at her watch. Would Riker be downtown yet? She estimated twenty minutes of bad traffic between Faustine’s to the north and the theater district fifteen blocks south of Carnegie Hall.
Malakhai was standing by the doors, watching the uniformed officers carry the oval target to the top of the platform. „You can’t blame Harris for being testy. He’s an artist now, isn’t he? How many cops get to play Carnegie Hall?“ He smiled at her. „Would you like a few minutes in show business, Mallory? Charles could use an assistant tonight.“
„You said Max Candle always worked alone.“
„But Charles is only a gifted amateur.“ He was looking at the clock behind her. „So, what’s the news? Did Franny show up at Faustine’s?“
„No, Riker said another magician went on in his time slot. The stage manager hasn’t heard from him since he disappeared.“
„What a pity. He’s waited so long for a chance like this. Franny must be devastated.“
„No, he’s probably dead.“ She watched his face for signs of disquiet, but there were none. „Do you want Prado to get away with that? Hasn’t he done enough killing? Help me. Give me something I can use on that bastard.“
„All right.“ He waved one hand toward the platform. „I’ll tell you how I knew Oliver botched the Lost Illusion.“
The platform curtains had been pulled back and the oval target was suspended between the posts. The two officers were climbing the stairs with the demonstration dummy as the audience flooded back into the hall. When the crowd was seated and silent, Charles stood at the edge of the stage, crediting the crossbow act to his famous cousin, Max Candle.
Malakhai spoke close to her ear to be heard over Charles’s recital on the history of the Lost Illusion. „Oliver could’ve avoided three of the arrows. Max always made a great show of struggling with the manacles while he was shifting his body to dodge the first three. But Oliver didn’t even try. When the cuff key jammed, he knew he was going to be killed by the last arrow in the heart.“
„Tell me something I don’t know.“ She looked through the stage doors.
The officers had finished chaining the dummy to the target with their own handcuffs, and they were descending the staircase.
He was staring at the platform. „Watch the policemen loading the arrows into the magazines. There’s nothing to block the shots. They will all fire.“
Charles nodded to each pedestal in turn, and the officers cocked the weapons and pressed the buttons to start the gears. The volume of the ticking increased as each pedestal was set in motion, wheels turning, red-flagged pegs rising toward their triggers in the crossbow pistols. The audience was dead silent, mesmerized by the sound.
Malakhai pointed to the demonstration dummy spread across the face of the target. „Let’s make the problem more personal. Say that’s Charles up there. Assume the act is rigged to kill him. You want to save him, but you can’t interfere with the first arrow. That would throw off his timing, and he’d take it in the neck – like Oliver did.“
The first arrow flew. The dummy’s throat was ripped open and spilling sawdust on the floorboards of the platform stage.
„If you can’t stop the act before that first arrow flies, then I suggest you move between the second arrow and the third one. You only have seconds to run between the shots.“
The ticking lessened by one more pedestal as the second arrow hit the dummy’s right leg. „You’ll keep him alive if you can pull up the crossbow at the near corner of the platform. That’s the one that kills. You have to lift it off the pedestal. You can’t just pull out the trigger peg – not without a wrench. Charles wedged it in that tight.“
Another bow fired and the arrow pinned the dummy’s left leg.
„How does any of this help me nail Nick Prado?“
„It doesn’t. But it might keep Charles alive.“ He turned his back and walked toward the exit sign, heading for the stairs down to the street. „I told you he might need some help, and I can’t stay for the rest of the act.“
The final arrow tore open the dummy’s chest.
„Malakhai, you’re not going anywhere.“
The officers were climbing the stairs again to retrieve the gutted burlap body.
Malakhai looked at the clock on the wall. „Nick should be finishing his act soon. The finale might be worth catching. I really have to fly.“
She grabbed his arm. „You’re not going after Prado. You leave him to me.“
He turned on her, and before she could react, he was holding her face in both his hands, gently bringing her close to him. There was no time to pull back. His arms enfolded her, and his lips brushed her hair. He kissed her cheek and held her in a tight embrace. Though unaccustomed to contact and warmth, she did nothing to end it. Then, with both hands on her shoulders he held her at a distance. „That’s just in case I can’t remember you when we meet again.“
„I’ll be right next to you. I’ll remind you.“
„No, Mallory. You have to stay here and keep Charles alive. I promise you, there’s nothing in those magazines to block any of the arrows.“
Charles was standing at the base of the staircase.
„You expect me to – “
„Believe it, Mallory. All the arrows will fire, and he’ll never get out of those manacles. I got this idea from you – last night, when you asked me if I’d hurt Charles. If not for you, it never would’ve occurred to me. Remember, Charles is doing this to impress you, so it won’t be easy to talk him out of it. You may have to shoot him.“
She turned to the stage. The officers were bowing to the audience. So what were the odds they would come running when she called? „You wouldn’t hurt him.“
„No, I love Charles. In your own strange way, I think you’re also rather fond of him.“
„I’m not buying it, Malakhai. I don’t believe you’d let him die.“
„I never lied to you, Mallory.“ He turned his back on her.
„Stop! You know I’ll shoot you.“
„Remember, if you can’t stop him from mounting the platform, you have to pull the front crossbow off the pedestal.“ He was moving under the exit sign.
She pulled out her revolver and aimed low to shoot a leg out from under him.
What the hell?
The revolver was too light. She fired off a click. The prop gun wasn’t even loaded with a charge.
The kiss. He had taken her gun with a kiss and left a toy in its place. And now he was gone. The doors closed behind him.
Charles was walking toward the first crossbow with the officer who would set the gears in motion. Standing between the doors to the stage and the doors to the street, she damned Jack Coffey for shorting her on manpower.
„Wait!“ She ran onto the stage and grabbed Charles by one arm. „You can’t go on.“
He glanced over one shoulder to look at the three thousand expectant faces behind them. „Well, actually, I am on.“ There was tittering in the audience, though his voice had been low. Now he removed her hand from his arm, saying, „So you’ll excuse me, Mallory, but – “
„Malakhai rigged your act. If you go ahead with it, you’ll die.“
More laughs came from the audience. And now she saw the microphone on Charles’s lapel.
He looked down at her, saying in a louder voice, „Mallory, it’s a solo act.“
And the audience was laughing again. His foolish face was no good to him in a poker game, but it did lend itself to comedy.
She put her hand over his microphone. „You can’t go through with this. Your cuff key won’t work.“
Charles grinned. „Malakhai told you that, did he?“ As he turned to face the audience, his voice was booming, needing no amplifier in the perfect acoustic realm of the great hall. „She doesn’t want me to go through with the act. Thinks it might be dangerous.“
And now they were all laughing at her. She could feel the heat rising in her face. „If you go up those stairs, I’ll dismantle the crossbows. I don’t have time to screw around, Charles.“ She moved toward the deadliest weapon at the corner of the platform.
