Disappearing Nightly Read Online Free Page A

And where was she now?
    And what about that note? Lopez was unmoved by it; but then Lopez was an overworked cop with other cases on his mind. Besides, he half suspected me of perpetrating Golly’s disappearance. And his smile wasn’t charming enough to make up for that insinuation, I thought grumpily. Anyhow, easy for him to make reckless accusations—he wasn’t the one being threatened. Or warned. Or whatever.
    He was right about one thing, though. The notion of “Evil among us” did suggest an unbalanced person. But was I right, too—did it suggest a dangerous person? Anyhow, just because someone’s unbalanced doesn’t mean they don’t know what they’re talking about.
    Do not go into the crystal cage.
    Why the cage? I wondered. Did the author of the note mean that the prop itself was dangerous? Did he think that Golly’s disappearance was due to its faulty mechanism rather than to a mental breakdown or foul play?
    I shook my head to clear it as I double-parked the truck outside Magic Magnus’s shop on Worth Street, in Tribeca. I felt a headache coming onand decided to forget the whole mess for a while. If I kept up this merry-go-round of speculation, I’d wind up beating my head against hard objects before long, just like Lopez. And that habit didn’t seem to be doing him any good.
    I had assumed Magic Magnus’s shop would be a dusty little storefront selling tricks and supplies. I was surprised to discover that the magic business filled an entire five-story building. The structure was one of those nineteenth-century relics of cast-iron architecture, when they found that buildings could be built more quickly and cheaply by using iron beams rather than heavy walls to hold the weight of the floors. This left more space for windows, not to mention fabulously decorative facades. Inside even the grubbiest and most run-down buildings in this area, you can findRenaissance columns, baroque balustrades and Second Empire ornamentation. I know all this because I once went on a blind date with one of the Friends of Cast-Iron Architecture.
    Tribeca isn’t quite as gentrified as Soho, but many of the buildings down here have been renovated. Magic Magnus’s place wasn’t one of them. In fact, as I pushed open the door and entered the vast ground floor showroom, I thought even the dust looked nineteenth century. I assumed that Magnus must be doing good business if he could afford to operate in this part of town, but I doubted he did much trade with walk-in customers. A couple of dusty display cases heldold-fashioned props: wands, hats, cards, false-bottom cups, that sort of thing. One wall was lined with a long row of costumes of astonishing vulgarity. The rest of the showroom was filled with a bewildering variety of poorly displayed props and many boxes, crates and cartons. Judging by the markings on these containers, Magnus got shipments from all over the world.
    I looked around for a shopkeeper or clerk but saw no one. Walking toward the main counter, I tripped over something on the floor and nearly flew headfirst into an Iron Maiden. A little stunned, I examined the thing and realized it was just a grisly version of something Joe used in Sorcerer! You stick a girl inside and run swords through her. I shook my head in disgust. This whole business of magic tricks always seemed to involve mutilating a half-naked woman.
    There was a wall behind the counter. A doorway at its center was covered by a red velvet curtain.
    “Hello?” I called.
    No response.
    I noticed a small bell sitting on the counter. A sign propped up next to it said Ring For Assistance. I did. A moment later there was a small pop!, a puff of smoke and the smell of sulfur.
    I found myself facing one of the biggest men I’d ever seen. Easily six and a half feet tall, broad and beefy without being fat, he displayed a remarkable set of tattoos on both bare arms. He had wild redhair and a well-trimmed beard. He grinned at me. His teeth were very long. One