Disappearing Nightly (18 page)

Goudini and his comeback. Joe with his ambitions. Barclay and Cowboy Duke, amateurs striving for improvement. Delilah and Samson had a brand-new act, one they’d been rehearsing…

“Striving for improvement…” I murmured. I looked at the display board. Or was I reaching? Wasn’t
I
always striving for improvement, too? Wasn’t every performer?

“Esther?”

I felt like I couldn’t see the forest for the trees.

How had five magic acts, all of them striving for improvement, become the fertile ground where something Evil had taken root?

“Five disappearances,” I muttered. “What
is
it that we’re missing?”

“I’m wondering the same thing.” Max tugged at his beard in obvious frustration.

“Five disappearances in one week!” I slammed a book down on the table, making the others jump. “How can we not see the clues, the key, the answer? How many more people have to vanish before we can figure out why this is happening?”

“And how?” Lysander added.

Khyber said, “Dr. Zadok, do you think we should rule out translocation or teleportation as possibilities?”

“Why?” Max asked absently, still tugging his beard.

“Well, those are phenomena in which someone who vanishes reappears somewhere else, usually instantaneously.” Khyber looked worried. “And I think we’d have heard from Samson or the others by now if they’d reappeared elsewhere.”

Max shook his head. “No, we can’t rule it out. There are too many reasons they might be unable to contact us. They might be in another dimension, or in another time period—”

“Or being held prisoner somewhere?” I guessed.

“Four women, a man and a tiger?” Khyber frowned. “Why would anyone hold them prisoner?”

Satsy said, “I don’t want anyone to mention this to Delilah, but…” He pushed his bulk well away from the table, reached under it, and sat back up a moment later, holding the books that had been sitting at his feet. He set them on the table. “I’ve been reading some of the books on ritual sacrifice. You know, from this week’s sale section?”

While Satsy gestured to that part of the store, I saw Max and Lysander exchange glances.

“And?” Khyber said.

“And, well, it looks to me like there are all sorts of reasons someone might summon that many people—including the tiger—for…for ritual sacrifice.”

Lysander lowered his eyes. Max froze, didn’t even blink.

“Oh. My.
God.
” I realized what that brief look be
tween them had meant. “You knew all along that might be why this was happening!”

“Now, Esther,” Max said anxiously, “it’s just one possible theory.”

“Among many possible theories,” Lysander added.

Max said, “We can’t be sure—”

“They’re being
sacrificed?
” Horrified, I rose to my feet. Khyber gasped.

“Not necessarily,” Lysander said.

Satsy’s face crumpled. “Oh, no! I didn’t want to be right!”

“You may not be,” Max said, “and we ought to remain optimistic.”

“We also ought to remain calm,” Lysander added, eyeing me warily.

“Calm?” I repeated shrilly. “
Calm?
Are you nuts? If ever there was time to get hot under the collar, this is it!”

“No, Lysander’s right,” Max said. “We don’t want to jump to conclusions.”

“
Why
are they being sacrificed?” I asked.

“Oh, no!” Satsy said again.

Lysander shook his head. “Speculating about that won’t help. There are too many possibilities.”

“Such as?” I prodded.

Apparently forgetting I wasn’t supposed to learn the secrets of the Collegium, Lysander replied, “Well, for example, sacrifices can be used to summon a demon, summon Satan, placate a demon or devil—”

“My
God,
” Khyber said.

“—placate a god,” Lysander said, nodding at Khyber as if he’d suggested this, “request help from any number of forces, imbue some spells with special potency, increase an individual’s power, protect some locations or ward certain areas, open the gateway to prophecy or divination, grant specific powers such as flight or the ability to translocate—”

“It can’t be that last one,” I said, realizing that Lysander might go on forever now that I’d encouraged him to lecture me. “Whatever we’re dealing with, it can make the victims translocate, so surely it has that ability itself?”

“That’s if they
are
translocating,” Lysander said. “It’s possible that the disappearances are caused by dissolution, and that it might be occurring in a form that causes instantaneous death.”