„Do you mind?“ He gripped her wrist to stop her from pulling the crossbow off its pedestal. „Perhaps we could discuss this another time.“ Charles picked her up and put her over one shoulder, as if she weighed no more than a sack of screaming, pounding feathers. He carried her to the side of the platform. And now the door was opening in the wooden wall.
„No!“ she screamed, beating her fists, forgetting that this would be akin to flies landing on the back of a man Charles’s size.
And the audience was roaring.
„No!“ Mallory was deposited on the floor inside the platform. She landed on the empty back pocket of her jeans, where her cell phone used to make a bulge – but no longer.
Damn Malakhai.
The door slammed shut. The tin lampshade cast a bright pool of light on the floor, and the ceiling was in shadow. Mallory was on her feet and banging her fists on the wood. „Let me out!“
The crowd fell silent, and she could hear the loud tick of the first pedestal gear through the baffle of the walls. Seconds later, the next one was armed. The ticking grew louder with each pedestal set in motion. She heard his footfalls halfway up the staircase, and screamed, „Stop now! Go back down, or you’ll die!“
He stomped his foot on the middle stair, and she heard his amplified voice saying, „Quiet! You’ll break my concentration.“
The audience was laughing again. She was an even bigger joke. „Charles, you have to stop the act!“
He was on the small stage at the top of the stairs, stomping on the floor. „Enough!“ he yelled.
More laughs.
Mallory looked up at the shadows on the ceiling. Charles had said there was no way out except for the knobless door, but there were two exits from the prop room in Charles’s basement. Malakhai had said that Oliver’s copy was made too well. This original might have a weakness.
The ticking was loud. The trapdoor dropped open in the nine-foot ceiling, and the lazy tongs were rising up through the square hole in the stage. She could see a flash of Charles’s trousers as he stepped away from the cape supported by the metal skeleton. Before she could climb the wall ladder, the door had snapped shut. She could not reach it from the wall, but the other trapdoor behind the curtain was at the top of the ladder. She pulled on the spring that kept the door from falling open. It would take a more powerful man than Charles to work it manually, and the operating levers were on the stage above her.
By now Charles’s body would be spread across the face of the target, his ankles bound by leg irons and his wrists in NYPD manacles. The lazy tongs were lowering through the trapdoor beyond her reach. The ticking was louder. No – that was a trick of her mind; panic was magnifying the noise.
She heard the audience’s collective gasp. The first arrow had flown, and Charles was yelling, „Wait! Something’s gone wrong!“ Max Candle’s famous lines.
Or had Charles just discovered that his cuff key didn’t work? The front rows were filled with magicians and Charles’s poker cronies. They all knew the trademark words; not one of them would help him. And the two police officers would prevent any good Samaritans from climbing onto the stage.
The audience gasped again. Had he avoided the second arrow to the leg? He was still screaming for someone to help him. She had twenty seconds to get to the crossbow.
How did Malakhai get out? His exit had to be at the ground level, yet he had not used the side door. She climbed down the ladder and stood before the rear wall, pressing on the slats around the center panel. Charles was screaming. Another arrow had flown, and she started as though it had hit her.
Easy, now. Don’t panic, don’t – And now her fingers found the pressure lock, a give in the wooden slat. The door opened to the bright lights of the stage. She was out and running, looking up as she flew around the platform. Charles’s eyes were wide with fear, but in his face, tragedy passed for comedy. He was still bound by leg irons and both hands were cuffed to the iron post rings. Only one pedestal was ticking now. His right hand balled into a fist and lunged forward, ripping the loop from the post, where she had weakened it. His hand came away with a splintered section of wood.
Mallory’s eyes fixed on the crossbow that was going to kill him. She flew toward it, almost there. Charles was almost dead. Her hands closed on the crossbow – too late. The string released before she could unseat it from the pedestal.
Charles screamed in pain.
She turned to see the arrow buried in his chest as he rolled away from the target and stopped struggling. He was not holding an arrow in place this time. He sank down, dangling by one manacle, eyes closed.
And Mallory’s whole world took on the dreamer’s quality of walking underwater. Sound was dulled, and her movements were slow. She was unaware that she still held the pistol grip of the crossbow. The uniforms were racing up the stairs. Dr. Slope had left his wife and child in the front row and he was climbing over the edge of the stage. Now he was also running past her on the staircase. All the rest of the world was moving faster. Her legs were so heavy. Each step was a great effort. Her hands were frozen, wrapped tight around the grip of the crossbow pistol.
It was another replay of Oliver’s final act – different actors. The policemen lowered Charles to the floor of the platform stage, handling him gently, as if he were not beyond pain. Edward Slope knelt beside the body, pressing one hand to Charles’s throat, desperate to find a pulse that wasn’t there.
Mallory reached the top step and looked down on the corpse. No magic here. This was the very real death of Charles Butler.
Dr. Slope stood up and turned to the audience. In a loud voice, he announced, „Well, that’s showbiz.“
What?
The audience was clapping and cheering as Charles stood up to take his bow. He pulled the arrow out of his chest. The shirt was torn where he had ripped a button free, and she could see a flash of the chain-mail vest and the tube that had held the arrow.
Her hand unconsciously opened and dropped the crossbow to the floor.
Edward Slope leaned close to her ear. „I’ve been rehearsing that line all day.“
Mallory slapped the doctor’s face so hard, she left the red imprint of her hand on his flesh.
Everyone laughed but Edward Slope. He was shaking his head, eyes saying, Sorry, so sorry. „Mallory, I thought you knew. I thought you were part of the act.“
The splintered piece of the broken post was dangling from the manacle on Charles’s wrist. And now she saw the peg in the wood. She looked up at the post to find the peg’s receiving hole in the damaged section. So Malakhai was right; Oliver had made his own replica too well, missing this one feature.
A damn breakaway post.
It left just enough maneuvering room to avoid the final shot. So Charles had pulled the arrow from the target and fitted it into the tube in his chest.
„That’s it?“ She was outraged. The audience was ecstatic. Her voice was still being amplified by Charles’s microphone, and her angry face was magnified by the video screen on the wall. „That’s all?“
Charles turned to her with his loony smile. And now the laughter masked his words for everyone but Mallory. „Well, you couldn’t figure it out.“ He raised his hand to dangle the wood in front of her. „Malakhai was putting you on. The handcuffs were never supposed to open. That was Oliver’s mistake.“
She heard Robin Duffy’s voice calling out to her from the first row, where he stood with the rabbi and Mrs. Kaplan. She turned to look down at Robin’s adoring face as he said, „Kathy, you were wonderful.“
Mallory turned on the uniformed officers standing at the side of the small stage. She yelled, „Give me agunl“
The audience roared, and so did the men in uniform. She tried to take a gun from Harris’s holster. He laughed and held it high in the air. She turned to Patrolman Briant. In the spirit of a playground game of keep-away, he also held his gun out of her reach.
