The classroom had no windows. It wasn't unusual, but it still bothered her. No windows at all, discounting the single, pathetic little safety glass window in the door. She took notes as the lecture droned on, carefully checking the clock every two or three minutes. The class would never end. It would just go on and on forever, and she'd never see the sun again. There were only ten minutes left, but those ten minutes would stretch on for an eternity. It should have been an interesting class, but so far, it had turned out to be nothing but common sense that only an idiot wouldn't already know. It should have been titled "how not to say stupid shit in public 101."

But it wasn't. Calling it politics in media was stupidly misleading, and Darcy wondered if she could get her money back.

When the class finally finished, Darcy had to get to the complete opposite end of the campus in about 30 seconds, which meant she was always about ten minutes late. At least it was just for her TA job, and not another class. And Jane was pretty understanding about it, too. She seemed to be the only professor on campus who understood that UNLV was almost a solid square mile of complication and misery. By the time Darcy got to Jane's office, she was ready for a cold bath and a nap. Possibly at the same time. Jane was buzzing around in a rush, gathering up pages and folders without really looking at what she was picking up. There was a certain method for filing, which after a year, Darcy still didn't understand. Jane's idea of filing was to have a place for everything, which meant keeping the grade reports on top of the coffee maker, and the weather print-outs taped to the desk lamp. It worked for Jane, so Darcy did the best she could to abide by it.

"Going out to the Valley tonight?" Darcy asked as she settled in behind Jane's desk.

"Yeah. Last star party of the semester. Don was going to pick me up, but tell him to just meet me there because Erik needs me out there early," Jane said as she stuffed everything into a large box.

Darcy waggled her eyebrows. "Oh, is this going to be a sexy star party?" she asked.

"All star parties are sexy," said Jane, barely pausing. "But not like that. Gotta go."

She took her box of charts and rushed out of the room, leaving the door wide open behind her. Darcy watched her rush down the hall before pulling up Pandora and starting up her Fallout Boy station. Her job as a TA was about as low-key as jobs got, leaving her free to work on her coursework most of the time. Jane used Windows' little virtual sticky notes to lay out Darcy's tasks for the day, not trusting email or One Note to behave like they should. Darcy checked the desktop, smirking at the new wallpaper Jane had set (something spacey, which Jane probably knew the name of, but to Darcy it just looked like a glowy blue cloud) and closed out the note that told her to enter the grades for two different classes. After quickly changing the wallpaper to the first half-naked male model she found on Google, Darcy found the folders full of half-ass reports and logged into the grade book.

Entering grades only took a few minutes, but the way Jane was always trying to do eight things at once, it was no wonder she needed a TA. Darcy tapped out the grades, bobbing her head and humming along with Pandora. When she was finished, she still had another hour in Jane's office, so she did what she always did when Jane was away, and pulled out her coursework for the world's most idiotic class.

It should have been fun. It should have been about spin and damage control, but it wasn't. It was all about training yourself to keep your more unsavoury opinions to yourself. It would have been much more fun if the reading told you how to voice your stupid, racist opinions in a way that made your stupid, racist constituents unafraid to agree with you.

Maybe that was the next course, and this was just the pre-requisite.

Somehow, Darcy doubted it. A career in politics was turning less and less into something she wanted to pursue. The only way it would be worth it at this rate was if she could get some sort of job working for Mayor Goodman, and then she could say that she worked for someone who sassed Obama. And maybe after Goodman's term was up, the city would re-elect her husband, and then Darcy could say she worked for the guy who threatened to break people's thumbs. That was a political statement made to the press. Kind of. And it hadn't backfired horribly. It just made people like him more.

As Darcy struggled to read the required chapter, she was startled by a knock at the door. She looked up sharply to find Jane's ridiculously-cut med school boyfriend grinning in the doorway. With Don's long, blond hair and trimmed beard, he always looked to Darcy like someone who should have been in Game of Thrones. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, which meant he'd probably broken a few speed limits trying to get to UNLV from the medical centre. If he was doing his residency rounds, it would probably explain why Jane hadn't been able to get hold of him, and why relaying the message had fallen to Darcy.

