Disappearing Nightly (19 page)

Lysander shook his head. “I think he
was mistaken about that. Apparently he thinks so, too, since he didn’t discuss it with me. Now, as I was saying, the nature of these shifting and semi-shifting holes may be—”

“Yes, that’s very interesting,” I said, “but how does the perpetrator arrange the cosmos so that an ordinary magician doing an ordinary disappearing act—”

“There is nothing ordinary about my act!” Goudini said.

“—becomes imbued with enough mystical power to make a person—or tiger—vanish? And how does the perpetrator get the magician to do this without conscious intent? Without even the suspicion that he holds such power?”

“If you’ll stop
interrupting
…” Lysander said.

“Wait.” Max looked dumbstruck. “What did you say, Esther?”

“Huh?”

“‘Without conscious intent’?”

“Oh. Yeah. Without conscious intent, and without suspicion—”

“—that he holds the power,” Max concluded. “Could
that
be it?”

“Max, if I may be allowed to continue,” Lysander said impatiently, “I would just like to point out—”

“Wait a moment! I think Esther may be on to something.” Max gazed thoughtfully at me. “That has been one of the most perplexing aspects of these disappearances.”

“
What
has?”

“Well, I don’t think such a disappearance
can
be managed without conscious intent,” said Max.

Delilah said, “But I definitely didn’t intend to make Samson vanish for real. I know that much.”

“Exactly,” Max said slowly. “So therefore…Yes, therefore it seems possible—no, I’d say it seems likely, in fact—that
you
did not hold the power!”

“I didn’t?”

“No! You were a conduit for the entity that held the power!”

“Of course! A
conduit,
” Lysander cried. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“I can’t tell you, Lysander,” I said. “Because I have no idea what you two are talking about.”

“Conduit?” Delilah said. “Whoa! Whoa, wait a minute. Are you saying that someone—or something—was doing its nasty work through me? Are you saying I was possessed when I made Samson disappear?”

“In a sense,” Max said.

“No, not at all,” Lysander said. “Conduitism is completely different from possession.”

“There are similarities,” Max argued.

“According to the writings of Zosimus—”

“Who did not have access to the works of the great Chinese scholars on the subject—”

“Their conclusions are highly questionable, Max!”

“Cornelius Agrippa thought they had merit.”

“Only if you completely misinterpret his writings on the Great Chain of Being!” Lysander said.

I felt like firing a gun in the air. “Stop! Guys! Guys,
stop.
” When I had their attention, I said, “The rest of us would like to know what a conduit is.”

“I’ll field this one,” Lysander said to Max. Then he explained conduitism to us. When he was done, we stared at him in silence for about fifteen seconds.

Then Khyber said, “Maybe we’d understand better if Dr. Zadok explained it.”

Lysander frowned and sat down, muttering something bitter about mundanes.

“Well…” Max tugged at his beard. “Let’s try this. Esther, would you go turn on the fire?”

Wondering why he’d requested it, I crossed the shop to the fireplace, picked up the remote and turned on the gas fire.

Max said to his audience, “Having seen that, who among you believes that Esther has the power to create fire at will?” No one did, of course. “Does anyone here believe that the remote in her hand is invested with independent power? That it could just as easily set this table alight, or start a fire in a garbage can?” When they all shook their heads, Max said, “But we have been seeing a remarkably similar set of events lately. And we have been making presumptions precisely like the ones we instantly realize are ridiculous when we try to apply them to Esther and the remote-control device she’s h
olding.”

“In other words,” Khyber said, “the power originates somewhere other than the magicians or their props?”

“Exactly! I have turned my brain into porridge trying to figure out how the magicians were exercising such power without realizing it, or how someone was exercising such power through their props without the magicians’ knowledge.” He shook his head, making little
tsk-tsk
sounds. “Wasted time!”

“In all fairness, Max, you shouldn’t blame yourself,” Lysander said, exhibiting an unexpected side of his personality. “After all, conduitism is rare, arcane, obscure and so unpredictable that few adepts dabble in it.”

“True.”