This was humiliation on a scale she had never known before, yet she resisted the urge to kick Officer Briant’s testicles across the room; not a good idea in front of three thousand witnesses, almost as serious as shooting a sick rat.
Mallory bent down to the floor to pick up the crossbow pistol. This sent the audience into helpless shakes and quakes of laughter. And their screams of hilarity increased with every arrow she pulled from the target.
Well, Malakhai had not lied to her. The crossbows had all fired arrows, and Charles had not escaped from the handcuffs.
Mallory gave the driver the address for Nick Prado’s performance in the theater district. The cabby was nodding, driving slowly and not paying any attention to the street. He was fixated on the rearview mirror, eyes wide open and showing entirely too much of the whites as he watched her loading arrows into the crossbow magazine.
Perhaps the cabby was lamenting the fact that his car had no bulletproof glass between him and his passenger, a fool’s economy measure in New York City. And oddly enough, by this lack of protection, Mallory pegged him as the cautious type, only picking up the safe passengers – nuns, Girl Scouts and upscale theater patrons. Who knew a crossbow would turn up on a fare from Carnegie Hall?
Her next theory was that the driver might be carrying a pistol. People who owned guns traveled in a false bubble of security, always believing the weapon would be at hand when trouble happened. It never was. Lots of dead cabbies had carried guns.
The last arrow fell into the crossbow magazine. Mallory leaned forward. „Give me your cell phone!“
The driver plucked the phone off the dashboard and threw it back over his shoulder, not wanting any contact with her. Mallory dialed Riker’s number and counted two rings.
Riker, answer me.
Why had Malakhai waited so long? There had been other chances to kill Nick Prado.
She looked at her watch. It was nearly time for the hangman finale. Prado would be stoned on sedatives to get him through an act on a high narrow stage. He would make an easy, slow-moving target.
„Yeah, Riker here,“ said the voice in the cell phone.
„Riker, is Nick Prado still on stage? Do you have him in sight?“
„Naw, he was gone before I got here. I don’t think – “
„Gone?“
„Yeah, they changed the time slots. He went on when I was still uptown at Faustine’s.“
Damn Lieutenant Coffey. With only one extra man, she could have covered all three theaters.
„Riker, see if you can find Prado backstage. Malakhai is headed your way, and he’s got a gun.“
„Jesus.“
„I’m on the – “ The cell phone went dead. Oh, great, just great. A perfect evening. She tossed it over the seat of the cab. „You need new batteries.“
This was getting too complex, not Malakhai’s style at all. More like Prado’s sense of spectacle for maximum effect, his convoluted planning. It was almost as if the publicity king had orchestrated everything.
Of course, he did.
„Turn this cab around! We’re going uptown.“
„Anything you want, princess.“
The cab pulled over to the curb and she waited while the traffic crawled by. Finally, he made the illegal U-turn, and they were moving north toward Faustine’s.
She leaned close to the back of his head. „Do you have a gun?“
The cabby turned his head to look at her. He was more surprised than afraid, and his New York attitude was rising to the surface from sheer force of habit. „Lady, you’re already loaded for bear with your own damn – “
Mallory held her gold shield inches from his eyes. „When I ask to see your weapons, you show them to me. That’s how it works.“
„A cop. Well, why didn’t you – Aw shit.“ His hands loosened their white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. „Freaking cops.“
He reached over to the glove compartment and opened it. The city lights were crawling by the windows of the slow-moving car. Scattered raindrops hit the glass as the man pulled out his inventory. „I got a lead pipe, a razor, a knife.“ He showed her an aerosol can. „This is mustard spray, but it’s real old stuff.“ He pulled out a second can. „Here’s the pepper spray. But no gun. Satisfied?“
In a city with two lethal weapons per person, you could never find a gun when you needed one.
„Speed up. And you can go through all the red lights. That’s your tip.“ She threw two twenties over the front seat. „That’s the fare. I don’t need a receipt.“
And now the cab accelerated. Money always worked better than a badge in Manhattan.
A young man stood outside the stage exit of Faustine’s Magic Theater. He wore an old-fashioned usher’s uniform and a matching green pillbox hat. As he dropped his cigarette on the sidewalk, his mouth hung open, and he never even considered trying to stop the running woman with the crossbow pistol.
Inside the theater, a man in coveralls was doing last-minute repairs on a newly installed window when she burst through the door with a push that sent the knob into the wall with a crash of breaking plaster. And this man was equally reticent to get in her way as she raced toward the wings of the stage.
Mallory paused by a dustbin, and looked down the dark corridors created by layers of giant plywood screens. There were boxes and cartons everywhere, too many hiding places. She walked past the edge of the closed curtain. Now she had a clear view of a man in evening attire standing before the audience with a microphone in hand. He announced the next performer, Franny Futura.
Mallory was not surprised.
The audience clapped with more than polite applause for the overhyped act they had all come to see. This was a sporting town. Who had not played the conspiracy game of every daily newspaper? True New Yorkers, the audience had probably made book on a man’s life: Would he show or not, was he dead or alive? She could almost see the money changing hands out there in the dark.
Nick Prado was standing in the wings when she came up behind him, soft-stepping across the wood.
A man in coveralls was crouched on the floor nearby, frozen in the act of bending over his toolbox. The streetwise workman rose slowly and backed away from Mallory with no sudden movements, abandoning the toolbox in his haste to avoid witnessing anything that might require a court appearance.
Mallory tapped Prado on the shoulder and stood back out of reach. He turned around, only showing slight surprise.
„Mallory, how are you this evening?“
This might have passed for a normal encounter, except for the crossbow. She was aiming at his eyes.
He was stoned again. His reaction time was too slow. How many pills had it taken to get him through the hanged man routine in the downtown theater?
Prado nodded at the weapon. „I like it. Suits you even better than a gun.“
She glanced at the people gathering behind the curtain. A long black table was being assembled by two stagehands. Another man was moving a large upright rectangle of clockwork gears into position at the rear of the stage.
