He reached the rear of the tent and turned in a fantasy of swirling robes. He returned to the stage and turned again, facing the audience. Then he slowly lowered to the stage. The audience applauded madly. Angel’s glow waned as the stage lights came up. He stood looking vaguely at the audience as Haverstock held up his hands for silence.
“The Ancients recognized only four elements: air, earth, fire, and water. They knew complete mastery of them all. Tonight I will demonstrate these powers for you.” He lowered his eyebrows sternly. “I must caution you, however, to remain in your seats during this demonstration. What you see may frighten you, may even terrify you. There will be apparitions and manifestations in the air over your heads and in the ground under your feet, but there is no danger if you remain in your seats and do not panic!”
Finney and Jack trembled in anticipation and looked at each other in delicious fright.
Harold rolled his eyes. “Oh, brother,” he groaned.
“Remember,” Haverstock admonished, “no matter what you see, no matter what you hear, there is no danger if you remain seated. I cannot be responsible for your safety otherwise. Do not leave your seats!”
He pulled a wand from his robes as the audience sat, barely breathing. He held it above his head and the tent was again pitched into total darkness.
“Fire!” Haverstock bellowed.
The tip of the wand burst into flame, illuminating the stage and creating ruby reflections in the wide eyes of the spectators. Angel stood where he had, calmly, his arms at his sides, his eyes partially closed, his head moving faintly side to side. Haverstock reached downward with the wand and touched the flaming end to Angel’s robes.
Angel burst into flame as though the robes had been soaked in gasoline. The audience screamed and jumped to its feet. Evelyn gasped and involuntarily clutched her throat. Haverstock held up a cautionary hand.
Angel was completely obliterated by the fire. No trace of him remained, only a raw flame that burned with no source. Then the flame shrank, pulled into itself, became not a fire but a ball of light, a chunk of the sun a yard across that rose from the stage and convoluted in the air. Haverstock stood beneath it, his arms outstretched, his head thrown back, staring intensely at it.
Suddenly feathery extensions of flame stretched from either side of the fireball. The flickering appendages coalesced, shaped themselves, became wings of fire. The fireball shifted, transmuted, shrank further, and took form.
The fiery swan flapped its wings of blazing feathers and took flight over the audience. It reached the rear of the tent, stretched its wings, banked, turned gracefully, and returned toward the stage. It repeated the maneuver, circling the tent, leaving behind it stray little flames that died in the air.
The audience followed it with reddened faces, swiveling heads and bodies. They crouched in their seats, hardly breathing.
“Water!” Haverstock shouted.
The air in the center of the tent darkened. Wisps of fog appeared from nowhere and rushed to the center of the darkness, swirling around it, and then were drawn into the cauldron of roiling air. The firebird continued to circle, now trailing feathers of steam as it flew through the damp air. The darkness grew light, became a whirlpool of mist. The walls of the tent billowed inward, though there was no wind. The mist thickened swiftly, rounding its shape.
Then a six-foot globe of clear water floated high in the tent. The surface rippled and trembled as if trying to disintegrate. The tent walls settled back and the swirling turbulence in the air died away.
The people watched in amazement, craning their necks, too far into shock to make a sound.
The swan of fire plunged suddenly into the sphere. Steam hissed and billowed, obscuring the globe of water for a moment. When the steam cleared, Angel was inside it, naked and unharmed. He lay curled in the center of the globe, seen as if through a fogged window, his pale, slim body gleaming although no lights were on. The air itself seemed illuminated.
Then his body uncurled and he swam in the globe of water, executing graceful turns and flourishes, slow, dream-like movements which belied the limited space in which he floated.
Evelyn watched, lost in a reverie, overwhelmed by the beauty of what she saw. Only when she couldn’t see any longer did she realize that her eyes had filled with tears.
“Earth!” Haverstock called, though it is doubtful if anyone heard him.
The hard-packed earth that was the floor of the tent trembled. The people looked away from the globe of water, looked at the ground, held their breaths, waiting for the next onslaught on their senses. The earth moved again and they screamed. They heard a grumbling, a grinding, a rending. They were frozen, afraid to move. Then there was a new sound, a sharp crack like gunfire and a fissure opened down the center of the aisle, exposing raw earth and stones. It started at the stage as a mere crack, then widened to about a foot and dwindled away to a crack again at the rear of the tent. Loose earth and small stones broke away from the sides and fell with small clattering sounds. The people drew back, away from the miniature chasm.
Then there was a sound above them, a huge sigh of suddenly rushing water. The globe collapsed like a punctured water-filled balloon, the water streaming into the fissure. For a moment, the audience was divided by a shimmering curtain. Then when the water had stopped falling, with a rumble and more trembling the ground closed, leaving no mark where the fissure had been.
An exhalation filled the tent and all eyes shifted upward. Angel floated where the water globe had been, his naked body still making its own light, still obscured by a haze.
“Air!” screamed Haverstock.
The haze around Angel grew heavier. His body became tenuous, out of focus, vaporous, vague, until finally it was indistinguishable. The haze darkened, became a mist that gradually spread until it filled the top of the tent. It grew darker still, thickening into a storm cloud. There was a faint rumble of thunder and heat lightning played over the surface of the darkness. The thunder grew louder and broke through the tent. The lightning grew in intensity until it singed the air.
All eyes were on the electrical display. No one saw a roustabout walk onto the stage, carrying a robe. He stood beside Haverstock and held it in readiness. Haverstock stared at the cloud intently, deep in concentration.
Suddenly a bolt of lightning lanced from the cloud. It crackled through the air and struck the stage with an ear-rattling crash. Heads twisted toward Haverstock.
Angel was standing on the stage, tying the sash of the robe around his waist. The roustabout walked away, unconcerned, and the storm cloud dissipated almost instantly.
Angel bowed to the silent audience. A whisper rustled over the benches. A babble shook the air. Laughter escaped from tense throats. The applause became deafening. Cheers and whistles added to the bedlam. Angel bowed again, his face composed and empty, then turned and went through the curtains. Haverstock bowed slightly and followed him.
Louis emerged and held up his hands for quiet. He was slow in getting it.
“The last item on the program is Henry-etta, half man, half woman,” he said as if he had lost interest in the whole affair. “Because of the delicate biological nature of this performance, we must request that all children under the age of eighteen please leave the auditorium. Also, any ladies who might be offended are urged to leave also. Thank you.” He departed through the curtains.
Finney and Jack looked at each other in horror, then reluctantly got up to leave. The children and a number of women, as well as a few men, rose and left, their eyes still a bit glassy.