"She already left," Darcy told him apologetically. "Erik needed her out there early. She said to just meet her out there."

"Oh," said Don. He stepped into the office and cringed. "I don't know how to get there." He spoke with an accent that always sounded like he was trying to cover up another accent, but Darcy could never tell where he might have been from originally. The few times Darcy had dared ask where he was from, he always found a way to change the subject. It didn't take long for Darcy to stop asking.

"Just take the Fifteen north to the Valley of Fire exit. There are big signs for it. You can't really miss it," Darcy said.

Don frowned and dug his phone from his pocket, and then frowned again when he noticed it was still off.

"She texted me," he said dumbly as he scrolled through his messages. "Four times."

Darcy laughed. "Gotta check that stuff more often, dude."

"They don't like us to have our phones on when we do our rotation," Don said as he put the phone away.

"That just means don't get caught." Just like how phones were supposed to be off during class. Nobody ever listened to that, either.

Don shrugged, like he wasn't sure if Darcy was serious or not. "Are you going tonight. Do you want to ride with me?"

Darcy almost felt bad for him. It was kind of a long drive out to the Valley, but it was also an amazing place for the department's star parties. Darcy even liked to go when she didn't have anything else planned.

"Open stage tonight. I'm going there instead," she told him. As soon as she said it, she realised it wasn't actually any cooler to hang go hang out with a bunch of magic nerds. But at least the magic nerds would sometimes go drinking after, since unlike the science nerds, they didn't have an hour-long drive back to Vegas after they were done being nerds.

Don nodded. Darcy was pretty sure he had no interest in the star parties at all, and only went because Jane was there. "Very well. Have fun at your, uh. Show. Thing."

"Yeah. Drive safe," Darcy said, laughing as Don turned to leave, looking dismayed as ever. He always seemed to look slightly dismayed or concerned with whatever went on around him, but Darcy suspected it was secretly all an elaborate act to make people like him. He was nice enough, but there was just something about him that never quite sat right with her. Like, how could a man in his final year of medical school not understand how cell phones worked?

He was hiding something, and not just his accent. But Jane was head over heels for him, so Darcy made it none of her business. Just like the rest of Las Vegas made Oscar Goodman's dubious side-dealings and mafia connections none of theirs. She may not have been born for politics, but she was definitely from Las Vegas, and that was kind of the same thing.

She finished up her reading, and with nothing else to do, decided to just leave early. Denny & Lee wouldn't open their doors for the open stage for another couple of hours, so she'd at least have plenty of time to change into something that didn't look like she only put on because it was clean. She only lived off Flamingo, and the May heat wasn't entirely deadly yet, so she'd walked to class. Walking back home at about six in the afternoon was almost pleasant, if she stayed out of the sun. She cut through the campus to Flamingo, cutting an almost mile-long walk in half. The busy street stank to high heavens as usual, but without the familiar tangy undercurrent of melting tar that came later in the summer. Come June, waiting to cross at the light would be unbearable.

Once she was across Flamingo and closer to the park, the smell of the busy street died away, replaced with the smell of the drying-out flood channel. Some ducks were swimming around in the shallow water down there, dunking their heads in the water and quacking happily. A few more were perched up on the rotting mattress that had been down there for the last three years. Probably because someone got so fed up with bed bugs, they'd just bunged their bed right over the fence. Kind of like the time Darcy got her neighbour to help her throw her sofa off the third-storey corridor and into the dry courtyard behind her apartment building.

The building itself hadn't started off life as apartments. Once upon a time, it had been a cheap little hotel on the outskirts of town. Because once upon a time, two miles off-strip had been the outskirts. Now it was college town, and all the hotels were now cheap housing, with Best Westerns scattered around for anyone who needed an actual hotel.

On her way to her apartment, she stopped by the mailbox to see if she had anything more interesting than bills, though she kind of doubted she would, since she'd got her copy of Genii the week before. But she got even less than bills, so she threw the Vons coupons into the trash on her way to the stairs. There was a lift, but she was leery of it. It was rickety and it squeaked and shook, and she'd once got stuck in it for three hours when it had stalled during a rolling blackout the previous summer. The stairs were crumbling concrete, and still kind of scary, but at least she wouldn't suffocate if they broke. She'd just break her neck.