„So Franny’s still alive,“ said Prado. „Are you crushed, Mallory? I hope you didn’t have any money riding on that theory of yours.“
She looked up beyond the valance of the curtain to the catwalk, a bridge of wooden planks and metal handrails. Her eyes traveled to the vertical rod of steel hanging over the stage. The end of the stalk held a silver crescent razor, a cruel-looking thing, nicked – and familiar. „That’s not a replica. It came from Charles’s basement.“
„Yes,“ said Prado. „A loan from Charles. Franny didn’t want to risk another one of Oliver’s botched tricks.“
„You won’t feel safe until he’s dead, will you, Prado?“
„You think I might’ve tampered with Franny’s act? Can’t be done. He’s not doing it Max’s way.“
„Because he doesn’t know how. Oliver didn’t send him the plans for the pendulum. He gave Futura the Lost Illusion – the platform and the crossbows.“
„My compliments, Mallory. Yes, that was a particular bit of sweetness on Oliver’s part. Franny had such a tired act. The Lost Illusion would’ve made him a headliner. Of course, Franny never had the guts to go through with it. Turned it down. Poor Oliver was such a bad judge of character. He gave everyone credit for his own large heart.“
Mallory nodded. „Oliver was a brave little man, wasn’t he? So it was easy to talk him into doing the illusion himself. I know you arranged the Central Park show – just like you arranged that old man’s murder. You even wrote the invitations. The wording wasn’t Oliver’s style – everyone said so.“
„Franny murdered Oliver.“ His words had a tone of disparagement. „I assumed you understood that.“
„And Louisa?“
„Also Franny’s murder. Emile will back me up. I only carried her backstage, a few spots of blood on my shirt. Franny was covered with her blood.“
Interesting that he was so forthcoming with Futura’s guilt, though she knew he was being truthful. „Scaring Futura, getting him to kill Louisa – that was the only smart thing you ever did.“
Prado didn’t like that. He wanted pure praise.
She relaxed her bow hand to point the weapon at his heart. „You knew Malakhai would come tonight. His second chance – last chance. He has to do this execution while he still remembers why he’s doing it. You stashed Futura so you could go on working the wires, the timing, orchestrating everything.“
„Perhaps you give me too much credit.“ Though his smile said she had not given him credit enough – not nearly enough.
The curtains opened and Franny Futura was joyously grinning in the spotlight. Behind him were six people in scarlet capes, their faces shadowed by hoods. Mallory was intent on bits of anatomy exposed with the movements of these men. The hoods made their height misleading, but they were all close to the same average stature of the magician in the tuxedo, none tall enough to be Malakhai.
„Such a frightened little man,“ she said. „Hard to imagine him killing Louisa. But you told him a fake death would never fool the Germans. And you were right about that. So you got him all worked up, crazy with fear, hysterical. Did you tell him Louisa knew about his connection to the Resistance movement?“
Prado was enjoying this. „You know, at the time, I didn’t even know Franny was in the Resistance.“
„But you knew St. John was connected. I know you’re the one who gave him up to Futura. You exposed your best friend to up the ante. When fear wasn’t enough, you made a woman’s murder into an act of patriotism.“
His eyes flickered and his mouth opened in dumb surprise – wordless, stunned. It was more than the stupefying effect of drugs. She had guessed right.
Mallory turned to scan the audience, searching for Malakhai’s face. Young men in workmen’s clothes and old men in tuxedos were clustering in the wings at the opposite end of the stage. She motioned Prado to walk ahead of her and beyond the backdrop curtain.
„Prado, I know you’re running this show. You want Futura to die while all those people are watching. That’s part of the kick, isn’t it? Did you rig his act? Or did Malakhai do that?“
„I’m not here to – “
„We’re going up there.“ She waved the crossbow to the ladder for the narrow catwalk. „No witnesses. Most people never look up.“
Prado stared at the ladder. His reflexes might be dulled by drugs, but the anxiety of acrophobia was surfacing. His head snapped back, as if she had shot him seconds ago and the arrow had just caught up to him. „Mallory, if you really think Franny’s act is rigged, why not just stop the show and check his props?“
„That’s not as easy as you might think. Move!“ And now Prado had confirmed that she would find no evidence of tampering. If she did stop the show, she would only become the butt of a joke for the second time in one night.
And the threat would not come from the direction of the audience either. She knew Malakhai was not out there planning to risk another long-range shot, not with a revolver. He had stolen her handgun for something up close, point-blank and fatal.
Prado rested one tentative hand on a rung of the ladder. She prodded him with the crossbow. He climbed slowly toward the suspension bridge that stretched across the stage. Eyes shut, he gripped the ladder so tightly, it was an effort to uncurl his fingers from one rung to the next.
Mallory followed him, inching one hand along the rail, aiming the crossbow at his backside. He stepped off the ladder and onto a small metal platform. Mallory stood behind him. „Keep moving.“
His eyes opened in disbelief, head shaking in denial.
Were the drugs wearing off?
She put the crossbow into the small of his back. Gingerly, he put one foot on the wooden planks, and the suspension bridge moved beneath him. He gripped the handrails. Mallory prodded him again, and he moved forward. The wooden planks swayed with every step. He froze to make the motion stop, and Mallory shifted her weight to make the bridge move again.
„All right!“ He edged forward.
When they were over the center of the stage, Mallory said, „Stop here.“ She looked down at the floorboards. A glass coffin rested on the long black table. Futura was standing by a microphone as the six assistants carried a burlap dummy in the fashion of tap-dancing pallbearers. Recorded music blared out of amplifiers in the wings. It was a second-rate show tune she could not name.
„Canned music and chorus boys,“ muttered Prado. „Franny hired chorus boys.“
He gripped the rails and lowered his head to look down. She had not expected him to do that. The thing that terrified him also fascinated him. „That dummy is all that’s left of a beautiful illusion. Franny wanted to use a pumpkin for the demonstration. Can you imagine that?“
„So you did help him with the act.“ She had caught the false notes in his voice, a catch in the throat as he made a hash of forced bravado. She studied his face and found it wanting in terror. How many pills had he taken to get him through the hangman illusion?
„You should’ve told Emile you were afraid of heights. He wouldn’t have asked you to do his act.“
„I am not afraid – “
She shifted her weight to rock the catwalk from side to side. Prado’s hands wrapped around the rail in a death grip. His eyes were wider now, looking down with the expression of someone witnessing a train wreck in the making. In his mind, he was already falling.
On the stage below, the cloth dummy lay inside the coffin, and Franny Futura was separating the halves of the glass box to expose the midriff of burlap. The pendulum began to move, lowering as it swung. She could barely hear the well-oiled clockwork gears running up the base in a flow of wheels, levers and springs to operate the swing and fall of the crescent razor.
