Luna re-entered the stage in a white dress that drifted and flowed as if she were underwater. With her form indistinct and her movement paced to every fourth beat of the music, she appeared unreal, dreamlike next to the intense, crisp dancers.
At a directing gesture from her, two of the dancers hastened off-stage, returning with the prop for this performance: A platform on wheels bearing a pair of stools, a wall of steel between them, another wall behind supporting the broad table-top of the prop, hinged upward to allow easy movement on and off the stools, with a broad, circular hole taking up most of the surface.
Though the aesthetic of the show was familiar, to call Luna Dazzle a magician was misleading. It was a label she didn’t think she’d earned. She’d also been called a superhero, much to her embarrassment. She’d done even less to deserve that. What she was was an entertainer with superhuman powers which lent themselves to the spectacle. Like a human fireworks display, she would amuse, she would shock, she would dazzle.
Directed by a swish of her hand, the woman in red and the man in green spun into the stools, taking a seat in matching poses, back to back, arms folded, far leg crossed forward toward the audience. The man was small and slight, so their heads were level to one another.
Other assistants lowered the top, encircling the pair around the level of their lowest ribs. Even seated, the pair’s dance continued, raising their rear arms high, making broad swishes with their forward arms, mirroring one another.
A man knelt in front of the woman in red, and a woman opposite him, for the man in green. Both seated assistants kicked out their raised foot, where it was caught and held by the kneeling ones.
As Luna drifted her way around the back of the prop, assistants pulled curtains from a slot in the front of the steel barrier, bearing images of the lower bodies they concealed. The leading woman emerged with the final piece of the prop: a broad, flat, possibly sharp ring of metal, its inner circumference matching the hole cut from the tabletop around her enclosed assistants.
She set the ring on the floor before her, and twirled it to walk it around her, making it part of her slow, detached dance, catching the spotlights in brief, bright flashes, then lifted it to drop it again, emitting a startling pair of clangs as it bounced.
Finally, she turned around, and swung it over the kneeling man’s head. The last man caught it, and helped her hold it level and steady as she moved around to the side of the prop. The woman in red feigned a gasp, and a nervous grimace toward the audience. The man in green tried to twist his neck around, seemingly concerned.
All at once, Luna slammed the ring through the top of the table. The woman in red threw her arms up and head back dramatically while the man in green lurched forward.
Quickly, however, they recovered, flashing smiles and waving at the audience as their unconcerned leader drifted around in front of them, trailing her hand along the solid edge of the table.
Upon reaching the other side, she raised her hand out to the man in green, and with a suggestive look to the audience, he took it.
Luna’s pace never broke, and as she continued her way around the prop, she carried the man in green with her, pivoting him around the center, and the woman in red with him. The dancer’s eyes went wide in startlement, and she rapidly glanced down, then back at the audience again with a look of shock and disbelief. Once back in view, the man in green seemed similarly confused. He reached after Luna with a few words on his lips as her hand slipped away. All the while, the kneeling assistants never let go of the feet they held, which bobbed in the air as if tapping, still to the beat.
The super-entertainer stood well clear of the prop, bowing low, arms crossed before her, then with a broad swish of her hand snapped her fingers, and the curtains likewise snapped back into the median, revealing that the impression given was true: while the lead assistants’ heads, arms and chests had switched sides, the rest of them had not.
Other assistants raised the tabletop back up to give an unbroken view, also removing the barrier blocking the view of the altered pair themselves.
On one side, short, black hair, a hand clapped to his open mouth, a short, green vest, and tan skin until it was suddenly paler, then red pants with flared legs that swished as one was raised, a tan hand grabbing the thigh and giving it a squeeze as if confirming that it was attached to him.
On the other, long, blonde hair tied back into a ponytail, hands alternating between flapping wildly and patting at her waist and hips, red bandeau, and fair skin abruptly making way for tan before slimly-fitting pants of green.
They had barely any chance to panic before four other assistants grabbed them by each hand, dragging them back to their feet and back into the dance. The woman showed off some rapid taps, and the man twirled with flash and flare.
Luna, meanwhile, rose with a knowing smirk, and took a few elegant steps to the side, arms snaking around to end spread, presenting her two bold assistants to either side as all snapped to their final poses. The central pair then took either of her hands, the three bowed, and the curtain fell.
* * *
For the dozenth time, June turned from watching the dark stage through the curtain to pace. Lounged in a cushioned chair, feet bobbing on an ottoman, Raynaldo’s anxiety was no less, and between the two of them, it was palpable to anyone passing by.
Martina swept up beside June, taking her arm. “June, dear, relax! Why don’t you sit down and have a drink before you wear Raynaldo’s feet to the bone?”
June’s head snapped to look at her companion, startled out of her thoughts. Her eyes were filled with worry that was near tears. “How can I relax?! It’s been four hours since curtain!”
“Okay, yes, I’m sure this is uncomfortable for you,” Martina agreed as she walked the other woman all the same toward the next empty chair, nudging a plastic cup of water into her hands. “It could be worse, you know? Imagine if you were trapped in a TV!”
“Being in the TV is actually pretty easy on a person, though,” Ray remarked. “You should try it. It’s like your thoughts are on hold. You barely notice time passing.”
