The Vanished Man (Lincoln Rhyme 5)

Though the translation of Lincoln Rhyme's gruff demeanor was simply how pleased he was that boredom would be held at bay for at least a little while longer.

*

Kara stood outside Smoke & Mirrors, seeing things she'd never noticed in her year and a half working there. A hole in the upper left-hand corner of the plate glass from a BB or pellet gunshot. A tiny swirl of graffiti on the door. A dusty book on Houdini in the window, opened to the page discussing the type of sash cord he preferred to use in his routines.

She saw a flare inside the store--Mr. Balzac lighting a cigarette.

A breath. Let's do it, she thought and pushed inside.

He was by the counter with that friend of his who'd been in town this past weekend, an illusionist from California. Balzac introduced her as a student and the middle-aged man shook her hand. They made small talk about how his performance had gone last night, other people appearing in town . . . the typical gossip performers everywhere engage in. Finally the man picked up his suitcase. He was on his way to Kennedy airport for the flight home and had stopped at the store to return the props he'd borrowed. He embraced Balzac, nodded to Kara and left the store.

"You're late," the magician said to her gruffly. Then observed that she wasn't putting her bag behind the counter as she always did. He glanced at her hands. No coffee cup. That was, of course, the giveaway.

A frown. "What?" he asked, drawing on his cigarette. "Tell me."

"I'm leaving."

"You're . . ."

"I talked to Ed Kadesky. I've got a job with the Cirque Fantastique."

"Them? Kadesky? No, no, no--it's all wrong for you. That's not magic. That's--"

"It's what I want to do."

"We've been through this a dozen times. You're not ready. You're good. You're not great."

"That doesn't matter," she said firmly. "What matters is getting up onstage. Performing."

"If you rush it--"

"Rush it, David? Rush it? When would I be ready? Next year? In five years?" Normally she found it difficult to hold his eye; today she looked straight at him as she said, "Would you ev

er let me go?"

A pause, while he ordered papers, slapped them down on the scuffed, cracked counter. "Kadesky," he scoffed. "And what'll you be doing for him?"

"Assistant at first. Then some winter season shows of my own in Florida. Then who knows?"

He stubbed out the cigarette. "It's a mistake. You'll be wasting your talent. What he does, it's not the kind of illusion I taught you."

"I got the job because of what you taught me."

"Kadesky," he said again contemptuously. "New magic."

"Yeah, it is," she said. "But I'll be doing your routines too. Metamorphosis, remember--the old becoming new."

He didn't smile though she could sense the reference to his act pleased him.

"David, I want to keep studying with you. When I'm back in town I want to take lessons. I'll pay for them."

"I don't think that would work. You can't serve two masters," the man muttered. When Kara said nothing he said grudgingly, "We'll have to see. I might not have the time. I probably won't."

She hitched her purse higher on her shoulder.

"Right now?" he asked. "You're leaving now?"

"Yeah. I think it's best."