“And that is, of course, why
I
didn’t think of it,” Lysander added, sounding more like his usual self. “A perfectly understandable oversight.”

“In other words, there were other first-glance possibilities in the way,” Whoopsy said.

“Yes.” Max nodded. “After all, the first time Esther ever saw a fire in that fireplace, she mistakenly thought
I
was the source of the power that created those flames.”

“Because I didn’t know it was a gas fireplace,” I said, thinking it over, “and I didn’t see the remote in your hand.”

“Right. Er, check. Now,” Max said, “what if you picked up the remote and pressed the power button thinking it would turn on a TV set?”

“Then I’d be pretty startled when I started a fire, instead.”

“Of course. Because you would have created fire without conscious intent. And if you had no prior knowledge of remote-control devices or of gas fires, you’d probably be frightened by the event—and perhaps even mystified by your sudden, strange power.”

“But the power isn’t hers,” Whoopsy said, catching on, “and it doesn’t come from her. It’s invested in the remote.”

“Correct! Yet the power doesn’t
originate
in the remote,” Max said.

“It originates with the manufacturer,” Whoopsy said.

“Specifically, with the programmer,” Khyber said. “The person who figured out how to get the remote to create fire when the right button is pressed.”

“When it’s pressed by
anyone,
” I said.

“Anyone who happens to be holding the remote,” Max agreed. “Whether such a person intends it or not, wants it or not, knows what’s about to happen or not, he inevitably creates fire—as long as he is within range of the fireplace and presses the right button on the remote.” Max beamed at us. “
That’s
conduitism.”

“Okay, now I get it,” I said with relief. “But what’s acting as the conduit in the disappearances?”

“Hmm.” Max frowned. “This leads us right back to the same problem. We’re still lo
oking for a common factor among the magicians, the acts or the disappearees.”

“There is a common factor,” I insisted. “The disappearances all occurred while the victims and the magicians were onstage and in performance.”

“Why then and there?” Max asked.

“Energy,” Goudini said.

We all looked at him.

Seeing us suddenly pay serious attention to something he’d said, he looked a little startled. Then he shrugged. “Well, surely it’s obvious? You can rehearse something a hundred times, imagine how the audience will respond, even practice the bows you’ll take and the encores you’ll give. But there is absolutely nothing like performing for real in front of a live audience.
Nothing.
No amount of rehearsal can simulate it or prepare you for what that’ll be like.”

“Of course,” I said, too stunned at my own obtuseness to wallow in my astonishment that Goudini had contributed something useful to the discussion. It was yet another thing so obvious to me that I hadn’t even seen it! “Getting in front of the audience brings everything—particularly the performer’s energy—to a whole different level.”

“It’s why some people freeze up every single time they have to give a speech or accept a prize,” Delilah said, nodding. “And why other people fall in love with performing by the time they’re eight year
s old and know they’ve got to spend the rest of their lives working in front of an audience!”

“But what was different about
that
night?” I asked Delilah. “The night Samson disappeared? You’d been working together in front of audiences for a long time together.”

“It was a new act,” she said promptly. “We were so excited about it.”

“Mine was a new act, too,” Goudini said. “And last night was my first time before an audience in more than two years.”

“And Duke and Dolly were incredibly excited about performing in New York the night she disappeared!” said Satsy.

“That’s it!” cried Whoopsy. “We’ve found the common factor!”

“Not quite,” I said. “We’re still missing something.”

“What do you mean?”

“Barclay and Clarisse weren’t particularly excited about performing for a bunch of society children at a birthday party.”

“But they
were
excited,” Satsy said, “about the upcoming gig at the Magic Cabaret. Very excited.”

“We
have
found the common factor!” Whoopsy said.

“No, not yet,” I said.

“You’re becoming a real wet blanket, Esther,” he said.

“Why did Clarisse disappear at the birthday party?” I asked. “Why didn’t she wait to disappear at the Magic Cabaret if that’s the performance she was so excited about?”

“You’re splitting hairs,” Whoopsy complained.

