Mallory read his face. „Yeah, just like the real cardplayers.“ She turned to Edward Slope, not bothering to temper her sarcasm. „I’m guessing.“ She held up a white chip. „This is worth a nickel, right?“

Dr. Slope smiled as he leaned toward her with a return salvo. „Got any plans for your winnings? Why not have the giant puppy stuffed as a trophy?“

Robin Duffy glowered at the doctor. „You can’t prove she shot that balloon.“

„Spoken like a true lawyer, Robin. Hey, I was there when she blasted it out of the sky.“ Dr. Slope quickly stacked his poker chips in reckless little towers.

The doctor’s stacking style and Charles’s degrees in psychology told him that Edward Slope was not at all conservative in his game. The careless arrangement of his chips said, I came to play. But then, Edward said the same thing aloud each time he sat down at the table.

The rabbi was lining up his plastic tokens in neat columns, the hallmark of an inhibited bidder, yet he ran the best bluffs in every game.

In respect to cards, Charles’s education had been a waste of time. His first game with these men had shattered his belief in an orderly universe governed by laws of cause and effect. Despite his extensive knowledge of body language, his high IQ and flawless logic, he never won. But he kept returning to the poker table, week after week, in the spirit of a whipped dog conducting a science experiment.

He had never played against Mallory before. Long before he met her, she had abandoned this game with her foster father’s oldest friends. Charles stared at the perfect columns of her chips, so carefully aligned they might he solid shafts of plastic. If he were meeting her for the first time, if he did not know how many guns she owned, he would judge her an insecure player.

„I saw you on TV, Edward.“ Robin Duffy gathered his chips in loose piles of denominations. „The balloon autopsy wasn’t too professional, but real funny.“

„I know a bullet hole when I see one,“ said the medical examiner.

„My wife thinks you shot the big puppy, Edward – just to make the kid look bad.“ Robin’s jowls gathered up in a wide bright smile for Mallory. Each time he looked at her, he seemed amazed, as though she were still growing up before his very eyes.

And now Charles understood why the rabbi had insisted on Mallory’s attendance; it was for Robin’s sake. Since the death of her foster father, she rarely made the trek to this Brooklyn neighborhood, and the old lawyer had missed her sorely.

Charles popped the cap off a bottle of beer, the standard beverage for every game. So it was odd to see the lone sherry glass set before one of the empty chairs. And wasn’t the lighting a bit dimmer than usual?

Well, this smacks of collusion. A stage had been set.

When the doorbell rang, Rabbi Kaplan said, „Mr. Halpern will get it.“ Though the rabbi could see the front door if he only turned his head to one side, he kept custody of the eyes to allow the elderly man a private moment with the new arrival.

Not Mallory. She was looking straight down the hallway.

Charles had to lean over the table for a clear view.

Fragile Mr. Halpern opened the door to a tall figure in a long dark coat. A wide-brimmed black hat shadowed the visitor’s face. With only this dark silhouette, anyone could tell that the new arrival was Mr. Halpern’s opposite in every way, not the least bit delicate, conveying solid mass and strength even while standing in quiet repose. As he entered the foyer, light struck the strands of long white hair edging across his broad shoulders. The two men spoke in low tones that did not carry down the hall to the den. After a few minutes, they were shaking hands in farewell.

Charles believed the elderly Mr. Halpern was crying as he passed over the threshold and into the night, slowly, gently closing the door behind him.

Mallory was still watching the stranger as he removed his hat and coat, hanging them on the rack by the door. She was nodding almost imperceptibly, perhaps approving the superb tweed blazer and the blue silk shirt. The man’s collar was open by two buttons, marking him as a subscriber to the rabbi’s theory of poker and breath-restricting neckties.

Everyone at the table looked up as Malakhai appeared in the den. This man could never simply walk through a doorway, but always made a rather grand entrance. It was not affectation, but unavoidable, as he increased the energy level of a room to the tenth power. He smiled, and though his face bore deep lines of experience, something survived of the wild and handsome erstwhile boy. He had not yet given in to time, not bowed to it with a curved back nor any other sign of impairment. The long white lion’s mane was aglow, a trap for lamplight. His eyes were quite the opposite, large and gunmetal blue, dark places where light could not exist.

Charles looked at the faces of the men seated around him. Just for a moment, he thought they might applaud this famed magician merely for showing up at the table.

Everyone but Mallory stood up as Charles made the introductions to this old friend of the family. After presenting Kathleen Mallory, he winced as Malakhai asked, „May I call you Kathy?“

„No,“ she said.

Charles rushed in, speaking quickly. „It’s nothing personal. Everyone calls her Mallory, just Mallory.“

„I don’t,“ said the rabbi and Robin Duffy in unison.

Edward Slope resumed his seat and pushed the deck toward Mallory, ready for the game to begin – on several levels. „You have to pick your moments, sir. Only call her Kathy if you want to break her concentration. Otherwise it loses the annoyance value. Right, Kathy?“

She ignored him and shuffled the deck.

And now Charles apologized for neglecting the rule of ladies first. He ntroduced an empty space in the air beside Malakhai, claiming there was _woman standing there. „And her name is Louisa.“

The rabbi inclined his head and smiled, speaking to the air. „My pleasure, madam. You haven’t changed at all.“ He turned to Malakhai. „I saw your last performance.“

„That was more than twenty years ago.“ Malakhai turned his head to the space beside him and appeared to be listening. He smiled at the rabbi. „Louisa thanks you for remembering us.“ And now he spoke to the entire gathering. „My wife plays a wicked game of poker. She’ll sit in for a few hands – if no one objects.“

„Your dead wife? I don’t think so,“ said Mallory.

„Kathy!“ The rabbi’s voice had the note of a warning bell. „This man is a guest in my house.“

„So?“ She turned to Malakhai. „Nothing personal. It’s bad enough I got roped into playing with these amateurs. I draw the line at dealing cards to spooks, okay?“

Though Rabbi Kaplan had suffered worse insults on his poker prowess in silence, he was obviously about to upbraid her again. His mouth was open, but nothing came out. Perhaps he was waffling between her offenses: the refusal to acknowledge a woman who wasn’t there, and her use of the word spook as a possible slur. In a further convolution of ethics, could he counsel her to avoid offending a guest by sanctioning the lie that a dead woman could competently play poker?

Charles leaned behind Robin’s chair and whispered to Mallory, „Did I mention that Malakhai helped my cousin design the pedestals for the crossbow illusion?“

„Pull up a chair, Louisa.“ Mallory’s ethics were miles more flexible than the rabbi’s. „Everybody, ante up.“

While the white chips were being tossed into the center of the table, Malakhai held out a chair for the phantom Louisa. After taking his own seat, he purchased poker chips and set them up for two players. Charles noticed the stacks were different patterns for husband and wife. Malakhai made a tidy square of four columns, while Louisa’s chips mirrored Edward Slope’s in recklessness.