"You know what the problem is with those big illusions?"

"No," smiled the Magician, "What do you say it is?"

She pursed her lips. "Well, they're boring. Everything's been done."

"Really? I just showed you several new ones. My Ultimate Sawing, the Box of Doom, and-"

"Oh, yes, I enjoyed them. The effects were very interesting. I have no idea how you do them. But they're still predictable."

"How so?" asked the magician, slightly bemused. Rachael MacKell, entertainment writer for The Daily, had always been his harshest critic. Despite her invaribly lukewarm reviews, though, he always managed to sell out his shows.

Rachael stood up from her seat in the front row and walked up onto the stage. "Take the sawing, for instance." She peered closely at the table. The magician smiled- even the closest examination wouldn't reveal the secret. "You introduce a table, or a box with doors and a cut down the middle, or a saw, and it's obvious right from the start that someone's going to get cut in half... Okay, I'll give you points for making the sawing vertical. That was novel, but it was still broadcast."

"And there's your whirling blade thing box-"
"The Box of Doom," he offered.
"Yes. The moment the lights came up, I knew someone was getting put inside. Probably tied up, too, to attempt to escape. And I was right. There was zero tension for me as the steel plate pushed her towards the whirling blades."
"But she didn't."
"Yes, yes. I know. There was blood everywhere as you stuffed her through that cuisinart. The horrified gasps were from the shock value. Very misogynistic. But Cris Angel did the same thing, to himself, with a wood chipper. And I've seen dozens of magic shows- your box is just a twist on the cremation illusion. I spotted her pulling the curtains before the finale."

"I guess I can't please everyone, can I?" The Magician shrugged.

"Oh, and before I forget- that sword box. Box. Swords. Pretty assistant gets inside. I don't even need to go further- I know exactly what's going to happen."

"Ms MacKell, there is a long history of stage magic. I perform the classics, but I always try to give my audience what they really want. You know that when an illusionist is sliding his swords through the small box containing his assistant, so small there is no room to maneuver out of the way, half the audience is wondering, "Is she really still in there?"

Rachael rolled her eyes, "So you opened it and showed them that yes, she is. Thoroughly impaled, too." She looked around the stage again, at all the props the stage hands were cleaning up and putting away for next evening's show. "It's like the knife thrower at the circus. Everyone watches and thrills, but secretly they're hoping he makes a mistake. Your sword box is still a sword box." She turned and looked into his eyes. "Just once I'd-"
The Magician raised his eyebrow.
"-like to see-"
The Magician snapped his fingers.
"-something com...plete..ly..." her words trailed off as she fell in a trance. "... diff...rent..."
She blinked. The Magician placed his index and middle finger gently on her forehead. Pushed slowly.
Rachael tilted backwards, falling, and exploded into hundreds of butterflies, which fluttered around the theatre in every direction.

*****

The girls giggled. "Hey, Boss, did you see this review?" Marisal read dramatically- "Like a caterpillar emerging from its cocoon, each illusion spreads its wings like a magnificent new species of butterfly. You might think you know what's inside the cocoon, but you will still be amazed every time..."
Laurel grabbed the paper away. "She calls you 'The monarch of magicians.' What's with all the butterfly stuff?"

The Magician just smiled. "Shouldn't you ladies be getting ready? We're on in fifteen minutes."