“All right, how about this?” I replied. “Golly didn’t disappear on our first night, she disappeared at the
end
of our first week of performances. And no one in the show was unusually excited that night. If anything, we were finding our stride, getting into a sustainable routine that night. Or so we thought, until Golly vanished. She claimed Joe Herlihy nearly set her on fire in Act One, but I don’t think that was true, I think that was just Golly being a prima donna. Joe was getting through the show better that night than he had at any previous performance.”

“Concentration,” Goudini said suddenly.

“What?”

“That’s the other thing performing for a live audience does for me,” he said. “It totally focuses my concentration. I’m razor sharp, and nothing can distract me. Well…nothing apart from realizing how my show was flopping today without Alice and wondering how I’d made her vanish,” he added wearily. “I was off today. So, so
off.
It’s lucky I didn’t decapitate one of the girls for real or accidentally immolate myself.”

“Concentration. Yes!” I nodded. “That
is
what was different about Joe that night. He had it that night. For the first time since the show opened.
I remember noticing it, and being relieved. It made me think we’d get through the whole performance smoothly for once.”

“I had it the night Samson disappeared. I was totally in the zone!” Delilah’s voice caught as she said, “The new act was going so well right up until he vanished.”

“I had it, too, last night,” Goudini said. “I was so on my game. So focused.”

His face twisted and I could see he was mourning the loss of his tiger again.

“So…” Satsy thought it over for a few moments. “Our perpetrator looks for magic acts where the performers have good concentration or are developing it, and picks them as his targets?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think anyone choosing his targets that way would pick Joe Herlihy. I’d say concentration is generally a weak spot for him.”

“Pretty dangerous for a magician,” Goudini commented.

“Pretty dangerous for those of us working with him,” I said.

“So how did he manage to concentrate that night?” Goudini asked. “The night the girl disappeared?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I gather he’d been working on the act, on his skills….”

Working on the act. Striving for improvement.

Something clicked again. What was it? Joe, Duke, Barclay…all trying to raise their standards and…

“Improve the act,” I muttered.

“What?”

What had Matilda told me the day I’d fled the stage in panic during rehearsal and knelt heaving over a toilet while she screamed at me?

“Esther?”

She’d said…she’d said that Joe had studied new techniques, worked with a coach, developed new standards, refined his abilities.

“Developing…studying…striving for improvement…” I mumbled. Barclay, Duke, Joe…

“What did you say?”

“Esther’s got that look again.”

“Concentration,” I said to Delilah and Goudini. “Pretty essential to a magician, would you say?”

“Definitely,” Delilah said.

“Indispensable,” Goudini said.

“Joe didn’t have it. Not really. Not until that night.”

“So he’s learning,” said Delilah.

“Yes.” I nodded. “He’s improving his concentration.”

“Which is a good thing for any girls he saws in half,” Goudini said dryly.

“How would you do that?” I asked him.

“Saw a girl in half? I can’t give away trade secrets.”

“No, how would you improve your concentration? Or, I guess, your act?”

“Well,
we
hired a coach,” said Delilah.

The tumblers clicked into place and the chain fell away.

“You did
what?
” I snapped.

She blinked at my tone. “We hired a coach. I think Samson and I sensed we had hit a plateau, but we didn’t really see it, hadn’t defined it. Not until this guy came backstage one night after seeing our show and…” Her eyes opened wide. “Oh. My.
God.
”

“Joe hired a coach, too,” I said. “His wife told me.”

“God’s teeth!” cried Max. “That’s how the conduit was created! Someone gained intimate access to your practice of your art!”

“To your practice of a disappearing act!” Lysander added.

We all looked at Goudini.

“What?” he said.

“Did you hire a coach?” I said impatiently.

“Me?”
He snorted. “No, of course not.”

“So he wasn’t the one?” Delilah asked Max. “Our coach, I mean?”

“I don’t know,” Max replied. “Tell us what happened.”

“He came backstage and said…” Delilah started breathing faster. “He said we had talent, had spark, but we needed focus. Refinement. Said he could help us in just a few sessions. Offered the first session for free. We only had to pay him for it if we decided to hire him for the whole course.”