“Samson,”
Satsy said broken-heartedly. “And poor Duke—how will he face Dolly’s death?”

“But if they’re being translocated,” I said quickly, as if translocation for the purpose of being sacrificed was a good alternative to instantaneous death, “doesn’t that narrow down the possibilities? I mean, what ritual would call for the sacrifice of five people?”

“And a tiger,” Khyber added.

“That’s what I can’t understand,” Lysander said. “For any ritual involving multiple human sacrifices, the individuals being sacrificed should be far more homogenous than our disappearees are.”

Satsy gasped and his expression brightened with hope. “That makes sense!”

“It does?” I said.

“Yes, it fits with what I’ve been reading,” Satsy said. “For example, if you wanted to make a bargain with the gods for victory in war, you’d sacrifice, say, thirty nubile young women.”

“That’s horrible,” I said.

“Precisely,” Lysander said to Satsy with approval, ignoring me. “And if you wanted to summon an army of demons to destroy a nation, you’d sacrifice four hundred white mares.”

“You would?” I said.

“If you wanted to destroy just one enemy, you’d only sacrifice seventeen brown hares.” Max frowned and added, “Or, in some places, twenty-one green parrots.”

“And if you wanted to control the outcome of the World Series, you’d need to sacrifice more virgins than anyone is likely to find in New York City these days,” Lysander said primly.

“Those damn Yankees,” said Khyber, a dawning suspicion creeping across his face.

I realized our problem. “But our disappearees are three young women, a middle-aged woman, a man and a tiger.”

Lysander nodded. “They do not seem to have any requisite qualities in common.”

“They have one,” I pointed out. “They were all performing disappearing acts.”

“And I assure you,” he replied, “there is no ritual for which
that
defines the requisite quality of a sacrifice.”

“Then we’re missing something,” I said, “or on the wrong track.”

“Yes,” Max said. “What is it we’re missing?”

I asked, “Was there any relevant way in which the magicians’ acts were similar, Max? Any way at all?”

“None that I can ascertain. I’ve thought about this until my brain is a seething mass of confused despair—”

“I can believe that,” I said.

“—but I cannot find a link, a common factor, in the disappearing acts. The magicians all used different incantations, different gestures, different props. And I can find nothing unusual or similar about any of their props—except perhaps that some of them are not in the best possible taste.”

“I looked through the
Village Voice
on the subway ride here this afternoon,” I said. “Other magic acts besides these have performed in the city this week. At least a few of them must have done disappearing acts. So why are
these
the only acts in which someone really vanished? What is it about them that’s different from those others—and similar to one another?”

“What is it that we don’t know?” Max mumbled. “What can’t I see?”

“What’s the ‘it’ factor?” Satsy said.

Lysander frowned. “Hmm.”

We all fell into silent cogitation, pondering the problem. When the door chimes rang a few minutes later, I nearly jumped out of my skin. I gestured for Max to remain seated, and I went round the bookcase to see who the newcomer was.

Garry Goudini, wearing makeup and a tight, glittery costume (open halfway down his chest) stood just inside the door of the shop. “Where’s Max?” he cried. “We have
got
to get Alice back!”

G
oudini’s act had bombed that afternoon, even worse than it had the night before. His concentration had been shot by last night’s events, and his act today fell far short of its well-publicized promises. Without his tiger and without his biggest set piece, the vanishing illusion, he was finished—
finished!
He had just cancelled the rest of his performances in New York, and now he was here in the shop to help with our research—thereby proving he really was willing to do anything to get Alice back.

Recognizing that our spirits had sunk to a new low, that Goudini was on the verge of hysterics, and that we needed emergency mojo to get us through the evening, I went out to a Korean deli on Bleecker Street and bought eight pints of Ben & Jerry’s. Desperate times call for sensible measures.

Now, back at the bookstore, I let the spiritual nourishment of Vanilla Heath Bar Crunch soothe my troubled soul as we examined and discarded more theories.

