The Art of Disappearing, Ivy Pochoda [best android ereader TXT] 📗

“Must be a big deal.”

Toby recovered himself. “I don’t think you’re old enough to be here.”

“Hasn’t stopped me before.”

“I’ve noticed,” Toby said. “But I could say something.”

The teenager rolled her eyes. “Like anyone cares.” She turned her back, showing me the uneven roots of her hair.

“Greta, he’s right. I’m sure there are better places for you to spend your time.”

“Like?” she asked, tapping her nails.

Suddenly all my answers—the mall, the movies, a high school dance, or the library—seemed too juvenile for the girl with her back to me.

When I didn’t reply, she continued, “You’ve gotta do a way bigger show than in this place.”

Toby stared into his glass. “That’s my business.”

“What’cha gonna do?”

“Don’t you know a magician never gives anything away?” I said.

“I’m sure no one wants to see card tricks and that kind of stuff at a casino opening,” Greta said.

“They don’t,” Toby said.

“So?”

Toby didn’t reply.

“So, now you’re gonna need an assistant.” Greta kept drumming her nails on the bar. The ball-chain necklaces around her wrist rattled on the wood. “Well?”

Toby shook his head.

“You think I like listening to people slurp their coffee in a diner? No way. I came here for you.” She pressed in closer to Toby.

“This isn’t going to work,” I said gently.

“What do you know?”

Toby wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “That’s enough. Go back to your diner or to Intersection.” His voice was firm.

“No way.” Her words were sharp and insistent.

“Listen to me, Greta. You will not be part of my show.”

Greta shook her head.

“I’ve told you, I don’t work with an assistant.”

“Only because you lose them.”

Toby opened his mouth. But Greta got there first. “Remember, I was there. You made that woman vanish.”

The magician shook his head.

Greta smiled. “Well, I think your old partner, Jim Swenson, agrees with me. I met him the other day outside your show.”

“Why don’t you be his assistant?” Toby asked.

“Swenson says you’re a dangerous magician.”

Toby shook his head.

“So, why would I want to assist him when I could assist you?”

“Swenson is an idiot.”

“Whatever. But you’re gonna need someone like me. Someone who’s not afraid of your tricks.”

“I don’t work with assistants.”

“This is Las Vegas. Every show needs a girl onstage.”

“We’ll see,” the magician replied.

“No, you’ll see,” she said, waltzing off through the crowd of older women.

I put my hand over Toby’s and was about to speak, when the man sitting next to him spun his glass on the bar in a spiral, drawing our attention. “Teenagers,” he said. “They never know what’s good for them.”

I nodded.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the man continued, “but I was impressed by your show.” His voice and his manner were too elegant for Las Vegas, especially the Fremont side of town. He spoke with an accent, savoring each word as it slipped over his tongue. He had a head of sleek sliver hair and an ivory face that looked as if it belonged on top of a Victorian walking stick. “I’d say it’s a little bit like Kellar and a lot like Cardini.” The man lit a gold-tipped cigarette, and I noticed that his hands looked as if they were covered in melted wax.

“All the good tricks seem to be taken,” Toby said.

“Your tricks are better than good.” He trapped Toby with his strange hypnotic stare. “But they’re not really tricks, are they? My name is Theo van Eyck,” the older man said, offering a long gnarled hand. He flipped Toby’s hand over and examined his fingers. I realized a glove of burns covered the older man’s fingers. Then Theo van Eyck smiled a thin smile that reminded me of Toby’s. “Long ago, my hands were very much like yours.” He released Toby from his grip. “You see, once I also could do magic.” He fell silent, waiting for his words to vanish with his cloud of exhaled smoke.

“What kind of magic?” I asked.

“I’m fairly sure I do not need to explain that to either of you.” Theo looked behind him at the women. “Shall we?” he asked, indicating a far corner of the bar.

Theo ordered another small gin. “Do not be alarmed when I tell you that I have been hearing about you for some time.”

Toby sipped his drink.

“It isn’t often we find another true magician.”

“We?” I asked.

“In Amsterdam, where I live, I have gathered a small circle of men who are dedicated to preserving the art of real magic. Men who still wish to push the limits of our craft beyond the second-rate showmanship you see everywhere.” Theo glanced over his shoulder. “Especially here.” Now he swirled his drink and considered Toby. “You have quite a reputation.”

“For what?” Toby asked.

“We have been following your career ever since you left school. Details of your performances in obscure places have made their way back to us. I think that you have been persecuted long enough.”

Toby smiled faintly.

“In my day, it was the other way around: I wasn’t chased from town to town when people began to suspect the reality behind my tricks. I was in demand.” He sipped his drink. “But conjurers have been replaced by tricksters.”

“Tricksters,” Toby repeated.

“Tricksters and showmen. A trickster certainly wouldn’t be able to make a woman disappear for real.”

Toby pushed his drink away. Theo wrapped a hand around his wrist. “Magicians often make mistakes. It is not the end of everything.”

“It almost was.”

“Have you ever wondered how you managed it?”

Toby shook his head. “I was more concerned with finding her.”

“Finding her means undoing the trick. Undoing the trick means knowing what went wrong.”

“I’ve given up on that sort of magic.”

Theo smiled and shook his head sadly. “We would like you to join us in our circle before the glitz of Vegas obscures the beauty of your tricks.”

“I’m happy here.”

“Are you? In this theater, hiding your true talents from people who think you have perfected the card trick?”

“It might seem strange, but I like this town. I guess that’s what happens after all those third-rate venues. Las Vegas becomes the goal. It’s a city of illusion.”

Theo shook his head.