Page 37 of Secrets in the Dark

Tommy Lace sat motionless in his charcoal suit, hands folded neatly in his lap, a program balanced on his knee. From this distance, he could have been any Vegas tourist enjoying a high-end magic show. Only the snake tattoo coiling around his right ring finger and the cold calculation in his eyes betrayed his true nature.

I caught his gaze as I completed a slow aerial spiral above the stage. His lips curved into a smile that chilled me through the sequins and corset. I forced myself to breathe—four-count inhale, four-count hold, four-count exhale—the pattern Roman had taught me during my panic attack.

"Focus on the routine," Val's voice murmured in my earpiece. "Third position, then the silk handoff."

I shifted automatically, muscle memory taking over where my scattered concentration failed. The midnight-blue corset cinched my ribs, its quick-release cord pressed against my hip bone, a constant reminder of my potential escape route. I'd rehearsed the release a dozen times since dawn, ensuring the mechanism would respond instantly when needed.

Val's hands swept through the air with dramatic flair, her crimson cape billowing behind her like liquid fire. "What we perceive as solid," she proclaimed to the audience, "is merely energy arranged to deceive our senses."

On cue, I extended my arms. The sapphire silk in my hands caught the light, casting fractured patterns across the stage like scattered gemstones. From the corner of my eye, I tracked Tommy's position. He hadn't moved, but his attention never wavered from me. Not from Val's elaborate illusions, not from the pyrotechnics, not from the doves that erupted from empty air. His focus remained fixed on his target—on me.

"Transition coming," Roman's voice replaced Val's in my earpiece. He'd positioned himself near the VIP section with a clear sightline to Tommy. "He's reaching inside his jacket."

My pulse spiked, but I maintained my smile. Tommy withdrew what appeared to be a phone, checked the screen, then typed something brief. Seconds later, I noticed two security guards shifting positions near the side exits.

"He's communicating with Enzo's men," Roman murmured, confirming my suspicion. "Stay alert."

The first half of the show passed in a blur of choreographed movements and hyperawareness. Val's voice washed over me as she wove her signature stories between illusions—tales of mystery and transformation that normally captivated me. Tonight, they were simply background noise to the silent communication flowing between Roman and me through our earpieces.

"Intermission in three minutes," Val announced as we completed the levitation sequence. "Reset for the cabinet illusion after the break."

Applause thundered as the house lights rose. The audience began shifting in their seats, conversations bubbling up like champagne fizz after the silence of rapt attention. Tommy remained seated while others headed for refreshments, his eyes never leaving the stage.

"I'll be watching him," Roman assured me. "Get backstage, stay with Val until the second half begins."

I slipped behind the heavy curtain, heart hammering against my ribs. The backstage area buzzed with the controlled chaos of intermission—stagehands adjusting set pieces, technicians checking equipment, dancers stretching in corners.

"Five minutes," called the stage manager. "Check your positions for Act Two."

Val caught my arm as I headed toward my costume change. "You're tracking well," she said, eyes sharp with concern. "But your energy feels off. Something I should know?"

I hesitated. Val had become more than just my mentor in stage illusion; she'd become something close to a friend. Part of me wanted to confess everything—about Tommy, aboutthe danger, about Roman's mysterious role in all of this. But involving her meant putting her at risk.

"Pre-show jitters," I said instead. "Still getting used to the spotlight."

She studied me, clearly unconvinced. "Whatever's going on, remember what I taught you. The flash powder is in your right pocket. The trapdoor release is under the third panel from center. And the quick-release—"

"At my right hip," I finished. "I remember."

"Good." She squeezed my shoulder. "Because sometimes the best magic is the one that lets you disappear when you need to."

Roman's voice crackled in my ear. "Tommy's on the move. Heading toward the lobby."

I tensed, scanning the wings for any sign of unwelcome visitors. The backstage area was a maze of corridors, storage rooms, and curtained alcoves—perfect for someone looking to infiltrate unnoticed.

"Keep visual on him," I whispered, moving toward the costume rack.

"Lost sight at the main doors," Roman replied, frustration evident. "Checking alternate entry points."

I reached the small changing area adjacent to the main stage. No time for a full costume change; I'd have to make do with the scheduled quick-change during the cabinet illusion. I adjusted my headdress and checked my flash-powder pouch, ensuring it was easily accessible.

"Places for Act Two," came the stage manager's call. "Thirty seconds to curtain."

"No visual on target," Roman reported. "Stay alert."

The house lights dimmed. My cue approaching, I moved to my starting position at stage right. Val stood center stage, silhouetted against a backdrop of stars. The music swelled, audience chatter faded, and we were back in the world of illusion.

The disappearing cabinet routine began exactly as rehearsed. Val's monologue about dimensional shifts filled the theater as I wheeled the ornate cabinet onto the stage. From my peripheral vision, I scanned the audience. Tommy's seat remained empty.

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