Malakhai’s hand dropped away from her face. His head moved slowly from side to side, his mouth forming a silent No.
„You shot her with an arrow so she could survive. In a way, she did the same thing to you.“
He was slowly doubling over, as if Louisa had indeed shot him. He covered his face with both hands. The rain poured down the windowpane in a solid sheet, obscuring everything beyond the glass, starlight and city lights, heaven and earth – all gone.
Chapter 21
A thirty-piece orchestra joined in the applause for the man in the white tuxedo and top hat. Malakhai stood above them on the smaller stage of the platform and cast his shadow on the drawn red curtains hanging from the crossbar. High on the back wall of the Carnegie stage, a video screen made his image several times larger than life.
The audience rose to its feet in screams of „Encore! Encore!“ Feet were stamping, hands clapping.
At Malakhai’s bidding, the men and women of the orchestra stood up to accept their own bravos. The magician had come out from behind the platform curtains five times to answer his encores with a deep bow. And now the audience shouted as a single entity, amplified with three thousand voices, „Louisa, Louisa, Louisa – “
Mallory stood in the dark, watching through a narrow opening in the stage doors. The magician turned her way, one hand outstretched and beckoning.
To her? No, of course not.
„ – Louisa, Louisa – “
She stepped behind one door as the other one slowly opened and a shadow appeared on its lit surface. The edges of the dark silhouette were soft and the form was indistinct, but it moved, it even seemed to breathe, and Mallory was wary of it – wary of her.
„ – Louisa, Louisa, Louisa – “
Mallory’s eyes went everywhere, to the overhead bank of lamps and cables, then to the balcony lights, looking for the works and wires to make this happen.
The conductor’s baton was rising, and the crowd fell silent, straining to catch each note as the orchestra began to play again.
The silhouette darted onto the stage, encircled by a bright spotlight that failed to kill her dark form. The string section made light running notes as Louisa raced along the back wall. Then her shadow elongated on the platform staircase as she climbed the steps to thirteen soft strokes of the drum and rhythmic notes of oboe and cello that made her heartbeat. When she reached the top of the elevated stage, Louisa’s shadow stood beside Malakhai as she took a last bow with him. Their shadows were holding hands.
The audience was rising to a stand in waves that began in the front row and rippled toward the seats in the back of the theater, then up through the balconies to the ceiling, accompanied by the rumbling thunder of madly clapping hands – all for the dead woman.
The music shifted its shape, changing cadence away from the classical form of Louisa’s Concerto. The musicians played with only a few instruments – strings and soulful horns. So Riker had been mistaken; one could dance to this music.
Louisa did.
Malakhai turned to her and their shadows melded on the red curtain. The cheers nearly drowned out the music, as the pair turned in slow steps.
The solid man melted back behind the curtains. His shadow remained with Louisa. And now her silhouette was sharpening into a finer form; the profile was young and elfin. The stage walls deepened to indigo, and cymbal tings dropped into the music – the sound of falling stars.
And Mallory guessed it must be a year in the early forties, a very good year for wine and life. The boys were all together, and Louisa was still alive. The magician’s shadow had changed his top hat for a cap, and he was a boy again, dancing with his young wife. One by one, the musical instruments fell silent. The lovers turned slowly, gracefully, moving closer together in the bluesy riff of a single horn. The last note faded.
The audience went wild, filling the vast space with a deafening roar of cheers and the higher notes of whistles. And when the spotlight was killed and the shadows had died in the dark, the screams went on and on.
Mallory watched the center panel on the side of the platform, but no one appeared at the door to the interior room. Was Malakhai inside or standing behind the curtain?
A brief intermission was announced. The patrons were leaving their seats and moving toward the back of the hall. Mallory passed through the stage doors and fought against the opposing flow of workers carrying chairs and music stands toward the wings. Max Candle’s Lost Illusion would be accompanied only by the ticks of the clockwork gears on the crossbow pedestals.
Mallory walked along the stage wall for a better look at the back of the platform curtains. The magician was not up there. She walked to the center panel and put her hand on the pressure latch. The door opened on the lit interior room, but Malakhai was not there either. Crossing over to the other pair of doors, she followed the last musician out of the hall.
The backstage area was lit by two monitors and a shielded bulb over the abandoned lighting console. The man who worked at this post was headed for the 56th Street exit, pulling out a cigarette as he walked.
Where were the uniformed officers she had posted at the doors?
She heard voices in low conversation close by. Rounding a pillar of stacked furniture, she found Malakhai. He had changed into a dark suit and tie, and now he was talking with Officer Harris.
Well, at least one of the uniforms had not botched the job of guarding the stage exit. „Harris, where’s your partner?“
Malakhai answered for the man. „Officer Briant is over there.“ He pointed toward the open stage doors, and Mallory turned to see Charles and the second uniform installing pedestals in the wells of the platform step. Malakhai put one hand on the shoulder of the man beside him. „And Officer Harris has to join his partner before the intermission ends.“
„He’s not taking orders from you,“ said Mallory.
„Or you.“ Harris was not even trying to conceal impatience. „We were invited for the magic act, Mallory. Nobody said anything about guard duty.“ He walked off through the stage doors, heading for the platform.
Mallory looked at her watch. Would Riker be downtown yet? She estimated twenty minutes of bad traffic between Faustine’s to the north and the theater district fifteen blocks south of Carnegie Hall.
Malakhai was standing by the doors, watching the uniformed officers carry the oval target to the top of the platform. „You can’t blame Harris for being testy. He’s an artist now, isn’t he? How many cops get to play Carnegie Hall?“ He smiled at her. „Would you like a few minutes in show business, Mallory? Charles could use an assistant tonight.“
„You said Max Candle always worked alone.“
„But Charles is only a gifted amateur.“ He was looking at the clock behind her. „So, what’s the news? Did Franny show up at Faustine’s?“
„No, Riker said another magician went on in his time slot. The stage manager hasn’t heard from him since he disappeared.“
„What a pity. He’s waited so long for a chance like this. Franny must be devastated.“
„No, he’s probably dead.“ She watched his face for signs of disquiet, but there were none. „Do you want Prado to get away with that? Hasn’t he done enough killing? Help me. Give me something I can use on that bastard.“
„All right.“ He waved one hand toward the platform. „I’ll tell you how I knew Oliver botched the Lost Illusion.“
The platform curtains had been pulled back and the oval target was suspended between the posts. The two officers were climbing the stairs with the demonstration dummy as the audience flooded back into the hall. When the crowd was seated and silent, Charles stood at the edge of the stage, crediting the crossbow act to his famous cousin, Max Candle.