“You’dbe better off if you pretended it didn’t.”
“I know what I saw.”
“Sometimeseyes are better than cameras,” he said, turning a faint smile.
“Iseverything all right?” Ryan stood by Julie, who still had her hand onthe man’s arm.
Shedidn’t know how to answer that and blinked dumbly at him. Finally,she pulled her arm away.
“Yourdealer is just being attentive,” the man said. “One of the otherplayers seemed to have a moment of panic. Very strange.”
Likehe hadn’t had a hand in it.
Ryansaid, “Why don’t you take a break, Julie? Get something to eat, comeback in an hour.”
Shedidn’t need a break. She wanted to flush the last ten minutes out ofher mind. If she kept working, she might be able to manage, but Ryan’stone didn’t invite argument.
“Yeah,okay,” she murmured, feeling vague.
Meanwhile,the man in the white shirt was walking away, along the casino’scarpeted main thoroughfare, following the woman.
Rushingnow, Julie cleaned up her table, signed out with Ryan, and ran afterthe man.
“You,wait a minute!”
Heturned. She expected him to argue, to express some kind of frustration,but he remained calm, mildly inquisitive. As if he’d never had astrong emotion in his life. She hardly knew what to say to thatimmovable expression.
Shepointed. “You spotted it—you saw she was cheating.”
“Yes.”He kept walking—marching, rather—determinedly. Like a hunter stalking atrail before it went cold. Julie followed, dodging a bacheloretteparty—a horde of twenty-something women in skin-tight mini-dressesand overteased hair—that hadn’t been there a moment ago. The manslipped out of their way.
“How?”she said, scrambling to keep close to him.
“Iwas counting cards and losing. I know how to count—I don’t lose.”
“Youwere—” She shook the thought away. “No, I mean how was she doing it? Icouldn’t tell. I didn’t spot any palmed cards, no props or gadgets—”
“He’schanging the cards as they come out of the shoe,” he said.
“What? That’s impossible.”
“Mostlyimpossible,” he said.
“Thecards were normal, they felt normal. I’d have been able to tell ifsomething was wrong with them.”
“No,you wouldn’t, because there was nothing inherently wrong with thecards. You could take every card in that stack, examine them all, sortthem, count them, and they’d all be there, exactly the right number inexactly the number of suits they ought to be. You’d never spot what hadchanged because he’s altering the basic reality of them. Swapping afour for a six, a king for a two, depending on what he needs to makeblackjack.”
Shedidn’t understand, to the point where she couldn’t even frame thequestion to express her lack of understanding. No wonder the camerascouldn’t spot it.
“Youkeep saying ‘he,’ but that was a woman—”
“Andthe same person who was there yesterday. He’s a magician.”
The strangeman looked as if he had just played a trick, or pushed back thecurtain, or produced a coin from her ear. Julie suddenly rememberedwhere she’d seen him before: in a photo on a poster outside thecasino’s smaller theater. The magic show. “You’re OdysseusGrant.”
“Hello,Julie,” he said. He’d seen the name tag on her uniform vest. Nothingmagical about it.
“Butyou’re a magician,” she said.
“There aredifferent kinds of magic.”
“You’renot talking about pulling rabbits out of hats, are you?”
“Not likethat, no.”
Theywere moving against the flow of a crowd; a show at one of the theatersmust have just let out. Grant moved smoothly through the traffic; Julieseemed to bang elbows with every single person she encountered.
Theyleft the wide and sparkling cavern of the casino area and entered thesmaller, cozier hallway that led to the hotel wing. The ceilings werelower here, and plastic ficus plants decorated the corners. Grantstopped at the elevators and pressed the button.
“Idon’t understand,” she said.
“Youreally should take a break, like your pit boss said.”
“No, I want toknow what’s going on.”
“Becausea cheater is ripping off your employer?”
“No,because he’s ripping off me.” She crossed herarms. “You said it’s the same person who’s been doing this, but Icouldn’t spot him. How did you spot him?”
“Youshouldn’t be so hard on yourself. How would you even know what to lookfor? There’s no such thing as magic, after all.”
“Well.Something’s going on.”
“Indeed.You really should let me handle this—”
“I want to help.”
Thedoors slid open, and Julie started to step through them, until Grantgrabbed her arm so hard she gasped. When he pulled back, she saw why:the elevator doors had opened on an empty shaft, an ominous blacktunnel with twisting cable running down the middle. She’d have juststepped into that pit without thinking.
Shefell back and clung to Grant’s arm until her heart sank from her throat.
“Heknows we’re on to him,” Grant said. “Are you sure you want to help?”
“Ididn’t see it. I didn’t even look.”
“Youexpected the car to be there. Why should you have to look?”
She wouldnever, ever take a blind step again. Always, she would creepslowly around corners and tread lightly on the ground before her. “Justlike no one expects a housewife or a businessman from the Midwest tocheat at table games in Vegas.”
“Justso.”
Theelevator doors slid shut, and the hum of the cables, the ding of thelights, returned to normal. Normal—and what did that mean again?
“Maybewe should take the stairs,” Julie murmured.
“Nota bad idea,” Grant answered, looking on her with an amused glint in hiseye that she thought was totally out of place, given that she’d almostdied.
Downanother hallway and around a corner, they reached the door to theemergency stairs. The resort didn’t bother putting any frills into thestairwell, which most of its patrons would never see: The tower wasmade of echoing concrete, the railings were steel, the stairs hadnonskid treads underfoot. The stairs seemed to wind upward forever.
“Howdo you even know where he is? If he knows you’re looking for him, he’sprobably out of town by now.”
“Wewere never following him. He’s never left hisroom.”
“Then who was at my table?”
“That’sa good question, isn’t it?”
Thiswas going to be a long, long climb.
Grantled, and Julie was happy to let him do so. At every exit door, hestopped, held before it a device that looked like an old-fashionedpocket watch, with a brass casing and a lumpy knob and ring protruding.After regarding the watch a moment, he’d stuff it back in histrouser pocket and continue on.
Sheguessed he was in his thirties, but now she wasn’t sure—he seemed bothyoung and old. He moved with energy, striding up the
