The Art of Disappearing Ivy Pochoda (electronic book reader .TXT) 📖

the cloth, the lily pads began to bob and the birds came to life and flew into the casino. Toby lowered the cloth once more, restored the fountain to its original state. Then the showgirl wheeled it away. He took a bow.

After these two tricks, I relaxed. It was clear to me that the magician was going out of his way to avoid contact with his assistant. His fingers never grazed hers as she passed him things. She was decoration.

In a number called ADRIFT, Toby updated a classic illusion by levitating two statues of Catherine the Great and sending them over the crowd and into the far reaches of the gambling floor. In MIND YOUR VALUABLES, he produced dozens of items, which he had lifted from the audience, dropped them into a giant glass vase, filled it with water from the palm of his hands, covered the vase with a black drape, took a hammer and smashed the vase to bits, and then lit the drape on fire. After the drape disintegrated into ash, he directed the audience to look at another table, where they saw a gold box filled with their possessions. Toby hopped off the table and, without asking anyone to come forward, handed each item back to its owner.

Now the assistant held up a cue card for Toby’s final illusion. It read CATCH ME IF I FALL. Like any good magician, Toby knew he had to include one dangerous element. Although he had been fairly secretive about his preparations, he had assured me that he would make himself the subject of any dangerous trick he did. He did not mention that he was considering the BULLET CATCH.

Toby took his mark on one of the blackjack tables while the showgirl held a gun up to the audience. She distributed bullets to people, asking them to mark the shells. She then loaded the gun and tested it, firing at one of the statues of Catherine the Great and shattering the tsarina’s left shoulder.

Coyly, the assistant asked for a hand climbing up to a table facing Toby’s. Several men jumped forward to assist her. She posed for the crowd, then pointed the gun at the magician. My heart rose. Toby held up a finger. The assistant smiled. She put the gun down and held up a new cue card: VOLUNTEER PLEASE—CATCH HIM IF HE FALLS. The ladies of the Winter Palace moved forward, hands waving. I saw Sandra’s pastel nails fluttering furiously. And from the corner of my eye, I saw a pale figure in a neat, black sheath dress. Eva’s red lips were pressed together as she stared at the magician. He looked away, searching the audience for someone else to stand behind him and catch him if the bullets struck.

Hands waved and heads turned, searching for the person Toby would choose. Then I caught sight of one supplicant. She might have been any cocktail waitress. But I knew she wasn’t. Her pink nails caught the light.

“Me,” she cried.

I felt Eva’s cool glance on my back. I wanted to stop the magician. I raised my hand. “Me!”

The magician paused and glanced my way with a questioning look. “Me,” I demanded. Toby gave me a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. I tried to insist, but he turned away.

“No.” The teenager’s voice was cool and confident. “Me.”

Maybe Toby couldn’t see past the shredded peasant costume. Maybe he was eager to finish the trick and escape Eva’s gaze. He nodded in the direction of the voice.

That settled it. Greta approached the stage.

Toby did not seem to recognize her. Keeping his distance, he allowed the assistant to show Greta where to stand and how to spread her arms. Toby took his place several paces in front of her. He pulled a blindfold from his pocket and tied it over his eyes. Greta looked the audience over, a superior smile on her lips. The assistant climbed onto the facing table. The audience took a collective step back as she raised the gun and pointed it at the magician.

The sound in the pits wound down, and Toby’s updated vaudeville music seemed to be squeezed out of the speakers one note at a time. The assistant cocked the gun. The click echoed through the room. The moment before she fired, I heard the sound of crunching ice and turned to see Swenson behind me, draining his drink. Eva was next to him. With his mouth full of ice, Swenson smiled, showing me his nicotine-stained teeth. He raised his eyebrows and nodded toward Toby. Eva didn’t take her eyes off the stage.

I wanted to cry out. The showgirl pulled the trigger. Everyone leaned back as the bullet cut through the air. Toby stood still, his feet firmly planted on the table, his arms clasped behind his back, his mouth slightly open. Suddenly, a cascade of gold coins burst from the bullet’s wake and fell to the table. As the coins appeared, Toby lurched back slightly, then recovered himself. Greta rolled her eyes, but remained where she was. Toby removed the bullet from between his teeth. He tossed it to the audience so they could check for the mark.

When the coins had settled onto the table, Toby nodded to the assistant, and she raised the gun again. Swenson muttered something. Eva closed her eyes. “You should have said something,” she whispered. Before the assistant fired, Greta looked out over the audience, searching for someone who might take notice. All eyes were on the magician and his assistant.

Another explosion ripped through the blackjack tables as the showgirl fired for the second time. The audience recoiled again. Now a waterfall of petals emerged in the bullet’s wake, spinning lazily toward the table. Again, Toby staggered backwards before righting himself. Again Greta rolled her eyes. The audience exhaled. Swenson crunched another ice cube.

The assistant took aim again. The audience was barely ready. “I don’t know if I can take this,” one well-coiffed woman squealed. “I don’t know how he does