Prado’s jaw was locked; he spoke through closed teeth. „No sign of Malakhai.“
„He’s here.“ Her eyes searched a backstage cluster of workmen and stagehands. Malakhai would not risk a shot from the wings.
Prado’s smile was grim, almost sickly. Delusions of grandeur were warring with the fear of falling. His sedatives were robbing her. This was not the full-blown phobia, not all the fear she wanted. Mallory made the bridge sway, but only a little this time. When she had his attention, the movement stopped. She was teaching him rat-lab protocol. If he did as he was told, she would not terrify him – much.
Below her, the pendulum was picking up speed as the arc of the razor widened. „I thought Emile was the one who told Malakhai how his wife really died. But I was wrong about that, wasn’t I? You got to him first.“ She shook the bridge and Prado reacted a bit faster this time.
His nod was exaggerated, saying, Yes, whatever you like.
„After the war, you wanted Malakhai to kill Futura. That would’ve tied up your only loose end for Louisa’s murder.“
The pendulum had sunk to the level of the coffin. Four of the chorus boys were dancing and flapping their scarlet capes in a circle around the magician in the tuxedo. Two of them covered the separated halves of the glass coffin with drapes, hiding all but the cloth dummy’s midsection.
Mallory leaned close to Prado, knowing he’d never release his hold on the rail to go for her weapon. „Futura was born frightened, wasn’t he? He read Oliver’s invitation and nearly lost his mind. I’ve got the phone records,“ she lied. „I know he talked it over with you.“
Had she guessed wrong this time? Between the drugs and the fear of falling, his face was unreadable. Mallory waited until he had taken a few deep breaths. „I know you planned Oliver’s murder.“ She could not be wrong about that part. „And I know you did it just to make a motive for this one. That’s your style, too complex, too messy – still plotting like an idiot teenager.“
Prado seemed genuinely indignant. „I never killed – “
She shifted her weight again. The bridge moved with a wider pitch. His face was flushed, and his breathing was fast and shallow. When she was done with his punishment for lying, she stopped rocking her body. „So it takes two murders to cover up what you did to Louisa? You couldn’t afford to let her run that night, not with your forged documents. You had to come up with a way to kill her in Paris.“
„Franny killed Louisa!“
She rocked the bridge again, and he sank to his knees, his hands still wrapped around the rails, eyes shut tight.
„Everyone was in danger,“ he said. „Emile was – “
She rocked the bridge with violence, making it swing from side to side. His eyes opened and rolled back to solid whites.
„No, Prado. St. John has the reputation of a cop with good instincts. He always knew Louisa was a risk, a hunted woman. He never gave up any secrets. You did. First you tried to scare Futura. And he wanted to run away, didn’t he? That’s when you told him Louisa would betray St. John if the Germans got her alive.“
Prado moaned, and she made the bridge sway again. When he was at the point of vomiting his dinner, she stopped the movement.
„Then you sent Futura into that back room to kill a woman who was crying and wounded and helpless. You told him it was going to be so easy, a quick job – just hold the pillow over her face.“ What did Futura know about killing? What did any of them know? They were only boys. „When Louisa fought back, that must have scared him out of his mind. Two frightened people, one killing the other.“ Pure terror for both of them. And right outside – German soldiers at the door.
The pendulum was swinging between the glass boxes. The sawdust was flying in both directions. Mallory shook the bridge again, then stopped to stare at the spreading wetness on Prado’s crotch. He stank of urine.
„Get up!“
Prado was slow to stand. His head was bowed to hide the humiliation in his face.
„Futura didn’t kill her to save his own skin,“ said Mallory. „He would’ve run away if he felt threatened. I know his type.“ The lesson of urban warfare – rabbits run. „So when fear didn’t work – then you exposed St. John. You cut it close. The Germans were there – no time to think. Maybe you reminded him that Malakhai’s wife had a bad record for betrayal. And then that terrified little man marched into the back room and killed Louisa. He probably cried while he was doing it. Poor bastard. He thought he was doing the right thing – a brave thing.“
When Prado finally raised his face to hers, he was putting on a good show of composure. „But Franny did kill Louisa. Don’t you wonder why Malakhai waited so long for his revenge?“ He held this out in the air between them, as though it were his chip to withhold or bargain with.
„No deal, Prado. I already know.“
The pendulum was rising again, and the arc was narrowing as it withdrew behind the cover of the curtain’s valance.
„After you told Malakhai what really happened to his wife, it must have driven you nuts when he didn’t kill Futura – when Malakhai forgave him for Louisa’s murder.“ She watched his eyes for an indication that she had made an error, but he was genuinely stunned. „Then Oliver was murdered, and that changed everything. Malakhai felt responsible – you made sure of that. That’s why Malakhai tried to shoot Futura during the parade.“
There had been an identifying marker in Malakhai’s method of execution, a companion quality to forgiveness – almost mercy. Franny Futura would never have seen the rifle. There would not have been any time for him to be afraid.
„Mallory, if I had a hat, I’d take it off. You might be the best cop in the world.“
He would have to say that. A lesser cop could not be responsible for undoing the great Nick Prado – not in his own mind. His ego was surfacing again, driving off the anxiety.
„You really worked on Malakhai, didn’t you?“ She rocked the bridge to prompt him. „You told him if he’d only taken care of business after the war, Oliver would still be alive.“
„Yes, and I failed – but you didn’t.“ He did not fall to his knees this time. He was intensely focused on her face. She was his tormentor, but also his visual anchor.
„I couldn’t have done it without you, Mallory. You’re the one who told him how Louisa died, how much Franny hurt her – all that fear and pain. Yes, I told Malakhai she was murdered. Then he went after Emile for more details. Emile told him it was a quick death, no suffering. If Franny hadn’t killed Oliver – “
„He didn’t. You made the key switch that day in the park.“ She stared at him, waiting for any sign that she had guessed wrong. The drugs had slowed all his reactions, but also his ability to mask surprise. She was right – he was the one. „Futura didn’t even feel threatened by Oliver’s invitation, did he? The war was over for everyone but you. Fear didn’t work this time. Another screwup, Prado?“
His face had the slow beginnings of a smile.
„Not quite it?“ No, she had gotten something wrong. „I’m betting you only used that invitation to sell the murder to Malakhai. You never even mentioned it to Futura.“
Yes, that was it. His smugness died away, and his hands slid back along the rail, leaving a slick of sweat on the metal.
„Did you tell him Futura was afraid of Oliver? I bet you planted that idea before the magic show in the park. Better to let Malakhai work it out for himself.“ She shook the bridge again and made it rock wildly, turning its planks from side to side, approaching right angles to the stage below. „Why did Malakhai mess up that shot at Futura? If he’d missed, he would’ve taken more shots. But there was only one.“
Prado gripped the rails but his hands were greased with more sweat. He lost his handhold and his footing, coming down hard on his knees, while Mallory kept the perfect balance of a creature with paws and claws.
