The Vanished Man

and said, “Well, no.”
    “Does she ever come to see her?”
    The woman said cautiously, “Her mother’s not really involved with Kara’s career.”
    Rhyme said, “Kara told me she’s sick. Is she doing better?”
    “A bit, yes,” the woman said.
    There was a story behind this, Rhyme sensed, but the woman’s tone said that it wasn’t for the nurse to go into confidential matters with strangers.
    Then the lights dimmed and the crowd fell silent.
    A white-haired man climbed up onstage. Despite the age and the signs of hard living—a drinker’s nose and tobacco-stained beard—his eyes were keen, his posture erect and he floated to center stage with a performer’s presence. He stood next to the only prop on the platform—a wooden cutout of a Roman column. The surroundings were shabby but the man wore a well-tailored suit, as if he had some rule that whenever you were up onstage you looked the best for your audience.
    Ah, Rhyme deduced, the infamous mentor, David Balzac. He didn’t identify himself but looked out over the audience for a moment, his eyes settling on Rhyme’s for longer than most others’. Whatever he was thinking, though, remained hidden and he lookedaway. “Today, ladies and gentlemen, I’m pleased to present one of my most promising students. Kara has been studying with me for over a year now. She’s going to treat you to some of the more esoteric illusions in the history of our profession—and some of my own as well as some of hers. Don’t be surprised”—a demonic look that seemed directed at Rhyme himself—“or shocked at anything you see today. And now, ladies and gentlemen . . . I give you . . . Kara.”
    Rhyme had decided to pass this hour by being a scientist. He’d enjoy the challenge of spotting the methods of her illusions, noting how she did the tricks, how cards and coins were palmed and where her quick-change costumes were concealed. Kara was still several points ahead in this game of Catch the Moves, which she undoubtedly didn’t know they were playing.
    The young woman walked out onstage, wearing a tight black bodysuit with a cutout in the shape of a crescent moon on her chest, under a shimmery, see-through drape, like a translucent Roman toga. He’d never thought of Kara as attractive, much less sexy, but the clinging outfit was very sensuous. She moved like a dancer, svelte and smooth. There was a long pause while she examined the audience slowly. It seemed that she looked at each person. The tension began to build. Finally: “Change,” she said in a theatrical voice. “Change. . . . How it fascinates us. Alchemy—changing lead and tin into gold. . . .” She held up a silver coin. Closed it in her palm and opened it an instant later to reveal a gold coin, which she flung into the air; it turned into a shower of gold confetti.
    Applause from the audience and murmurs of pleasure.
    “Night . . .” The houselights suddenly dimmed to blackness and a moment later—no more than a few seconds—came back up. “ . . . becoming day.” Kara was now dressed in a similar, clinging outfit, except that it was golden and the cutout pattern on the front was a starburst. Rhyme had to laugh at the speed of the quick change. “Life . . .” A red rose appeared in her hand. “ . . . becoming death . . .” She cupped the rose in her hands and it changed to a dried yellowish flower. “ . . . becoming life.” A bouquet of fresh flowers had somehow replaced the dead stalk. She tossed them to a delighted woman in the audience. Rhyme heard a surprised whisper: “They’re real!”
    Kara lowered her hands to her sides and looked out over the audience again with a serious expression on her face. “There’s a book,” she said, her voice filling the room. “A book written thousands of years ago by the Roman writer Ovid. The book is called Metamorphoses. Like ‘metamorphosis’—when a caterpillar becomes a . . .” She opened her hand and a butterfly flew out and disappeared backstage.
    Rhyme had taken four years of Latin. He recalled struggling to translate portions of Ovid’s book for class. He remembered that it was a series of fourteen or fifteen short myths in poetic form. What was Kara up to? Lecturing about classical literature to an audience of lawyer moms and kids thinking about their Xboxes and Nintendos (though he noticed that her tight costume held the attention of every teenage boy in the audience).
    She continued, “