But what would misdirect them long enough to let him escape?
He didn't have any more squibs to simulate gunshots. Set a booth on fire? But that wouldn't cause the sort of panic he now needed.
Anger and fear seized him again.
But then he heard his mentor's voice from years ago, after the boy had made a mistake onstage and nearly ruined one of the man's routines. The demonic, bearded illusionist had pulled the youngster aside after the performance. Close to tears, the boy had gazed down at the floor as the man asked, "What is illusion?"
"Science and logic" had been Malerick's instant response. (The mentor had drummed a hundred answers like this one into his assistants' souls.) "Science and logic, yes. If there's a mishap--because of you or your assistant or God Himself--you use science
and logic to take charge instantly. Not one second should pass between the mistake and your reaction. Be bold. Read your audience. Turn disaster into applause."
Hearing those words in his mind now, Malerick grew calm. He tossed his biker braid and looked around, considering what to do.
Be bold. Read your audience.
Turn disaster into applause.
*
Sachs scanned the people near her again--a mother and father with two bored children, an elderly couple, a biker in a Harley shirt, two young European women bargaining with a vendor over some jewelry.
She noticed Bell across the square, near the food concession area. But where was Kara? The young woman was supposed to stay close to one of them. She started to wave to the detective but a cluster of people ambled between them and she lost sight of him. She walked in his direction and her head swiveled back and forth, scanning the crowd.
Feeling, she realized, as unsettled as at the music school that morning, despite the fact that the sky was clear and the sun bright, hardly the gothic setting of the first scene. Spooky . . .
She knew what the problem was.
Wire.
When you walked a beat, either you had wire or you didn't. A cop expression, "having wire" meant you were connected to your neighborhood. It was more than a question of knowing the people and the geography of your beat; it was knowing what kind of energy drove them, what kind of perps you could expect, how dangerous they were, how they'd come at their vics--and at you.
If you didn't have wire in a 'hood you had no business walking a beat there.
With the Conjurer, Sachs now understood, she didn't have wire at all. He could be on the number 9 train right now, headed downtown. Or he could be three feet away from her. She just didn't know.
In fact, just then, someone passed close behind her. She felt a breath or wafting of cloth on her neck. She spun around fast, shivering in fear--hand on the butt of her gun, remembering how easily Kara had distracted her as she'd lifted Sachs's weapon from its holster.
A half-dozen people were nearby but no one seemed to have stirred the air behind her.
Or had they?
A man was walking away, limping. He couldn't be the Conjurer.
Or could he?
The Conjurer can become somebody else in seconds, remember?
Around her: an elderly couple, the ponytailed biker, three teenagers, a huge man wearing a ConEd uniform. She was at sea, frustrated and scared for herself and for everyone around her.
No wire . . .
It was then that a woman's scream filled the air.
A voice called, "There! Look! God, somebody's hurt."
Sachs drew her weapon and headed toward the cluster gathering nearby.
"Get a doctor!"