9:57 P.M.
Following a dress rehearsal that had lasted nearly three because of the introduction into his act of new illusions requiring some complicated props and machinery, the magician had begun to unwind, nude and alone, beneath colored lights in the spectrochrome chamber of his duplex dressing suite. The colors he had chosen to bathe his pineal gland, solar plexus, and the soles of his feet were a lush purple and indigo. Aromatic oils were diffused into the chamber. He orchestrated both hues and oils with a keypad by his right hand as he lay face up on a simple massage table.
Those remaining in the Lincoln Grayle Theatre after dress—stagehands, office personnel, and the night security force—knew not to disturb the magician during this period of meditation and recuperation. If he was to be disturbed, the circumstances had better justify it.
He frowned and touched a key in response to a call and the face of one of his assistants appeared on a plasma screen overhead.
"What is it, Perk?"
"Sorry, sir, but there's a young woman outside the theatre who insists she has an engagement with you tonight."
"Perk, that's such a tired routine. I'm surprised at you."
"But—she asked me to give you a message that seemed to imply there is a relationship of some sort."
The magician said with a stir of interest, "Tell me."
She said, "I want Linc to know that what began at Shung-wa-ya"—she stumbled over the pronunciation—"must be finished tonight."
The magician sat up on the table.
"Let her in, Perk! Give me five minutes, then bring her to my suite."
He sat on the edge of the table for ten seconds, blankly astonished, then ran a hand through his unruly hair, still a little damp from his recent shower, and laughed.
Within five minutes he was combed and dressed in white beachcomber pants, sandals, and an unbuttoned long-sleeved shirt. He was pouring Tuscan wine into two glasses when Eden was shown into the suite.
"Jambo!" he said, holding up one of the glasses in a welcoming salute. "And I must say I like the sound of 'hello' better than good-bye. Which is where we left it, I believe, at Kenyatta Airport."
Eden acknowledged him with a smile of such diffidence it was as if she had neglected to bring a personality with her—or at least the lively spirit to which he had been attracted on their first meeting. Her hair was shorter now, and redder. Cut with some flair, as if she'd found time to visit a salon, or Bertie Nkambe's personal hairdresser. Which reminded him.
"I heard about Bertie. Terrible, just terrible." Perhaps he was referring to the fact that she hadn't been killed instantly.
A muscle jumped in Eden's face, affecting one eye, but otherwise she didn't respond, just continued to look around, eyes skipping over his face a couple of times as if he were furniture.
"Will she make it?" he persisted.
"I don't know. I can't talk about it."
"Would you like to sit down? How about some wine?"
"Yes, thank you."
She took the glass from him, still not meeting his eyes, moved sideways to a grouping of comfortable leather chairs amid a collection of props, puzzling to someone outside the profession, that had been employed by magicians a century ago. She had a sip of wine, holding her free hand close to the glass as if she were afraid of a clonus that would cause her to spill the contents on his Turkish carpet. Her lips did tremble slightly. Her eyes were rimmed with a fine mist of perspiration. They were restless, as if she couldn't focus on anything for more than a second or two. He wondered if she were in shock.
"Do I get to do all of the talking?" he said genially, sitting next to her on the arm of a cream leather sofa. Eden was wearing a shawl-collar cashmere sweater and a blue skirt. No ornamentation except for a plain gold chain around her neck with a pendant made of a dark lump of metal that didn't look as if it had monetary value. He didn't remember having seen her wear it in Africa.
"I'm sorry," she murmured. Another sip of wine braced her. She lifted her head and was able to look at him. "I don't mean to be… bad company."
"It's understandable. Still, as long as you're here..." His expression was a mixture of pleasure and skepticism.
Her eyes wandered off again, to a framed one-sheet of a magician in Chinese dress. "I had no idea your theatre was so huge."
"Why don't I give you a tour? While we talk about our 'unfinished' business."
"There's not much to say, really. I thought about... what choices I have left, and I've come to be with you. For as long as you want me."
"Quite a change of heart."
Eden finished her wine in a couple of swallows and stood.
"But there are conditions. Of course I know what—who you really are. You wanted Bertie out of the way. It's done. Even if she recovers she won't be the same. You have no reason ever to hurt her again. And you won't hurt Tom."
"Granted," the magician said with a shrug. "He's no problem to me."
Eden walked toward the double doors in the vestibule of the suite. More framed posters there. Movie monsters. The Creature from the Black Lagoon. Boris Karloff's Frankenstein. Surrounded by them Eden looked threatened, haunted.
"One other thing. I want Gw—my doppelganger back."
"In all sincerity, Eden, that's out of my hands. She's in a... slightly altered state, and on her own now. I don't even know if she made it to where she was going."
"You've taken away so much from me. Has anyone ever denied you anything?"
"Not for long. As I reckon time. Don't be afraid. It won't be such a bad life, Eden."
"You mean after the nightmare you have in store for me? I don't want to see it coming. I don't want any memory of it later. Can you do that, Magician? Take away my mind until it's over?"
"If you'd like you may sleep through insemination and your pregnancy. Which should reach full term in about seventy-two hours."
"Don't shit me," Eden said in a snarly tone.
"True. Spectrographic enhancement of your vital life-giving processes. Theoretically it ought to work. My all-too-human flaw is, I hate to wait."
Eden held her bowed head in the palm of one hand, like a sorrowing bride.
"And what, theoretically, am I expected to give birth to?"
"If only it has your eyes," he said, "I'll be pleased."
"Thank you. I need to walk now; otherwise, I swear to God, I'll turn to stone. So give me the hurry-up tour. Bring the bottle. Wine will relax me while I'm learning more about the wizardry of Mordaunt the Great."