"Five minutes 'til curtain, Ms. Kalypso, five minutes." Tony's voice crackled over the intercom, giving the traditional warning. In her dressing room, Alessandra sighed. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy doing the show any more, she did, but it was getting tiresome. The crowds were still good, if not the sold-out-month's-in-advance they had been when she debuted. She kept the show fresh, surprising, and she was a perennial local's favorite, but it had been almost eight years. Eight years. Alessandra sighed again, peering into the mirror and slipping in the blue contacts that changed her scarlet irises to a vibrant violet. Offstage, she wore dark brown lenses, much less conspicuous, and in keeping with the air of mystery she cultivated carefully. Keeping everyone guessing was part of the game, one she played very, very well. Of course, most people came to Vegas to have fun and be mystified, so she fit in easily.
She checked her look one last time. Black curls to her waist. Deep ruby gloss that highlighted her full, cupid's-bow mouth. A dusting of iridescent powder glittered over her cheekbones. Amazingly long, dark lashes framed her startling, almond shaped eyes; she had custom falsies made. The black leather jumpsuit, artfully padded, made her waist look smaller and her butt fuller, her chest straining at the front zipper. The stilettos she wore were reinforced with steel shanks, in case of any misstep, which could happen in a dark theatre. She took a couple of deep breaths, not because she needed to, her nerves were rock solid, but more out of habit. And then Michelle was knocking lightly on the door, "Two minutes, Les, two minutes." Alessandra smiled her practiced, mysterious, slightly devious smile, and took her place for curtain.
The show went well, as always, the tricks flowing flawlessly one after the other. After almost eight years, the crew could nearly run the show in their sleep. Alessandra didn't do the usual audience patter other magicians did, she avoided much direct contact, this only deepened the mystery surrounding her. Other than the typical equipment-check type stuff, the only time she was close to the audience was at the opening of the show, her first illusion when she appeared and reappeared with lightning speed at various locations around the auditorium, touching people lightly, startling them. Tonight, there had been something a odd, though. As she had leaned in to breathe into the ear of a tall man seated on the middle aisle, he had turned his head, grinning at her, as if he'd known where she would be. That had never happened before. Alessandra varied her routine nightly, so even her long time crew didn't know exactly where she would show up. They also didn't know how the trick was done, but since magicians guarded their trade secrets jealously, they didn't question. The man had also smelled, well, odd. Different from any human she had ever come in contact with. He was warmer than usual too, as if he were running a high fever. She felt unsettled, off balance for a brief moment, but pushed the feeling aside and went on with her performance.
Now she had time to consider the tall stranger. Her nimble mind had kept tabs on him throughout the show, taking note of his reactions, sizing him up. Big, remarkably so, and well-built. Longish, dark hair, dark complected, Native American, possibly Hawaiian. A brilliant smile and a booming laugh that stood out. An assured manner that bothered Alessandra for some reason she couldn't immediately identify. He had a companion with him, too. A lovely, curly haired young woman that commanded most of his attention even as they watched the show. Both of them appeared to be in their early twenties, probably monied from the way they dressed and carried themselves. She wondered if they were staying at the casino, maybe she could talk to Nando at the front desk and find out who they were.
Les placed her final wig, short, dark and sleek, on the mannequin head, running her fingers through her real hair, shoulder length, red-blonde and baby fine. Growing up, she had never liked her hair. It was flat and lifeless, hanging limply from her scalp, classmates made fun of the color. She had permed and dyed it until it was frizzy and broken. Now, she felt almost protective of it, the most fragile part of her, a remnant of her lost humanity.
There was a hesitant knock at the door, and Michelle, her assistant, poked her head in.
"Uh, Les? Sorry to bother, but there's someone who'd like to meet you. I told him you didn't normally see people, but he's pretty insistent. Do you want me to call security?" Chelle's pretty face was unusually anxious, most autograph seekers were easily put off, there must be something different about this one.
Alessandra knew immediately. Of course. The big dark guy. One of those types used to getting his way and throwing his weight around. Some hotshot young CEO, or maybe a professional athlete, someone not used to getting "No" for an answer. She was a little irked, this was her space, her territory, but a part of her was intrigued. She was curious about this man, a rare feeling, and had been since the top of the show. Something told her she should see him, and she was used to trusting her instincts, they had gotten her out of more than one sticky situation.
"It's ok, Chelle," her smile was warm and forgiving, "give me five minutes, then show him in. He probably just wants a picture or something." She paused for a moment, considering, "let Randall know he's here, just in case." Randall was head of security, a deceptively mild-looking, smallish man with government training, very tight-lipped about his background.
Les wrapped her hair up in a towel, wiping the lipstick from her mouth. She tightened the sash of her red robe, monogrammed in gold, and her now-brown eyes appeared calm and friendly, if a bit reserved. The tightening in her stomach belied her outer cool. Was she feeling, afraid? It had been so long since she'd felt that particular emotion, she almost didn't recognize it, and didn't quite believe it. No, not afraid, but definitely on edge. There was something undoubtedly unsettling about this stranger. Well, she would find out what he wanted and deal with it. Maybe he was an agent from Atlantic City, or one of those mega-casinos in Indonesia, they were always looking for fresh talent to keep their well-heeled Chinese clientele happy. If so, he would be disappointed, she wasn't interested in relocating.
There was another knock at the door, heavier this time, and Les opened it with a smile. He stood in the doorway, huge, dwarfing her modestly sized dressing room.
"Hello," she said, "I'm Alessandra Kalypso."