“Ooh, those are lovely,” the disembodied voice cooed.
The dress suddenly lifted from the man’s arm, contorted through the air, and slipped down as if someone had pulled it over her head. It settled and stood there as if it were on a well-proportioned female body. The audience cheered and laughed as the dress turned and bent, the skirt swirling.
“Will you hook me please?” the voice asked sweetly. There was thunderous applause. Finney and Jack could hardly contain themselves. Louis reached over, as the dress turned its back to him, and fastened the hooks and eyes.
“Thank you,” the voice said pleasantly.
The gloves went into the air and onto invisible hands—the shoes were slipped onto invisible feet; the hat went atop an invisible head. The gloves lifted the hem of the skirt slightly and the invisible woman curtsied. She turned and sashayed toward the rear of the stage, swinging her hips. A glove parted the curtain and the dress twirled through the opening.
“Boy!” Harold shook his head as he applauded. “You gotta give ’em credit. They’re really good. Of course,” he said complacently, “it’s either done with wires or mirrors.”
“I’m proud of you, Harold,” Evelyn said with feigned awe. “It’s amazing what three years of college can do.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, looking at her with lowered brows. “You don’t believe all this stuff is , do you?”
“It’s as easy to believe in an invisible woman as it is to believe they could do all that with wires.”
“Okay.” He shrugged. “They do it with mirrors. I’ll explain how when we get home.”
“Thank you… Hal,” she said, smiling sweetly. He looked at her with a suspicious frown.
Louis ended the applause. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. You’ve seen some wondrous sights tonight, but what you will see next is perhaps the strangest of all. Stranger than the Minotaur, stranger than Tiny Tim, stranger than the Little Mermaid, stranger even than Medusa.”
Jack grabbed Finney’s arm and stared at the closed curtain with round eyes. “It’s the Snake Goddess—it’s finally the Snake Goddess.”
“There have been many legends of a race of snake people who dwelt on Earth before the dawn of civilization. Legends of the lost continents of Mu and Lemuria where the snake people lived. How can we doubt these legends when we have the living proof before our very eyes?” He gestured dramatically and stepped to the side of the stage. “The Snake Goddess!”
The curtains rustled open, revealing a low platform on which rested the giant coils of a snake, coils as thick as the Minotaur’s thigh. Propped in the nest of coils was the torso of a woman. Silver hair crested on her head like the feathers of a jungle bird. Her skin was white and mottled with patches of light brown. She had the startled face of an idiot.
Her small hands rested on the pile of coils. She looked nervously about, with quick, jerking movements of her head. A leather collar encircled her neck. A chain attached to the collar lay across the coils. A roustabout held the other end.
The audience drew in its collective breath and leaned forward tensely.
“Don’t be alarmed, ladies and gentlemen,” Louis said quickly, smiling and holding up his hands. “The Snake Goddess is not dangerous. She is at least a million years old and senile. The collar and chain are merely to keep her from wandering off and injuring herself.”
Harold made a sour face of disbelief.
Finney looked at Jack anxiously. “How do you like her? Is she everything you wanted her to be?” he whispered.
“Sumbitch,” Jack answered softly, not taking his shining eyes from the creature on the stage.
“Come along,” Louis said to the snake woman. “Let the folks get a better look at you.”
The roustabout gave the chain a casual jerk and stepped toward the front of the stage. The pale torso slowly rose up on its serpent body. The coils shifted, gleaming dully under the lights. The snake woman slid off the platform and undulated across the stage, her body uncoiling behind her. The audience stirred nervously, the muttering growing in volume.
The man led her off the stage as the houselights came up. The reptilian body flowed over the edge until it stretched twenty feet down the aisle. The people rose to their feet, trying to see but only managing to get in one another’s way. Those on the aisle shrank back against those straining forward. The roustabout held the chain with a practiced hand, not letting her get too close to either side, but he could not control her slithering body. A woman screamed as the Goddess brushed against the bench on which she sat, then giggled in embarrassment.
The snake woman turned at the rear of the tent and drew her body around her, then flowed back toward the stage. She held her small arms out slightly as if keeping her balance. Her eyes darted from one side of the aisle to the other as she seemed to hurry back to her platform.
“Which is it, Harold? Wires or mirrors?” Evelyn asked with a wry smile. Harold gave her an annoyed glance and held Rose’s hand as she huddled against him.
Francine watched the snake woman’s scaly body glide by her feet with little reaction. She felt that she probably should be carrying on like the others, but it was just some sort of trick and she couldn’t get excited over it. She felt numb and wished she were home.
Billy gave Francine an occasional worried glance but said nothing.
Louis had some trouble quieting the audience as the Snake Goddess gathered her coils around her on the platform. But they finally settled down as the houselights dimmed and the curtain closed.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” Louis said over the fading murmurs. “Now, I would like to introduce the man who made the Wonder Show possible, the man who brought all these oddities of nature and legend together for your amusement and edification. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present: the Curator.”
Haverstock stepped from between the curtains, wearing flowing black robes. He walked to the front of the stage, ignoring Louis, who ducked through the curtains. There was expectant applause.
“I was wondering when he was gonna show up,” Harold said from the side of his mouth.
“Doesn’t look very much like his picture, does he?” Sonny whispered.
“He looks too much like it to suit me,” Rose said.
“I am not a magician,” Haverstock began. “I do not do card tricks, saw ladies in half, or pull paper flowers from my sleeve.”
He spoke in a perfunctory voice, using none of Louis’s theatrics. He seemed confident his performance would stand on its own, without razzle-dazzle.
“Nor am I a mentalist,” he continued. “I do not identify keys or pocket watches concealed by an assistant. I do not use sleight of hand nor legerdemain in any way. I am here to reveal to you the powers of the Ancients, the race that ruled the Earth before Man. The Ancients were the masters of the elements, but perished because they used their powers unwisely. In a cataclysm that sank whole continents beneath the seas, they perished, leaving no trace of their great works. I, and I alone, have rediscovered a small fragment of their incredible powers.
“Before we go further, I would like to introduce my assistant. Angel the Magic Boy.”
The interior of the tent went suddenly and totally dark. There was a nervous rustle in the audience as they heard the curtains parting.
A single light sprang into being over the stage near the top of the tent. A face floated there, pale and beautiful, topped by slightly unruly white hair. The light spread gradually until the entire figure was illuminated, floating six feet above the stage.
Angel wore a robe similar to Haverstock’s, but white. He floated upright, his arms outstretched, his face calm and bland.
He began to move. He floated out over the wide-eyed faces, his robes billowing around him like a slow-motion wraith, like a ghost ship sailing on moonbeams. The light stayed with him as if he were radiating it himself. The startled faces looked up at him, illuminated by his warm glow.