a top hat, which he removed and swept across the crowd to release a torrent of flapping birds of fire that darted out across the crowd before dissolving into a thousand colored sparks.
Christopher Valentine was in rare form. Each trick started as something simple—shuffling cards, juggling, pulling a rabbit out of a hat—and then grew more and more spectacular in typical Mirabilus fashion. He made the rabbit and the hat disappear, then kicked off his shoe to reveal bunny slippers, which he turned inside out to reveal the bunny, from which he improbably pulled the hat. While juggling he got a phone call and stepped off to the side of the stage, the balls still tumbling through the air in his absence; on his return he tossed the cell phone into the mix and glared irritated at it when it started ringing again, seemingly unable to stop himself juggling long enough to answer it.
And then a second Mirabilus appeared. The first eyed the phone, and his clone reached in, snatched it and answered it. He began talking animatedly while the juggling Mirabilus glared at him; then a third Mirabilus appeared, also yakking on a phone and tossing a deck of cards. Enraged, the original Mirabilus started tossing the balls at his counterparts, who tossed the phones and deck of cards back in a brief display of three-way juggling. Then the clones took the balls and phones and whirled off—while the original caught the deck, broke the wrapper off, and grinned widely to the crowd as he fanned out the cards.
Now the Mirabilus went straight back to the basics. The spotlight zoomed in, and two enormous screens projected a close-up view of his nimble, graceful hands, shuffling the cards with incredible skill. I wondered if the two projectors and the unseen camera had a big hand in the dueling Mirabiluses we had seen earlier, but I couldn’t see how and frankly I didn’t care: like everyone else I was mesmerized by his supremely deft prestidigitation. Cards blurred through the air, became flowers, then coins; then the coins were between his outstretched fingers, turning to marbles and gems and dice in rapid succession.
And then I looked up at his face. The lights weren’t on it, but I could see Christopher was tired and sweating, scowling with the effort. The Mirabilus was getting old, and I felt saddened. Then his eye looked down and caught me, and he winked, throwing his hands up and turning the glittering marbles into ten sparks of fire.
And with that, all too soon, it was over, the Mirabilus bowing to the crowd and its thunderous applause. He motioned for the mike, also flicking his fingers down at me—and as an assistant named Elijah brought him the mike, I was shocked to see Savannah leaning down to release the bumpers on my wheelchair.
“What are you doing?” I asked, as she started to push me forward. “He’s not done—”
“Ladies and gentlemen of the Masquerade,” Christopher called out to the crowd warmly, waving his arms so no-one would notice he was pausing for breath. “I am the Mysterious Mirabilus, and I hope you have enjoyed my little show tonight.”
The crowd went wild—as did I, as Savannah pushed me up next to Darkrose and turned my wheelchair around to face the crowd. “What, what are you doing—”
“And while the date and venue are yet to be decided, I’m proud to announce here on this very stage—my next Valentine Challenge!” he cried. The crowd went a little less wild—apparently the skeptical set didn’t make a big showing at goth-fetish-techno dance clubs—but they cheered anyway as he continued: “You’ve seen me throw down the gauntlet before to psychics and seers and dowsers and all sorts of mystics, and each time I’ve won—but this time, I may have met my match: Atlanta’s own magical tattooist, Dakota Frost!”
My mouth opened—and then Darkrose and Savannah reached down and effortlessly lifted my wheelchair and set me gently down on the stage next to Valentine, who put his warm hand on my shoulder and winked at me.
The crowd gasped—many of them were close enough to realize that many of my bruises and cuts were not just makeup, and many of the rest realized that my Mohawk was gone. But Valentine raised his hand, calming. “Now, Miss Frost has had a rough time of late, having recently come back from the brink of death—” and everyone laughed, a bit nervously “—but she told me she was willing to go ahead