toward a broad stage that rose ten feet off the warehouse’s concrete floor. Above, a battery of lights clung to a truss, but the stage was illuminated only by a single spotlight, which cut through a billowing blanket of stage fog.
As the fog thinned, a figure resolved: a man in black lying faceup center stage. I took a few steps forward and squinted down at him.
It was Daniel Devereaux.
I held my breath. Dad’s hand gripped my shoulder like a claw. Devereaux was here? Now?
For a moment, he lay still as a corpse. Then, slowly, he began to levitate, rising off the stage as if supported by an invisible platform. The same way he had risen off the stage in the video Higgins had shown us yesterday. I remembered the banner I had seen plastered over the windows of the Tangiers Hotel & Casino as I drove north on Las Vegas Boulevard:
DANIEL DEVEREAUX: SKY’S THE LIMIT
COMING THIS CHRISTMAS
Oh my God. He was going to fly again.
For a moment, I lost myself, fascinated by the sight of one of my magical heroes floating in midair; then I snapped back to reality and remembered why I was here. I scoured the stage with my magician’s eye, searching for a clue that might give away Devereaux’s method. But even though the smoke had cleared and the spotlight was bright, I saw no harness, no ropes, no wires.
Without warning, Devereaux turned a cartwheel and shot into the air. I put a hand over my mouth. He pivoted, put a fist forward like Superman, and dove toward the stage. At the last moment, he pulled up, soaring toward the wings, only to turn again.
It was nothing like the video; there were no words to describe it. I was six again, and I believed in magic.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw Higgins, his face slack with awe.
“I don’t believe it,” he said. “Is that . . .”
“Just watch,” I whispered.
And we did. For how long, I don’t know; we were entranced, all three of us. What we were seeing was beyond belief.
“Who the hell are you?”
I jumped at the sound of the voice and wheeled around. A tall security guard stood at the entrance to the ramp, wielding an eight-cell Maglite in one hand and a walkie-talkie in the other.
I glanced at Dad, then at Higgins. Both looked shell-shocked.
“I’m a huge fan,” I began, trying to sound as young and sycophantic as I could. “I’ve always wanted to meet Mr. Devereaux, and I thought—”
“Save it,” the rent-a-cop said, and pushed the talk button on his radio. “I need the SM at back of house. Right now.” Then he lowered the walkie-talkie and gestured toward us with the flashlight. “You all just hang out right where you are.” He clipped the radio back on his belt, folded his arms, and settled in to watch us like we were a gang of teenage vandals.
The waiting was interminable. We couldn’t make a plan because the guard stood six feet away. And there was no place to run because the rent-a-cop blocked our only exit. Dad and I exchanged nervous looks. Higgins was pale, and I began to wonder if what he’d had said about the LVMPD Foundation was a lie.
Finally, I heard footsteps coming up the ramp. Dad shot a deadly look at Higgins, then glared at me to make it clear that he would do the talking.
A man in a purple button-up came out of the tunnel, and when he stepped into the light, I had to bite my lip to stop myself from gasping.
It was Rico. When he saw me, his eyes went wide. He looked at my dad, then at Higgins, frowning as if contemplating a hard math problem—and then his face split in a Lando Calrissian grin.
“I didn’t think you were going to make it!” he said, striding forward and clapping me on the shoulder so hard, it hurt. He turned to the security guard. “It’s all right, Chris. They’re with me.”
Rico crammed the three of us into his tiny production office and shut the door behind him.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
I started to answer, but Rico held up a hand to silence me. Then he leaned forward, put his palms on the desktop, and looked from Dad to me and finally to Higgins. Realization swept over his face like the beam of a spotlight.
“Holy shit,” he said, blinking rapidly. “You were going to— Holy shit.”
He stood, paced behind the desk, ran a