Angel Killer by Andrew Mayne

down at Chloe’s, or whoever’s, face. It’s still screaming silently. “I know. He knows that. That’s why he doesn’t want it to happen. If it does, it destroys the illusion.” I step back and point to the body. “If it were me, I’d do something to the body. Rig it so that when you moved it, after you got the effect, it would somehow destroy the evidence. If it’s not her body, he doesn’t want us to find that out.”
    Gimbal doesn’t even hesitate. Put in simple terms of bombs and booby traps, he gets the point. “Everyone step back.” He raises his radio to his mouth. “Get the bomb squad here stat!” He looks back at me.
    I nod. “It might not be a bomb. Something.” I turn to Gladys. “What would you do?”
    She’s about to speak but stops at the sound of rushing air. The fake Chloe’s mouth emits a rumbling sound and orange sparks begin to shoot out. Her cheeks glow bright red and thick smoke pours from her lips and nostrils. Instantly, her whole body is engulfed in flames and turns into an inferno. We all leap back as it blazes into a fireball.
    I shield my head with my arms and try to avoid the heat. I take Gladys’s hand and pull her away. She’s too stunned to move. The fire spits up into the gray sky, raging twenty feet into the air. A pillar of smoke climbs even higher.
    I throw my jacket on the body, only to watch it melt in seconds. Shannon pulls me back as a fire crew rushes from the street with extinguishers and starts spraying.
    Gladys snaps out of her shock. “Use the chemical extinguishers and watch for acid burns!”
    A fireman nods and runs off to get more equipment. They fight it for several minutes. Despite the foam, the body continues to burn. Her face is a black cinder. A ghastly angel spewing dark smoke and fire. The dried flesh turns to ash and begins to disintegrate in the wind.
    The plume is a hellish spire reaching into the sky. Cameramen across the street climb on top of their news vans to film the conflagration.
    I look at Gladys and can tell what she’s thinking. There will be some forensic evidence left. Maybe enough to prove there could have been another girl, but not enough to prove this wasn’t Chloe’s body. Even her parents were fooled.
    And that’s the point of this cruel illusion.
    Uncertainty.
    To plant doubt in people’s minds.
    The magician never wants you to look into his pocket or up his sleeve. Great illusionists would take axes to their old equipment before they’d give a rival a chance to dig through the trash pile in the alley in back of the theater and steal those secrets for their own.
    The Warlock needed to make his deception perfect. If we had absolute proof the girl wasn’t Chloe, he’d just be another charlatan. He wanted us to watch as he destroyed the illusion before our eyes. Even still, something is missing . . .
    Grandfather used to call it the long burn. It’s a setup within a setup. It’s how you fool the smartest ones in your audience. It’s the kind of thing you do to destroy just one person. It was how he bested his rivals.
    I’m letting myself get too distracted and forgetting the present. I need to focus on the here and now. We’re still in the middle of the Warlock’s show.
    Shannon turns from the fire and squints at the buildings around the cemetery. We’re all having the same thought. Someone is watching us. The fire could have been live-triggered.
    At the back of the cemetery there’s an ivy-covered fence. Just beyond is a row of warehouses. I’m sure the police cleared the area, but there’s something too convenient about the location. Shannon notices me looking in that direction.
    I almost miss the figure at first. Hard to see against the night sky, there’s an outline of someone lying flat on the roof of a building.
    I’m about to suggest that we quietly call it in to the local police when Shannon shouts, “You on the roof, freeze!”
    I don’t wait to see if they follow orders. I know he’s about to