Louisa was a chain-smoker. The ashtray was filled with red-stained cigarette butts, and Mallory had yet to catch the dead woman’s husband in the act of lighting one. She had decided that all the cigarettes from Louisa’s pack must be premarked with lipstick, but they were lighting up when Malakhai was nowhere near them.
A neat trick.
Mallory sipped her wine in the spirit of research. So this was the flavor of 1941, when Malakhai was a teenage boy with a war going on all around him. „How well did you get along with the Germans during the occupation?“
„Oh, the soldiers were our best customers. After Faustine died, we turned the place into a dinner theater. Couldn’t make ends meet with admission for the magic show. So we ripped out all the theater seats and put in chairs and tables – one big dining room.“
„You fed the enemy?“
„And poisoned them – the food was that bad.“ He disappeared around the dragon screen, and his voice carried back to her. „The wine was worse, so we never had any officers in the audience.“
She could hear the splintering of wood as he pried open another crate.
„We were just a pack of children,“ he said. „When you’re young and poor, you think about your stomach, not politics.“
Malakhai returned to the platform, carrying a round cafe table in one hand and a chair in the other. „These are from Faustine’s. Max must have bought up everything but the old lady’s bidet.“ He set them down in front of the staircase.
„Was it a German soldier who killed Louisa?“
„Let’s get off that, shall we?“ His voice had only mild impatience. „Do you want to see this illusion or not?“ He wiped down the chair with a cloth and held it out for her. „Sit down – please.“
She took her seat at the small table as he acted the part of a waiter, setting out her glass and a wine bottle. His hands were steady. Maybe she would change that. „How did Faustine die?“
„In her sleep – no blood. I’m forever disappointing you, aren’t I?“ He had cleaned Louisa’s ashtray, and now he put it on the table beside the wine bottle. „You probably won’t like this trick. It’s a small, unpretentious routine. We used it to open the show every night. Max created it. Louisa wasn’t a magician, so he kept it very simple.“
Malakhai gently lifted a violin from a dusty case and began to work the pegs where the long neck ended in a scroll of wood. „Don’t expect too much.“ He plucked the strings, tightening and loosening them, tuning the instrument by ear. „Think of it as a little bit of poetry, a prelude to magic.“
She was staring at the cigarette on the edge of the ashtray when the tip began to glow with a small flame, and now it smoked.
A chemical agent?
That would explain why she never caught him lighting one. Maybe it was something that would ignite when it was pulled from the pack and exposed to the air. She picked up the cigarette and sniffed at the smoke from the lit end, but there was no trace scent of chemicals. Now she put the filter to her lips and drew in the smoke to taste it.
Her throat burned, and she could not stop coughing. It was a fight to catch her breath.
„So that was your first cigarette.“ Malakhai was at her side, gently slapping her back. „How do I know these things?“
Her lungs were on fire, and her eyes were full of tears from the smoke. „There’s something mixed in the tobacco. It burns – “
„Oh, it’s always like that the first time you inhale. Makes you wonder why there’s ever a second time.“ He handed her the wineglass, and she drank deeply – for medicinal purposes.
„Well, Mallory, now that we’ve sucked poison together, we’re bonded, you and I.“ His hand rested on her shoulder until she stopped coughing. „So, you risked a dangerous cigarette – commendable. And you’re well on your way to being drunk. That’s even better.“
She set down the wineglass and pushed it away.
Malakhai bent down to a crate and pulled out a burlap mannikin. He slung it over his shoulder and walked up the platform stairs. Other than the stitched-up wounds and patches, it was an exact copy of Oliver Tree’s demonstration dummy.
Malakhai used twine instead of handcuffs to bind the cloth hands to the iron post rings, then turned on the lamp in the overhead crossbeam. „The dummy isn’t part of the act. I need it to line up the shot.“ He descended the stairs and loaded an arrow into the magazine. When the weapon was armed and cocked, he glanced her way with a charming smile. „Tense moment?“
Not at all.
Under the cover of her blazer, Mallory felt the comfortable weight of a revolver, and she would bet the moon that a bullet could beat an arrow.
„Now, in the original trick,“ he said, „there was no magazine. It was a single-fire weapon with a wooden bow. And it was handheld – no pedestals. But since you’re the audience, it would be rude if I asked you to shoot me.“ He flipped a switch on the pedestal. „So we’ll improvise with automation.“
The clockwork gears ticked as the teeth of the wheels meshed together.
He stood behind the pedestal and looked through the crossbow sight. „Max’s inspiration came from the magic bullet trick. He’d never seen it performed, but he had a rough idea of the effect. In the original version, the weapon was a gun.“
Malakhai walked toward her with an armload of crockery. „The shot broke a plate in the magician’s hands, and he caught the bullet in his teeth.“ He bent low to set the small plates in a circle around the cafe table. „But during the occupation, the Germans frowned on civilians with guns.“ The pedestal continued to tick off its countdown. „And catching an arrow in the teeth would’ve been too dicey.“
The ticking stopped. The bowstring twanged and the arrow fired too fast for Mallory to follow its flight from the pedestal to the heart of the mannikin, where sawdust was streaming from a hole in its burlap chest.
„Perfect,“ said Malakhai. „Now let’s hope the string holds for one more shot.“ He placed an unlit cigarette in each of the plates on the floor around the table. „Atmosphere is half the effect.“
She had been wrong about Louisa’s lipstick stains being made in advance. All these filters were clean.
Malakhai tied a red scarf to the end of an arrow and loaded it into the magazine. When he had taken down the burlap dummy, he made a circuit of the platform, switching off the globe lamps and the standing lamps, diminishing her comfort level with the encroaching darkness. Only the platform bulb was left glowing between the posts at the top of the platform, and behind the stage was a wall of shadow.
Halfway up the stairs, he paused at the edge of the yellow pool of light and waved one hand, saying, „Ambiance.“
On command, all the cigarettes in the saucers lit themselves, one by one, and she was surrounded by smoke on all sides, white wraiths swirling into the surrounding darkness.
She heard the tick of gears and turned toward the platform. Malakhai stood on the stage. The single lightbulb had a small circle of influence, thieving decades from his face. He was holding the violin and its bow. The ticking seemed louder in the dark.
„You’re in Faustine’s Magic Theater. It’s 1942. If you look up, you can see small private balconies. And straight up – the ceiling is a mural of characters and scenes from famous plays. Oh, and the chandelier – a huge brilliant ball of crystal and light. Much too big for the space. Faustine’s tastes were a bit gaudy. But it’s wartime now. The old lady is dead, and we can’t afford the lightbulbs. So the chandelier is dark, and the room is lit with candles. It’s full of people, Parisians and refugees in street clothes. The soldiers are wearing gray uniforms. Guns are strapped to their thighs. All the waiters are young boys in top hats and tuxedos. Try to imagine that the wine is not so good.“