“Should we go back to the idea that the evil perpetrator might be doing this to get attention or cause public panic?” Satsy asked me while filling his bowl with ice cream. “Now that this has happened to someone kind of famous?”

“
Kind
of famous?” Goudini repeated.

I shook my head. “No, I still think if that was the goal, then someone really famous would have been targeted.”

“I
am
really famous!” Goudini insisted.

“You’re keeping the disappearance a secret, right?” I asked him.

“Of course I am! My God, Ellen, don’t you realize what it would
do
to me if word of this got out?”

“My name’s Esther,” I corrected.

Satsy said to me, “Yeah, you’re right. If attention or panic was the goal, then why not pick on someone everyone’s heard of?”

“Everyone
has
heard of me!”

“I never had,” Khyber said, spooning ice cream into his bowl. “But I do like tigers. I like all cats, actually.”

“I thought you seemed like a cat person,” I said.

“I have two.” Khyber pulled out his wallet to show me their photos. “I’d just die if they disappeared. But then, I’d never do anything so cruel as put them in a levitating, smoke-filled cage and then make it fall.”

Luckily, Darling Delilah and Whoopsy Daisy arrived just then, forestalling Goudini’s angry retort.

“Library closed at six. Our report can wait, we didn’t find much today.” Whoopsy plopped a large bag on the table and started unpacking it. “We brought sandwiches, chips and soda. Oh, and salads.”

Delilah accepted one of the salads from Whoopsy and said to me, “Honey, I didn’t know if you’d want a salad, too, or a sandwich like these men, so I got you both.”

“Thanks, Delilah. But I’m having ice cream for dinner tonight.” I glanced at the clock. “We should call Barclay as soon as we’re done eating. To tell him we’re coming to the show and ask him where it is.”

Satsy said, “Delilah, we’ve decided you’re going to Barclay’s performance with Esther tonight.”

“But—”

I said, “No buts.”

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Goudini said, preening as he eyed Delilah with an expression that showed no lingering trace of grief over his tiger. (Or—oh, yeah—Sarah Campbell.)

I made brief introductions. Then Max offered ice cream to Delilah and Whoopsy.

“No, thank you, Dr. Zadok,” said Delilah. “I’ve got to watch my figure.”

“I think you have a lovely figure,” Goudini said.

Ignoring him, Delilah picked up a napkin and gently wiped some ice cream off Max’s beard.

“Oh, thank you!” Max blushed a little.

“Is that Chunky Monkey?” Delilah asked wistfully.

“It’s not good for a woman to go too long without ice cream,” I said. “It’s a question of hormonal health, you know.”

Delilah’s beautiful face was marred by a little frown. “Really?”

“Trust me.” I shoved the Chunky Monkey at her.

“Well, maybe just a little…” she said.

“Are you in show business?” Goudini asked Delilah. “It so happens, I may have an opening in my act for a woman just like you.”

I said, “I thought you’d cancelled performances until further notice, Garry.”

“One must shake off disappointment and look to the future, Ellen.” He shot me a look before saying to Delilah, “Maybe we can talk about it later this evening?”

Delilah shook her head. “Thanks, but I have my own act. I’m just waiting for my partner to return.”

“Oh? Well, depending on her qualifications, I might be able to find a place in the act for her, too. After all, I did lose
two
beautiful assistants last night, in a manner of speaking. What’s she like?”

“He’s six foot two and hung like a horse.” Delilah spooned ice cream into her bowl without looking at Goudini. “I’m the drag queen who made Sexy Samson vanish. Any more questions, Garry?”

I enjoyed Goudini’s awkward silence. Max’s eyes widened, but he didn’t look as shocked as
I’d feared. Either he’d realized Delilah wasn’t quite what she seemed, or else three and a half centuries of living had taught him to respond to surprises with equanimity.

“Hey, is that Chubby Hubby?” Whoopsy reached for a bowl and a spoon. “Pass the carton!”

Lysander handed it to him, remarking, “It’s my favorite.”