He shut his eyes and yelled, „Enough!“
She ceased to rock, and waited for him to get control of himself. Below her, the chorus boys were dancing.
Prado wiped his palms on his suit. His breath was rapid, and now one hand clawed at his tie. „I was watching Malakhai when he put down the rifle. He just lost the heart for a killing. I don’t know why. He was going to walk away from it again.“
He was rallying, catching his breath. The hot flush faded off, and his smile was stealing back. „And then you worked on him, Mallory, and you never let up. Finally, he came back to me – that lovely boy I used to know. Last night, he was weeping and angry – ready to kill the whole world. You deserve half the credit.“
The pendulum was still, and she had a clear view of the dummy’s midsection torn in two. The assistants were lifting it out of the coffin. Mallory checked the backstage area again. „He’s down there with a gun. That wasn’t part of your plan, was it? In your version, Futura dies in the act, right? Cut in half by a razor?“
Yes, the gun was a surprise to him.
She trained the crossbow down toward the stage. From this perspective, she could not tell a tall man from a short one. Coming up here was a mistake.
Prado was also looking down again, perhaps only to prove that he could. „What if you do spot Malakhai? You can’t just shoot him without – “
„But that’s what you want, isn’t it? You just don’t want me to get the killing out of order. If I take out Malakhai first, Franny will talk. Oh, God, how he’ll talk.“
The pendulum was in motion again and slowly lowering toward the stage.
„I wouldn’t risk a shot to wound him,“ she said. „And that’s a matter of respect.“
Prado flinched. He understood that he was only alive because he fell into a less respected category.
Mallory set the crossbow down. He was slow to register shock as she grabbed his arm and rammed it up behind his back. She maneuvered him over the steel rail, smashing his paunch into the metal and knocking the breath out of his lungs. The suspension bridge swayed and threatened to drop both of them off. The crossbow hung off the edge of the planks, and she kicked it back to the center of the bridge.
„You’re out of shape, old man. This silly idea that you can beat me in a fair fight? You can’t. But Malakhai could. That’s why I have to kill him on sight.“ She wrenched his arm tighter. „Have I made my point? If you help me stop him, you still have breathing room to weasel out of this or disappear.“
Mallory released him and picked up the crossbow. Prado was taking deep breaths and looking down – flirting with the fall. Perhaps the drugs were kicking in again. Below him, the assistants were helping the magician to climb inside his glass coffin.
„What happens now, Prado?“
He looked up at the crossbow as she pointed it toward the stage. His voice was close to calm. „I’m sure you don’t want to kill a chorus boy. Anyone can do that.“
The assistants separated the sections of the glass coffin to expose the black cummerbund of Futura’s tuxedo. And now they slipped the magician’s hands and feet through the holes in the glass and manacled him by wrist and ankle.
„The cuffs are breakaways,“ said Prado. „No problem with a key this time. Franny wouldn’t even risk that much.“
The assistants draped both halves of the coffin with red cloth.
„He’ll be out of the coffin in another minute or two,“ said Prado. „Now, if he was a limber young boy, he’d snap the breakaways on his legs and curl up in the front box. That’s another tired old cheat.“
One of the assistants blocked the audience view of the space between the separated glass sections. The man took a thick log of black cloth from under his cape and placed it in the coffin.
„That’s a cheat to make the audience think he’s still in the box when the razor comes down. It matches Franny’s tuxedo.“
A bundle of red material was pushed into the front half of the coffin.
„And that’s another cape for Franny. He’ll put it on before he rolls out the back side of the coffin. The rear walls are hinged. Then he’ll blend in with the chorus boys.“
A man in a long red cape was coming out of a crouch by the front section of the coffin.
„That’s Franny,“ said Prado. „Now count the assistants. There are seven on stage right now. The act started with six.“
The pendulum began to move again, back and forth over the slot between the boxes.
„There’s a microphone in the front half of the coffin,“ said Prado. „In a minute, a machine will send a layer of fog across the stage. That hides the wire while an assistant plugs it into the coffin. Very cheap sound equipment, almost as old as Franny. When you hear his voice on stage, he’ll be in a back room screaming into a speaker.“
The pendulum was dropping closer.
„When Max did this act, he didn’t drape the coffin. You could see him in there beating the glass while he screamed. You watched the razor shred his cummerbund. No fake blood, nothing crude. But people swore they saw Max’s blood dripping rivers onto the stage. Franny’s version is second-rate all around. Boring as a closed-coffin funeral.“
Prado was suddenly much too talkative, too helpful – stalling for time. With her free hand, she reached down, gripped his collar and pushed his head forward over the planks. „You won’t walk away from this if he dies.“
He twisted his head up to smile at her. Sweat poured down his face, his eyes bulged – the smile persisted. „I thought you’d be more understanding, Mallory. You’re in the justice profession.“
„No, that’s someone else’s job. I’m only the law. If I wasn’t, I’d toss you off this catwalk right now. Justice is easy. What I do is so much harder.“
For all the fear, his smile was broadening into the genuine article. Was it the drugs? Or was he aiming her like a gun? Yes, he was only trying to control the timing. It was important that Futura died first.
The seventh man was leaving the stage. The six assistants stayed to dance while the pendulum dropped lower. A door closed backstage. Was Futura already in the back room? Was Malakhai waiting there? She had missed something. That was why he smiled.
Mallory turned and ran toward the end of the catwalk and started down the ladder. What if the gun was only misdirection? Did Malakhai plan to kill Futura the same way Louisa died – in a replica of the same room?
The microphone version of Futura’s voice was screaming from the coffin, „Wait, something has gone wrong!“ And simultaneously, she heard the same voice from the back of the theater, muffled by walls. Four rungs from the floor, she jumped from the ladder and drew a bead on the caped figure heading toward the back room. „Malakhai! Stop! Or I’ll drop you.“
He moved behind a round plaster column. The illusion of transformation was perfect. His red cape had disappeared when he emerged on the other side of the pillar in a dark suit and tie. Her stolen revolver was dangling from his right hand.
The voice from the stage was crying out for help. Low clouds of machine-made fog rolled across the floorboards, covering the wires. She could hear Futura in the back room where he felt utterly safe shouting fear into his microphone.
„It’s not going to happen, Malakhai. I’ve got three arrows in the magazine. I want my gun back. Now! I will shoot you.“
„Yes, I know. You would’ve been astonishing in the war. Oh, wait – wrong period. Sorry. The other night, Riker told me you were raised on cowboy movies.“
He held out the gun on the flat of his hand.