At least it would be a quick death. She'd take a quick death over slow, stifling suffocation.

Her apartment was west-facing, with a large, square window looking toward the strip — and the bright orange setting sun framed perfectly against the Wynn. The front of her door was hot to the touch, and inside was like a tiny, personal oven. Time to hang the blackout curtains back up. She had two sets of them, because just hanging one didn't actually help at all.

For now, she turned on the air conditioner and swung her door open and shut to try to move some air around. It kind of helped, but not really.

The apartment was a small studio, with a fantastically huge walk-in closet. She kept her bed and all her clothes back there, and managed to have a proper living room as a result. The kitchen was pathetic, but the hotel bath tub and constant hot water made up for it. Not to mention free cable and wifi. Once her apartment was cool enough, she shut the door and locked it, and immediately declared a no-pants zone. She still had about two hours before she had to leave, so she flopped down on her bright blue sofa bed thing that didn't really work as either a sofa or a bed, and turned on the television. The news was on, with its usual parade of death and destruction, interspersed with stories about new hotels opening and closing. They were still excited about the Key Largo reopening, but Darcy was bored with it already. It had sat closed since she was in middle school, so it was kind of cool that it was coming back, but not so cool that she needed to hear about it every day for a month.

Eventually, she found something else to zone out to until it was time to leave. When it was finally time to get ready, Darcy took a very quick shower and put on something that would look good next to a rum and coke in a casino bar. It was a quick drive to the other side of the strip, but too far to walk, and not something she could even think about taking the bus to. For one, buses didn't go down Dean Martin. And it was kind of a shady area, right up against the freeway, and with very little in the way of street lights. The parking lot outside of Denny & Lee was already getting full by the time she got there, with about ten people milling about outside the shop while they waited for Brian to unlock the doors.

Darcy parked in an empty space and got out to catch up with the others who were already there. Most of the people who came to the open stages were guys, but not all of them. A lot of the guys would bring their girlfriends, but there were a few women who came on their own, and some even performed.

"Miss Darcy," Ashton greeted. "Are you performing tonight?"

Ashton was a pickpocket, and a very good one. His act was one of Darcy's favourites.

"Not tonight. I don't have anything new, and you can only cut your own head off so many times before it gets boring," Darcy said.

She had a few ideas for new routines, but none of them really seemed interesting enough, which meant they wouldn't be interesting at all. She'd come up with her beheading routine to see if she could do it without the paper bag Mac King used. The answer was no, not really. So she used a burlap sack, and got a much more grotesque result than would be suitable for an early-afternoon family show.

She stood around and talked nonsense with everyone else until Brian finally showed up from wherever he went between closing the shop and coming back again for the open stage. Denny & Lee wasn't a Strip magic shop, with faux-antique shelves, and cheap, mass-produced tricks lining the walls. There was a small counter with a few expensive props behind glass, but mostly they sold books. Expensive, and often antique books, with an entire shelf devoted to the Miracle Factory. But the majority of the space was taken up by the stage and seating area in the back. There was no charge to attend, whether as a spectator or a performer. It was like some kind of magician's fight club, where everyone would sit in old folding chairs in a room with poor lighting, and have the pleasure of seeing new routines performed in public for the first time. Darcy found a seat in the middle and got comfortable while the shop slowly filled.

"I heard D's back in town. He should be here tonight," Ashton said as he sat next to her.

Darcy gasped. "Oh, I miss him! Where's he been?"

"California, I think," said Ashton.

In the entire time Darcy had known him, D had never had a fixed address. He lived primarily on the road, taking his singularly strange act anywhere he could perform on the street without a permit.

He strode in about five minutes later, heralded by a raucous clatter at the door. Darcy couldn't help but grin, knowing that whatever he'd brought with him was something big and ridiculous.

"D, where have you been?" she called out when he stepped into view.

