Malakhai’s hand dropped away from her face. His head moved slowly from side to side, his mouth forming a silent No.
„You shot her with an arrow so she could survive. In a way, she did the same thing to you.“
He was slowly doubling over, as if Louisa had indeed shot him. He covered his face with both hands. The rain poured down the windowpane in a solid sheet, obscuring everything beyond the glass, starlight and city lights, heaven and earth – all gone.
Chapter 21
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. B
ut 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 cop
y 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.
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