“Chubby Hubby?” Delilah smiled. “But you’re so slim, honey, and you’ve never been married.”

I asked her, “How do you know that?”

“I can always tell the married ones.” She gave Goudini a cool, pointed glance.

I said, “You couldn’t ever find a woman to put up with you, Lysander?”

“On the contrary,” he said. “There was once a young lady of good family and excellent education who pledged her heart to me.”

“Oh, I love a love story!” Satsy said. “Did her parents disapprove of you?”

Lysander frowned. “Of course not! I am of excellent family and superior education.”

“Of course,” I said.

Licking chocolate ice cream off his spoon, Khyber asked, “So why didn’t you marry the girl?”

“I felt I could better pursue my vocation through a life of celibacy,” Lysander said.

Whoopsy choked on his ice cream.
“Celibacy?”

“Why?” I asked curiously. “I gather Hieronymus’s mother was a member of the Collegium.”

“Who’s Hieronymus?” Goudini asked.

I continued, “And Max was once married—”

“Twice, actually,” Max said.

“—so obviously members of the Collegium do lead married lives. Why did you think you shouldn’t?”

“What’s the Collegium?” Goudini asked.

Lysander gave a smug little sigh. “I suppose I have always been more devoted to my duty than others. Some might say
too
devoted.”

“Or not,” I said.

“Preparation for so many of the rituals and feats involved in my vocation involves abstaining from relations, and often for such a prolonged period, that I realized it would be unfair to my dear Radha to marry her.”

“I’ve often wished
I
could abstain from my relatives,” Whoopsy said.

“Not relatives,” Satsy said. “Relations.”

Khyber added, “Sexual relations.”

“My God, man!” Goudini said.

Whoopsy looked stunned. “No sex?”

Lysander said sternly, “Eat your ice cream, young man.”

Whoopsy sought reassurance from Max. “But
you
still take the wheels out for a spin every so often, don’t you, Dr. Zadok?”

“Um, er, no,” Max said. “If, that is, you’re asking what I think you’re asking. I decided to give up the pleasures of a conjugal life after th
e death of my second wife. In devotion to my duty.” After a pause, he added, “Also in consideration of my nerves.”

“Oh, you’re a widower?” Delilah said sympathetically. “I’m so sorry.”

He patted her hand. “Thank you, my dear. But it was a long time ago.”

“So neither of you has sex?” Whoopsy asked, clearly horrified.
“Ever?”

“Spiritual and physical purity are essential companions on the path to true power,” Lysander said.

“My
God,
” Whoopsy said.

Goudini said, “I never want to get
that
obsessed with my work.”

Ignoring Goudini, Delilah reminded Whoopsy, “We should be tolerant of every lifestyle that does not harm anyone else.”

“I’m not intolerant,” Whoopsy said. “I’m flooded with pity.”

I finished my ice cream and picked up my cell phone while the rest of them continued talking. I autodialed Barclay’s number. When I didn’t get anything but silence, I tried again. Then a third time.

Seeing me frowning at my phone, Satsy asked me what was wrong.

“I’m not sure.”

I tried Dixie’s number and had the same problem. All I got was silence. I pulled my phone away from my ear and checked the signal and the battery power. It seemed to be in good working order. I was about
to ask Satsy to try calling Barclay from his phone when Max startled me with a gasp.

“We forgot Hieronymus!”

“Huh?”

“He must be very hungry by now,” Max said.

“Oh. Hieronymus.” I shrugged. “I suppose someone should fetch him from the cellar before he starves.”

“Girlfriend, that boy eats enough leftovers to feed a fraternity,” said Satsy. “He won’t starve.”

“Ah, so that’s where all the Thai and Chinese food went,” I said.

“When I got here today, he was cleaning out the fridge,” said Satsy.

“Youngsters do eat a lot,” Max said cheerfully.

“He’s awfully shy, isn’t he?” Satsy said. “Took the whole armload downstairs to be by himself. Scarcely said a word to me.”