She used the crossbow to gesture toward the floor. „Put it down.“
He set it on the floor in front of his shoes. „So how did you like Charles’s act?“
„Kick it over to me.“ The stereo yelling was ongoing. The pendulum must still be dropping. She never looked toward the stage; that way lay misdirection. „Kick it over. Now!“
He sent the gun scraping across the wood with the tap of his foot. It came to rest in front of her. She held the crossbow on him and dipped low to retrieve her revolver. In a split second, she had checked the visible chambers, each one packed with a bullet.
„Always wise to check the whole cylinder.“ He leaned back against the post and folded his arms. „I might’ve taken out the first round. Were you disappointed in the Lost Illusion? You didn’t say.“
„Charles didn’t get it right either, did he?“
„No, but Max would’ve been proud. I watched Charles’s rehearsal. That was quite a risk he took – and all for you. Whenever I think of the two of you, I see ghosts.“
„You knew I’d never be able to talk him out of it.“
„Not if you held a gun to his head.“
„Something could’ve gone wrong.“
„That’s true. And Charles knew that. Max’s effect was actually less dangerous, but more stunning. How did you know Charles did it wrong?“
„It wasn’t – enough. Just an escape routine, no magic. There should’ve been magic.“
„So my tutelage has paid off. Well, Charles made the best of it, opting for comedy. But Max did the impossible and made everyone believe in it. I could show you, but I’d need the crossbow.“
„Yeah, right.“
„So skeptical, Mallory.“ He held out his hand, believing that she would actually give it to him. „Why the hesitation? You have the gun. Surely a bullet is faster than an arrow? Your cowboy movies must’ve taught you that much. If you still want to know how the Lost Illusion worked, I’ll show you. If you wait till tomorrow, I might have another stroke. And then you’d never – “
She shook her head. It was not going to happen.
„But, Mallory, you like the edge so much. What’s the worst thing that could happen? A duel? A showdown? Give me the crossbow. If you want to know how the trick is done, it’s going to cost you something – a risk.“
„No way.“
„I’d never hurt you, Mallory. I’ve never lied to you.“
The idea was seductive. Her reflexes were better, faster. And she did not believe that he wanted her dead, but neither was she a practitioner of absolute faith. Training her revolver on his heart, she turned the crossbow upside down and three arrows fell to the floor. Now she held it out to him.
Malakhai accepted the weapon. „But I need the arrows.“ He knelt down on the floor and reached toward them, looking up at her, eyebrows arched to ask, May I?
„Sure,“ she said. „But if you try to cock the crossbow, I’ll kill you.“
„Understood.“ He set down the crossbow and loaded the arrows, slowly dropping them into the slot of the wooden magazine. „Max always stocked three arrows. You wondered about that.“
He stood up, and she raised the muzzle of her revolver to his face. Though she had been trained to fire at the wider target of the chest, aiming at the head was a more deadly reminder that she was prepared to kill him.
Behind her, the music ended, but the chorus boys continued to tap-dance to the screams of Franny Futura. She heard the hiss. And that must be the pendulum slicing through the air. Her finger touched lightly on the revolver’s trigger to feel the cold metal, but no pressure, not yet.
He held the crossbow by the shaft and offered it to her. „Here. The trick is all set up. You only have to cock the bow and shoot me in the heart.“
„Of course,“ she said, clearly meaning, Not a shot in hell. It took two hands to cock the bow, and she would not holster her gun. She took the crossbow in her left hand. Her right hand kept the revolver trained on his face.
„You can do it,“ he said, as though encouraging a child in first steps. „If you want the solution, you’ll have to shoot me to get it.“
Chiming in with Futura’s yelling was the squeal of the microphone feedback. Malakhai looked toward the closed room. „That’s the problem with technical cheats. Now the whole effect is ruined.“ He turned back to her. „Ready for real magic?“ He spread his arms to offer her a clear aim at his chest. „I’m waiting on my arrow, Mallory.“ He smiled so gently. „You can’t do it? Well, in that case, I have some unfinished business to take care of. I never needed your gun for this.“
He was turning when she extended her gun arm. „You move – I shoot you with a bullet. It’s like that.“ But she was not aiming to kill, not willing to become a mechanical prop of Nick Prado.
Malakhai raised one hand to show her a dark metal file. He tossed it in the direction of the open toolbox abandoned by the workman. „I told you I never needed the gun. You should have paid more attention to my shell game. I am sorry about the damage to your revolver, and of course I’ll pay for it.“
Mallory knew what she was going to see before she looked down at the pulled-back hammer. He had filed down the firing pin.
She raised the crossbow as she holstered the gun.
„That’s better,“ he said. „But I don’t think you can shoot me. Well, I’m off. Killing only takes a few seconds when you know how. And I do.“
„Malakhai!“ She cocked the bow, bringing down the lever to pull the string tight. „You know I’ll shoot.“
„Will you, Mallory? In the back? How will you explain that? I’m unarmed.“ He was almost to the door of the back room. „Maybe you’re overconfident in your monsterhood. Personally, I don’t think you have the makings.“
„Stop!“
„Franny’s act is almost done. I have to hurry.“
Mallory didn’t aim to wound him; she picked that place where the shaft would travel into his back and rupture his heart. She squeezed the crossbow trigger. The bowstring released with a twang, and in that same instant, he whirled around. His hand flashed out and caught the arrow in midair.
Impossible.
She knew the velocity of the arrow. He could not have done that, yet there was an arrow in his hand.
„Apparently I misjudged you.“ He came strolling back to her, smiling, taking his own time. „Sorry. No hard feelings?“
„You palmed that arrow.“ She looked down into the magazine. A misfire? She cocked it again and raised the sights to his chest.
He kept coming. „It won’t work this time either.“ He was closing the gap between them. Futura was still shouting for help from his little room.
She fired the weapon at his chest. The string released, but the arrow did not fly. „You jammed the magazine? That’s not the way – “
„Just the way Max did it. Felt a slight kick though, didn’t you? Oh, I see the confusion. How could the arrows fly for the dummy, then jam for the human target? Well, you’re really going to hate this part.“
He held up the arrow and twisted the metal tip. It screwed up and down on the shaft. „This elongates the arrow. Only the first one drops straight into the bed – that’s for the test shot on the dummy. When you load the second arrow, the long one, its tip digs into the wood of the magazine as you press down on the other end. And the third arrow? That kept the audience from seeing that the second arrow never fired.“
„But cops loaded the magazines in both – “
„Not when Max did the routine. The policemen only handed him the arrows, all identical, all the same length. He loaded them. Oliver and Charles got that part backward. So as Max loaded the second crossbow, he twisted the tip.“
He put the arrow into her demanding outstretched hand.
