of my contemporaries here in Philadelphia. I've only been in the city about five years. I'm afraid I'd never heard of him.'
'What did you learn?'
'Well, for one, as I suspected, this is someone mimicking the look and style of another man who performed in the fifties and sixties. That magician himself would be much, much older now.'
'Do you know his name?'
'Not his real name. I have a call in to a man who might know. Onstage he went by the Great Cygne.'
The man pronounced the word seen-yeh.
'And this older magician was from Philly?' Byrne asked.
'I believe so, although I could not find any specific information on that.'
Lake handed Byrne a faded color image of a tall, slender man in a cutaway tuxedo. 'This is the only photo I could find. It was downloaded from a German website.'
Byrne reached into the car. He took out a pair of photos he found in Laura Somerville's strongbox and compared them to the downloaded photograph. They were identical.
'Rumor was that the Great Cygne was a little unstable,' Lake said. 'And that he was pretty much shunned by the community at large.'
'Why is that?'
'Years ago he invented an illusion called 'The Singing Boy' and sold it to a number of top magicians-claiming exclusivity to each of them-for a great deal of money. When word got out, he was persona non grata in magic circles. No one really saw him after that, I gather.'
'The Great Cygne. Can you spell that for me?' Byrne asked.
The man did. It hit Byrne like a sledgehammer.
'If I'm not mistaken,' Lake continued, 'in French, the word cygne means-'
'Swan,' Byrne said.
Swan Lake. The puzzle is in the shape of a bird.
'He's building a swan.'
EIGHTY
2:55 AM
Lilly sat in a chair in the candlelit room. The old man stroked her hair, his fingers ice cold. A few moments earlier she had heard something loud-it might have been a slamming door or a backfire- but she dared not ask about it.
She had never been more frightened in her life.
When she looked up at the old man, he was staring at her.
'Who are you?' she asked.
The man looked at her as if she were crazy. He put his shoulders back, lifted his chin. 'I am the Great Cygne.'
'You called me a name before. What was it?'
'Odette, of course.'
'And what is this place?'
Another incredulous look. 'This is Faerwood.'
'Do you live here?'
The old man got a faraway look. For a moment it appeared as if he might be falling asleep. Then he told Lilly an incredible story.
He told her that his real name was Karl Swann, and that he was once a world-renowned magician, student of the masters, mentor to the greats. He told her that many years ago he'd had a mishap during one of his stage illusions, and accidentally hanged himself. He told her that his son, Joseph, had kept him in this room for more than twenty years, but now he was much better, and was ready to perform all over the world again. He told her that this night would be the Great Cygne's greatest triumph, something called the Fire Grotto.
Lilly tried to digest it all. Twenty years. She looked around. The room was crowded with steamer trunks, wooden crates, broken furniture. At one end was an enormous hospital bed with filthy sheets. On the dressers were stacks of food-littered trays. Everywhere were tattered silks, bent linking rings, rusted cups, torn playing cards. The walls were covered with old posters and yellowed news clippings.
'Do you remember the time we played Tulsa?' he asked. 'Do you remember Harwelden?'
Lilly shook her head. The man faded in and out. Coherent one moment, gone the next. Earlier she had wandered over to the door, and covertly tried the knob behind her back. It was locked.
'Do you remember Blackstone?' he asked.
Lilly looked at the wall. On it was a framed poster of a man, in caricature, with two small devils at his feet, and another on his shoulder. The name BLACKSTONE was emblazoned across the bottom. There was a smaller legend there, too. Lilly quoted it aloud.
'Blackstone?' she asked. 'The greatest necromantic extravaganza on earth?'
The man seemed to come alive. Color rose in his cheeks.
'Yes!' he said. 'The greatest magician the world has ever known.' The old man struggled to his feet. 'It is time to prepare for the stage.' He held out his fragile hand. Lilly took it, helping him up.
'What's the Fire Grotto?' Lilly asked.
He assessed her with his milky eyes. 'I'll show you.'
He crossed the room to a small table, pulled out the drawer, slid it back in. Next to the table a wall panel slid up, revealing a number of wooden file cabinets. There had to be twenty in all.
The old man contemplated the labels for a while, then opened a drawer. He rifled the contents. He soon found an envelope full of photos.
'Here you are at the fair in Baton Rouge,' he said.
He showed her an old photograph, a picture of a young woman in a scarlet gown standing next to a box with seven swords sticking out of it. A man in a cape and top hat stood to her right. The man was clearly Karl Swann. A fair-haired young boy stood off to the side. He looked to be about five years old. Lilly recognized his eyes. It was her captor's eyes.
The old man produced a second photograph. 'This is Faerwood on the day we moved in. It was earlier this year. Isn't it magnificent?'
Karl Swann proffered a picture of himself and his young son. In the photograph the old man looked young and strong. His son looked sullen.
Earlier this year, Lilly thought. He is gone. She turned the photograph to the candlelight, looked at it carefully. It took her breath away. It wasn't the expressions of the man and boy, or the way they seemed to be standing in two different worlds, it was the house itself. The tower, the huge porch, the four chimneys rising into the sky like tortured, barren trees.
Lilly had lived with this image, frozen in her mind, for months.
It's him, she thought. My God, it's him. His name is Joseph Swann. She had told him everything, and he had kidnapped her and brought her here.
Lilly steadied herself by putting a hand on the table. She felt nauseated.
'Behold the Garden of Flowers.'
Lilly looked at the old man. He was still busy with the file cabinet. He hadn't said a word. The sound had come from behind her. Lilly spun around. The television was now on. On the screen she saw seven rectangles. Six different video feeds playing. In the upper left was something called the Garden of Flowers. Next to it was an illusion called the Girl Without a Middle. When Lilly looked at the third video her heart nearly stopped. She knew the girl in the large water tank. She felt lightheaded again. When she looked back at the screen the last video was playing. There was a girl in a bridal gown being led to a big box. The girl in the video was Claire.
Joseph Swann was a murderer. He was dressing up like his father, and killing girls in a chamber of