D grinned widely. "Miss Darcy, always a pleasure." He walked over, and Darcy rose for one of his bear hugs. When he hugged her, he picked her clean off the ground for a few seconds, before putting her back down. Darcy tried to peer around the wall that separated the stage from the shop, but all she could see was the shelf that held all the Miracle Factory books. "So, what'd you bring?" she asked.

"No peeking," he admonished. He sat down across the aisle from her, rocking uncertainly in his uneven chair.

Darcy pretended to be affronted, but it wasn't a very good act. Even she laughed. Before she could say anything else, Brian climbed up onto the low stage, silencing the room without a word.

"We have a few new faces this week," he said, looking out over the small crowd. "We may have to start charging."

Almost everyone responded by shouting 'No' at him.

"Or not," said Brian. "I do have a quick announcement before we get started. Listen up, it's a good one. The Key Largo is reopening, which isn't news to anyone."

"The Key Largo's reopening?" asked D.

"Isn't news to anyone except D," Brian amended. "The exciting part is that I have been told a secret. So I'm sharing it with you guys. They're holding auditions tomorrow at six PM for a magic act. I don't know what kind of magic they're looking for, or if it's for an afternoon show or an evening show. They didn't say in their release. I think all of you could do an evening show, so let's hope it's that. They haven't publicised it, but they'll let you in if you tell them you came from here. I have the release printed out on the counter, so please take one on your way out."

Darcy was tempted, but she didn't think she had enough material to carry ninety minutes. She figured maybe instead of going and making an ass of herself, she'd just go as moral support for anyone else who decided to audition.

When Brian finished with his announcements, he introduced Kayla to the stage. She went up empty-handed, and started by pulling a balloon from one of her pockets. Her act was a simple one, but effective and cute. She asked the audience to tell her what animal she should make from the balloon, and came 'randomly' to chicken. The balloon chicken she made wasn't very chicken-like, and almost seemed to be intentionally terrible. Her act largely played on a perfectly-maintained 'dumb blonde' appearance, and she hammed it up especially for the stage nights. When she decided that the balloon chicken was a big fat failure and burst it with her manicured fingernails, she made a switch so flawlessly quick, Darcy didn't even see when the balloon chicken became a live baby chick. Kayla cooed happily at the confused little creature and patted it on the head before dropping character and bowing properly.

"What are you gonna do with the chick when it becomes a chicken?" someone asked with an insinuating tone.

Kayla scoffed, as if the answer were obvious. "Give him to Lance Burton."

Darcy wasn't even sure why it was funny, but she laughed anyway. Something about Lance Burton always struck her as unintentionally hilarious, and she wasn't the only one. Half the audience were laughing right along with her.

Acts went one after the next, most of them requiring little or no preparation. Ashton picked on one of the newcomers by stealing his watch, his wallet, and one of his shoes so quickly, the poor guy had no idea what had happened until the end of the routine. When D's turn came round, Brian brought his prop out for him. It was a four-foot step-ladder, and Darcy couldn't see what was so special about it. Until D invited her up onto the stage with him.

He had her sit on top of the ladder, and that was when she knew exactly what was so special about it.

"Oh, no. No, no, no," she said, gripping the sides tightly.

D looked up at the cheap rigging above the stage and nodded before picking up the ladder with both hands, Darcy perched atop it and clinging to it for dear life.

"Ohmygodno," Darcy squeaked as she felt herself leave the ground. She closed her eyes as he lifted her even higher, knowing exactly what was happening beneath her.

The ladder lurched one more time, and Darcy went very still as the movement below her started to even out. She was shaking so hard, she worried D might lose the precarious balance he had with his mouth. She didn't dare open her eyes, but she could hear the audience's impressed reaction at seeing a very large man balance Darcy on a step ladder with his chin.

"I'm going to die," Darcy said nervously.

Everyone else laughed, and she didn't know why. Finally, everything shifted again, and she was very carefully lowered to the ground. As she found her feet again, her legs were like Jello, and she worried she might fall down completely. Brian helped her down the stairs and back to her seat before announcing the next performer.