The Art of Disappearing by Ivy Pochoda (top non fiction books of all time TXT) 📗

“It is a city of weak tricks and weaker magicians.”

“Vegas,” Toby said, “is the perfect place for magic. Where else do people flock in groups to be tricked out of their everyday existence? Look, they know the miniature Eiffel Tower outside the Paris is a poor copy, but they have their pictures taken in front of it all the same.”

“Again, you are talking about trickery, not magic.”

“Maybe the magic you’ve seen here isn’t up to your standards.”

“It isn’t even magic.” Theo finished his drink.

“But the potential exists. Here everyone wants bigger and better. I am the one magician who can give it to them. When I get to the big stage, no one will wonder if there is artifice behind my tricks. They will be stunned by spectacle, which is precisely what they want.”

“Spectacle? Is that what magic is to you?” A look of displeasure crossed Theo’s face.

“Not entirely. Or rather, not personally,” Toby replied. “But spectacle is what the audience wants, and spectacle is what sells.” He suppressed a smile. “I’ve booked a casino opening. It’s all coming together.”

“I have heard,” Theo said. “But it will be the same there. Ultimately, your magic will leave you unsatisfied.” The elegant magician flexed his fingers. “My talent is drying up. It would be pleasant to have a young magician around. At the very least, we can give you a place to hide from the eyes of your rivals.”

“I have Las Vegas. I don’t need to hide.”

“Once the inexplicable catches up with you, what will you do?”

Toby shrugged. “I’m not counting on that happening.”

“I know that you cannot explain to me, or even to yourself, exactly what went wrong that night. How will you explain it to someone else?”

“I hope I won’t have to.”

“You hope,” Theo said, his voice suddenly cold. “A good magician never hopes.” He examined the tips of his fingers, as if looking for his fading magic. “It is remarkable how often inferior men get in our way. I have come so far to see you. I wish you would show me more than this small stage show.”

“What did you expect to see?” Toby asked.

Theo sighed. “I know what you are capable of.”

Toby shook his head.

“I had heard about a magician who could command the sand and manipulate the sky.”

Toby bit his lip. “No.”

I tried to catch his eye, but Theo had trapped it once more with his swirling stare.

“Really?” he asked in a cool voice.

“Yes,” Toby lied.

“A shame. Then perhaps all these rumors aren’t true.”

Toby drained his glass. “That is the nature of rumors.”

Theo ran his fingers along the bar. “In Amsterdam, we have an illusion I imagine would interest you. I am too old to make it work. But you…Well, perhaps it would help you discover what went wrong with your assistant.”

“It’s a little late for that.”

Theo smiled. “The beauty of a trick like the Dissolving World is that it is never too late for anything. Toby Warring, you are blinded by the lights of Las Vegas.” With some difficultly, he snapped his fingers, summoning a handsomely engraved business card. “For when you change your mind.”

We celebrated our one-month anniversary with a candlelight cruise on the Desert Princess, a paddlewheel boat that circled Lake Mead. Although the sand no longer suffocated me with loneliness, Toby and I both needed to wash off the desert—even if it meant dining next to tables of tourists. But we soon forgot the family next to us as the boat glided between canyon walls that were spackled with the last light from the sun.

The smell of the lake was refreshing. We slipped out before dessert to walk on the deck and lean over the railing. The magician cupped his hands and released a cascade of sand that spiraled into a helix of colors before it reached the water. I linked my fingers with his, indicating that for the moment his magic was unnecessary. With my eyes closed, I put my head on his shoulder, listening to the soothing rush of the paddlewheel. We worked our way around the deck, pausing to let the spray from the wheel bathe our shoulders and arms. Music picked up belowdeck, followed by the muffled sounds of chairs scraping along the floor as couples stood up to dance.

The sun had disappeared beyond the western canyon edge, leaving the deck in darkness. I looked into the blackening water at the swaying reflection of the boat’s lights. The band below had launched into a swing medley. Far in the distance, the hydraulic roar of the Hoover Dam continued. The boat gathered speed. The paddle rotated faster, sending up more spray. The white wall of the dam soon grew invisible as we turned into a small offshoot of the lake. Here the canyon walls drew close, the frantic swing music below echoing madly from one side to the other. Toby had his hands cupped again, collecting water from the accelerated spray of the paddlewheel. I looked into his hands. The droplets of water had become iridescent. As Toby started to bring his palms together, we heard steps on the deck.

“You should have stuck to the small towns, Tobias Warring.”

Toby brushed the water from his hands onto his pants.

“No one cared about you there.”

“Swenson,” Toby said as the other magician appeared from the shadows, his leather coat creaking as he approached.

“And you are still Toby Warring. A magician without a stage. Until recently.” He smiled. “I didn’t know the Castaway had a theater.”

“I would have thought the Castaway was too seedy even for you, Swenson.”

“Yes, but not clearly not for you. Although, I’m surprised you even dare perform.”

Toby grasped the railing.

“Yes,” Swenson continued, “it all comes back to that.”

“That is something you can never understand,” Toby said. “An accident.” His voice was tight.

Swenson looked at me. “I see this one’s managed to stick around.” He winked. “Not everyone’s been so lucky.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in luck,” I said.

Swenson winked again. “I don’t.” Now he turned to Toby. “You ruined two