“That’s not the point!” June cried, but took a seat nonetheless. The drink certainly helped relieve tension.
Martina raised an eyebrow skeptically. “That’s not the point? How could that not be the point?” She cast a meaningful glance down at the other woman’s lap, then back to her eyes.
“Luna can teleport,” Ray replied. “She could have gone to, I don’t know, China, and been back in five minutes. Instead, she’s missing and unreachable, when she knows we need her. Why?”
Martina stood there, stunned, as what they were suggesting sunk in. “I’m… sure she’s fine.” She forced a smile meant to be comforting. The other two clearly weren’t buying it.
“I think we might need something stronger than water,” Ray commented, and after a moment’s consideration, the two women nodded in agreement.
“I’ll see what we have,” Martina offered, and scurried off.
* * *
Luna leaned into the driver’s compartment, over Piecemeal’s shoulder, emitting a nervous groan. “Nnng!” She didn’t need to comment. Everyone understood. Traffic was much too stop-and-go for a getaway, and the stops were getting longer.
“Have they put out an APB?” came Pester’s voice from the back. “They might not want anyone to know we’re out.”
“They have,” came Assembler’s confirmation after a moment’s pause. The sound of a helicopter passing two blocks over drove the point in deeper. They didn’t have time for this.
Piecemeal reweighed the pros and cons of ditching the van.
“Hold on!” Luna chirped as she ducked back. “I can do this!” That sounded like she was mostly telling herself.
There was a ruffling of cloth, then the side door opened. In the side-view mirror, Piecemeal could see Luna hop out with an armload of metal poles and black cloth, smile as glamorous as if she were stepping out on-stage.
As set up the first pole beside the driver’s window, she called “I could use an assistant!”
Piecemeal put the van in park, and hopped out. They were about to block traffic one way or another.
Luna handed her half the bundle, and started walking around the van counterclockwise, trailing a string and waving to nearby cars. Drivers looked on in confusion. Someone three cars back started to lay on their horn. Piecemeal did her best to put on a smile as well, and mimicked Luna’s trip, clockwise.
Unsurprisingly, some people had pulled out phones and were recording. A glimmer of hope she’d been holding on to was snuffed out. Up to this point, there might have been some chance, however small, that no one who’d seen Luna helping them realized who she was. That she could go home, go back to her career like nothing had happened. Now she was on America’s Most Wanted list with the rest of them.
They met at the opposite corner of the van, setting up the last of four posts. Luna gave her a reassuring smile, and they took the curtains, now dangling near the posts, and began the return trip, hiding the van from view. If these thoughts weighed at all on the super-entertainer’s mind, she gave no sign.
They met back where they had started, in front of the driver’s seat. Luna strutted up to the car next to them, bent down, and blew a kiss into a passenger’s camera. Then she backed up, waved goodbye, and pulled the curtains.
The shadows cast by the curtains and van jumped a few degrees, and the sound of the car horn cut out.
“Why is it dar…” Luna’s words trailed off as her knees gave out under her.
Piecemeal caught one arm, trying to launch her hand to catch her back as well… As the fainted woman flopped against her legs, it was clear just how accustomed to her magic armlet she’d become. “Pester!” she called, “I need a hand!”
* * *
A couple of shots of tequila had done wonders to calm June’s nerves. Maybe Luna was in trouble. Maybe she just fell asleep. She had no way of finding out, and no way of doing anything about it, so why worry?
Christie, meanwhile, had downed more than anyone and was blubbering into her shoulder. “What if- what if she’s been hypnotized, and someone’s keeping her as their slave?!”
June rolled her eyes. ”She’s the magician, Christie.” As far as anyone knew, no one had quite the same powers as Luna. Not that she was the only person on the planet with some kind of mind-control, far from it.
“What if she tried to hypnotize someone, and they held up a mirror?”
“I don’t think it works that way.”
As Christie started to form her next disaster scenario, June started worming her way away from her. “I have to pee,” she said, half as an excuse to move. She looked to Ray. “Is it okay if I… touch it?”
Ray chuckled, and spread his hands. “I would be mildly insulted if you didn’t. That having been said, I should go with you. I’m worried I may need a little, eh, instruction.”
On their way down the hall, Ray rubbed his arm nervously, and opened his mouth to start at least twice before he managed any words. “We are theater people. We have to be comfortable with one another, and our bodies, right?”
June raised an eyebrow. “If we weren’t, we would never have agreed to this trick. I’d say we’re doing great so far. Why? Something bothering you?”
“Not as such, no. It’s just that, well… I have a boyfriend, you know? And while he has no interest in women, he does love Raynaldo.”
At first, June stared at him agape, shocked at what he was suggesting.
“Very much,” he added.
“Snrk!” she snorted an embarrassing laugh. Then, she rocked her head to the side, thinking about it.
What difference did it make to her? It’s not like she could feel it or anything. Besides, in the last few hours, she’d experienced a few feelings starting to rise more than once, and while she’d done her best to ignore them, she couldn’t tell herself she wasn’t curious.
“Fffffine,” she conceded, to herself as much as Ray. “Just make sure he uses a condom.”