„So that’s all there was to it? Max rigged a crossbow?“
„Oh, no,“ said Malakhai. „He rigged two bows. Now Charles’s solution was good, but when Max did the illusion, the effect was brilliant, electrifying. He evaded the first two shots, and the tension was unbearable while he struggled with the handcuffs. Then he broke the post, and the audience screamed – they howled. The crossbow fired – then the arrow was in his hand, caught in midair to thunderous applause. And the last shot? It appeared that his timing was off, that he had failed to catch the last arrow before it pierced his heart. Max died there on the target. When he came back from the dead to pull the arrow out of his own heart, a man in the front row fainted.“
„So he had two arrows hidden in his jacket.“
„Right. It was a thrilling effect.“
„But the jammed arrow could’ve been dislodged by the kick when the first arrow fired.“
„That actually did happen in a rehearsal with the dummy. It was always a possibility. When I saw Max take the arrow in his heart that night, I wasn’t sure. Only someone as tall as Charles could’ve avoided the fatal arrow. Even with one free hand, Max didn’t have that much room to maneuver. Still, Charles risked his life. You don’t see that kind of courage every day. That’s why Max’s routines were never stolen.“
Malakhai smiled as he watched her use an arrow to push the jammed one into the shaft, still determined to shoot him.
Behind her the music began to play again.
„And now, the best for last.“ He tugged on his shirt cuffs and showed her his empty sleeves. Then he held up two closed fists for her inspection.
His fingers slowly uncurled, and Mallory heard the distant scream of real pain coming from two directions at once, the stage and the back room. She listened to the audience reaction, the great white static of a hundred whispers all seeking reassurance in the dark. The screaming grew louder as his hands opened wider, as if Malakhai were working the other man’s pain like a ventriloquist.
She turned to the stage where the pendulum was swinging in a wide arc between the glass boxes. The edge of the crescent razor was stained red. „Max Candle didn’t use blood in the act.“
„No, Mallory. Neither did Franny.“
„Not a microphone in the box.“
„Oh, yes there is – but so is Franny.“ He caught up one of her hands as she was rushing the stage. When he swung her back to his side, the crossbow clattered to the floor. „It’s the sound equipment you hear in the back room. Nothing to cheat you and disappoint you – not this time. It’s all quite real.“
She tried to pull away. Her leg was rising and she needed space for the groin shot. He wrenched her wrist sharply, and she was wrapped in his arms.
„The pendulum won’t stop for you, Mallory.“ He spoke so softly, so reasonably – this from a killer. It was the voice of reason that chilled her, as if he could believe that this was a sane act.
„It’s not a device you can switch off,“ he said. „It has to play out the movements of the gears. That machine doesn’t care if you’re a cop.“
She tried to break Malakhai’s hold, writhing in his grasp until she faced the stage. He held her closer – like a lover, like a jailor, imprisoning her hands in his, arms binding her tighter than ropes.
Futura’s pain was a continuous shriek. Malakhai’s voice was at her ear. „You wanted to know what I did in the war? Then watch.“
„No! Stop it!“ She called out to the dancing boys, „Move the coffin out of the way!“ Mallory’s shouts mingled with Futura’s screams. The assistants faced the audience as they danced at the edge of the stage, ignoring cries for help, and the music played on. Her heart was banging in a sympathetic rhythm with Futura’s terror, his bleating and his bleeding.
And Malakhai was whispering, „Rare justice, Mallory. For Louisa, for Oliver.“
The pendulum was splattering the stage with blood, drops of it landing on the costumes of the dancing boys. Their backs were turned on the coffin as they kicked their feet in unison.
Malakhai tightened his embrace. „See those people at the back?“ Two shadowy forms were rising in the dim light of the audience. „Those men are coming to save Franny. They’ll be too late, of course, but they’re coming. Only two of them. Look at the rest.“
A lone woman’s scream rose above the sound of shrieking pain in the coffin.
„Mallory, think of Oliver Tree – all those arrows. He was your Oliver, too, wasn’t he? You always called him by his first name.“
Blood splattered the edge of the stage. The pendulum swung in a wider arc, and red drops hit the dresses of two women in the front row. Only one woman was screaming as loud as Franny Futura and with the same pain. The rest of the audience sat in stunned silence, except for the two men who had made their way to the center aisle. Now they raced toward the stage.
„Only two rescuers,“ said Malakhai.
There were spots of blood on a woman’s dress in the second row. The pendulum swung out again, red and wet. And now a man in the front row had a trickle of blood streaming down his face, as did the man next to him. The two rescuers were climbing onto the stage.
„Mallory, look at the people in the front rows. They know it’s gone wrong – never doubt that. They know Franny’s dying, and they can’t take their eyes away. Now this is theater – a small window on World War II, the way it really was. A leftover minute of horror.“
The two rescuers could not reach the coffin. They were surrounded by flapping red capes in a tight formation of tap-dancing chorus boys. Blood pooled beneath the table.
One desperate woman’s scream harmonized with shrieks from the glass coffin, echoes from the back room, and a shrill electronic squeal of sound equipment.
And then the screaming stopped – Mallory’s and Franny’s.
The pendulum continued to swing in silence, to cut the flesh and break the bones, not knowing or caring that the man was dead. The blood was lessening, trickling only, with no more coming to fuel the spillage.
The dead did not bleed.
Malakhai released her. „And now you’ve been to war, Mallory. Wasn’t it sublime?“
The music ended, the dancing stopped – all silent now as the caped chorus boys and the two men in suits slowly approached the coffin.
Mallory sank down to the floor. Though spent and drained, she would not let go of the rage. She beat one clenched hand on the floorboards until the pain flooded her eyes with tears.
Malakhai knelt down beside her, and Mallory turned her face away to hide it.
„You’re a fraud.“ He caressed her hair gently. „You have more compassion than those people out there with blood on their faces – the ones who only watched.“
She shot out one fist.
He was faster, catching her balled hand and engulfing it in his own. „Of course, you did try to kill me. No one can ever take that away from you. And I do think you’re ruthless – if that’s a consolation.“ He stood up slowly, releasing the uncurling fingers of her fist, which had lost its power. „But, Mallory, we can’t all be monsters. As I said – you don’t have the makings.“
Head bowed, she drew up her legs very close to her body and listened to his footsteps leaving her, then the closing of a door. Over the babble of the audience, she heard the sirens wailing on Broadway, coming closer by the second, louder now, almost there. Mallory closed her eyes and hugged her knees, rocking, rocking, shell-shocked and wounded by her minute in the war.