I looked at Lysander. “I believe I mentioned a personality problem?”

He scowled. “I spoke with the lad earlier today. He was courteous to
me,
young lady. Perhaps because
I
was courteous to
him.
”

“Or maybe he just knows where his bread gets buttered,” I said. “You being such a big cheese in the Collegium, and all.”

Max quickly said, “Esther, would you please go invite Hieronymus to join us? We should share this lovely ice cream with every member of the team.”

“Team,” Lysander repeated, scowling at Max now.

“Of course, Max.” Picking an argument with Lysander might vent some of my tension, but it wouldn’t bring us any closer to solving our problems. So I went downstairs in search of Max’s assistant. However, I came back upstairs without him. “He’s not there anymore.”

“Not there?” Max repeated.

“No. And why is the lab full of feathers, Max?”

“Oh, dear. I suppose I should do some cleaning.”

“Feathers?” Lysander said. “Still?”

“Well?” I said to Max.

“I’ve assigned Hieronymus the task of summoning a familiar,” he said. “It hasn’t been going well. His unfortunate disadvantage has been something of an obstacle. Plus, of course, familiars are notoriously recalcitrant.”

“Dr. Zadok, I don’t mean to be alarmist,” Satsy said, “but is it possible that Hieronymus has…disappeared?”

“I haven’t sensed another disappearance,” Max said, shaking his head.

“Hieronymus hasn’t vanished,” I said firmly. “He wasn’t onstage and he wasn’t performing a disappearing act.”

“Then where is he?” Satsy wondered.

“Is there another way out of the building besides the front door of the shop?” I asked Max.

“Yes. Particularly for someone with Hieronymus’s skills.”

I shrugged. “So I guess he went out. Without telling anyone or explaining himself.
Again.
”

“He is not required to explain his actions to mundanes,” Lysander said tersely.

Venting some of my tension on Lysander might be very productive, after all, I decided. “Apparently he’s not required to pull his weight around here, either! We’ve spent days interviewing victims, examining props, doing research, trying to find leads, breaking and entering! And what has
he
done?”

Goudini said, “Does anyone mind if I smoke?”

Our chorus of objections sent him outside with his nicotine.

Then Lysander turned angrily to me. “I’ll have you know that earlier today, Hieronymus gave me a very thorough account of his research so far! And I can assure you it’s been a good deal more productive than invading Magic Magnus’s stronghold in the middle of the night!”

“Well, that’s news!” I snapped. “Since Hieronymus can’t be bothered to do it, why don’t
you
tell us what his research has produced so far?”

By the time Goudini returned from his cigarette break, I was bitterly regretting the impulse that had led me to invite Lysander, a second time in one day, to lecture to me.

“These particles of energy,” Lysander was now saying, “produce opposing forces, namely the weak force and the strong force, rather than being actual properties in and of themselves.”

“Wait, how can particles
not
be properties in and of themselves?” Khyber asked.

I said to Khyber, “I
beg
you not to encourage him.”

“Because they are only particles in
some
manifestations,” Lysander told his attentive audience. “In others, they are waves, whose internal substructure is unstable due to the tension among gravity, electromagnetism and the vacua, or ‘holes,’ both shifting and semi-shifting, which I have already mentioned.”

“My head hurts,” I muttered.

“The question of translating matter into such particles and waves, that the matter may thus traverse these vacua, possibly into another dimension—”

“Please skip the technical details and just tell us: How does this get us any closer to figuring out how the disappearances are being orchestrated?” I said. “Or why? Or by whom or what?”

“As I’ve been explaining,” Lysander said impatiently, “Hieronymus has been concentrating on the
how.
”

“But these processes that you’re postulating—that Hieronymus postulates—who would have such knowledge? And the ability to use it?” I asked. “A sorcerer? A mage? An alchemist?”

“Yes.”

“Who else?”

“No one, I pray,” said Lysander.

“So what happened to Hieronymus’s theory that a mundane was responsible for the disappearances?”