****** Smoke and Mirrors by Seychelle ******
===============================================================================

Smoke and Mirrors


Zoe never thought the club would have lasted this long. The building itself,
once a modest pre-diocesan shuffle church, had since housed a disco, diner, job
centre - none lasting a month.

Until Aces High, its latest incarnation, a comedy/magic club thriving after
nearly half a year. Not that Zoe visited it, or cared to. Even without loathing
the idea, Danny and she had been working overtime to pay off the car and suite,
and were left with little energy at night to do more than eat, watch TV or
sleep, sometimes with their friends Owen and Kim along for the first two
activities.

Danny and she still had sex, but it had become a weekends-only, paint-by-
numbers affair, as dependable and boring as their fridge magnets; even the odd
bout of secret, guilt-ridden masturbation had lost its thrill for Zoe. Now they
talked of a permanent commitment; what would things be like for them then? She
acknowledged that, at thirty, her hell-raising days were probably over. But
surely accepting middle age didn't mean succumbing to this creeping apathy
which had permeated her body, her spirit? She needed something, without knowing
what.

But whatever it was, she was certain it wasn't in Aces High. Thus, when she'd
been ready to settle down for a quiet Friday evening in the flat with Kim,
Owen, a video and some wine, and Danny had returned from the off-licence with
four golden tickets - not to some Roald Dahl chocolate factory, but to an After
Hours show at the club that evening - she'd been less than enthusiastic. But
since the others seemed as keen as Danny...

Zoe's expectations of the interior had been woefully confirmed: tacky, smoky, a
maze of tiny round beer-stained tables and uncomfortable low stools, throngs of
punters pressed against the long dark bar. Their table was near the stage, but
none of the acts - magicians, comics, jugglers - were strong enough to keep Zoe
from checking her watch every few minutes.

Danny, broad face shaven, brown hair slicked back, removed his glasses and
rubbed the smoke from his eyes. 'I'm enjoying myself; makes a change from
staying in. Right, dear?'

Zoe didn't comment. Closer to Danny, the taller, thinner Owen leaned back,
nursing his beer. 'The acts are crap. What is this, Amateur Night?'

'Could you do better, shithead?' Between Owen and Zoe, Kim looked to Zoe and
laughed. Like Zoe, she favoured short raven hair, leggings and T-shirts. Unlike
Zoe, Kim was Korean by birth, raucous by nature, and pleasingly plump.

Zoe smiled back, her heart not in it. Where it was, she couldn't tell.

At ten to twelve, the bar's shutters dropped, without Last Orders called.
Neither man noticed, however, their attentions full on the young, stunningly
beautiful woman drifting from table to table. Seemingly neither customer nor
barmaid, she wore (if that was the proper term) an impossibly-tight,
impossibly-small wine-coloured strapless satin dress, short black gloves,
matching stockings and boots.

Zoe caught Danny nudging Owen, in that typically-male, subtle-as-a-sledgehammer
sign of appreciation for the female form. But then Zoe couldn't ignore her
either, watching each of the couples at the tables nearest the stage hand her
the same golden tickets Danny had received earlier. Those without tickets left,
without protest or delay.

'If you forgot them,' Owen murmured, 'I'll kill you.'

But Danny hadn't, practically slapping them down on the table before the woman
had even approached. She had deep green eyes, round cheekbones, and strands of
black flirting with the blonde; one gold Gothic "Z" earring dangled from her
right ear. Her hemline barely concealed her stocking tops, or the black
suspender straps. Her apple-red lipstick was bright, to be bright to be seen
from onstage. Her breasts, unharnessed but firm beneath the dress, needed no
enhancement.

Zoe's hackles rose, and she wished she'd been closer to Danny as the woman
collected their tickets, smiling at each of them in turn before departing.

'Nice, eh?' Danny nudged Owen. 'Just like I said.'

Zoe heard that. She must have been the one who'd given him the tickets earlier
that evening; no wonder he'd been so keen to be here tonight. Ignoring the
boys, Kim lit up, offering Zoe one. 'She could poke someone's eye out with
those.' Then her laughter dissolved as she glanced behind her. 'Shit... '

The others followed her gaze. The club, moments before packed to the rafters,
was now empty, the glasses and bottles collected, the tables cleaned, the
chairs upturned. No music, no staff, no one apart from those still at their
tables by the stage, equally bewildered.

Kim spoke for all of them. 'I've served in pubs for years; I've never seen one
cleared so quickly, so quietly.'

Then all eyes returned to the stage, as the curtains parted, revealing two
people. One was the woman, the other a man, identical to her not only in the
wine and black colours of his billowy shirt, trousers and shoes, but in his
very features: cheekbones, green eyes, wavy dirty blonde hair; they had to be
related.

No music, no fanfare, the room silent, though not from indifference, the air
thick with anticipation. The man spoke without a microphone, his accent vaguely
European (or a reasonable stage facsimile). 'Good evening, ladies and
gentlemen. My name is Andreas Zauber, and this is my beloved sister Andrea.' He
paused as Andrea made a theatrical half-bow, her substantial breasts
threatening to spill out. 'On behalf of the owners and managers of Aces High -
ourselves - we thank you for attending this special After Hours performance.

But be warned, this will be no ordinary "magic show." For now tolls Midnight,
the Witching Hour, when all barriers are lowered, not just between the real and
unreal, between this world and the others, but between performer and audience;
no one will leave unaffected. Because of this, we must warn you that much of
what you'll experience will be... adult in nature; should you wish to leave, do
so now, for our doors will remain locked for the next hour.'

There was a pregnant pause of uncertain murmurs among the audience. Zoe
recognised a good opening pitch when she heard one; nothing captured the
punters more effectively than the adjective 'adult', and nothing promised so
much more than it could ever deliver. Zoe knew better than most what she'd end
up seeing: phallic magic wands and vapid assistants going topless (Andrea
looked keen on the latter already).

But for such an enigmatic opening, the subsequent tricks turned out to be
typical, almost cliched: disappearing cards, appearing ribbons, self-igniting
cigars; Zoe remained silent, unimpressed. Then they brought out the Chinese
Rings, eight head-sized solid steel hoops they "linked" and "unlinked" before
the disbelieving audience.

Finally fed up, Zoe leaned back in her stool, arms folded across her chest, and
yawned audibly, just as Andreas had knelt by the stage, offering one of the
rings to Danny to examine. This close, Zoe could see he wore an identical
earring to his sister's, but on his left ear. He smiled at her with thin lips.
'Something wrong, Miss-'

'Zoe,' Danny offered helpfully, subsequently stifled by one of Zoe's glares.

'-Miss Zoe, do you not appreciate our efforts?'

He certainly affected concern well. Zoe paused, then chose not to hold back;
unlike the earlier acts, these two were professionals. 'With your skills at
deception, yes.'

Andreas frowned, seemingly hurt now; he was as attractive as his sister, Zoe
confirmed, and just as good at manipulating his audience. He held up a single
hoop for her. 'There's no deception involved. See?'

Zoe didn't accept it. 'Two of the eight rings are solid and unlinked; these are
the ones you allow your audience to examine. Another two rings are linked to
each other, as are a separate three. The eighth ring is your "key ring", and
has an opening to allow it to be attached or detached from the rest. By
misdirecting the audience's eyes at crucial moments, you can 'produce' chains
of two, three, four or more.'

Zoe could swear she'd seen his strong, handsome face tighten, though his voice
remained honey-laden, and when he spoke, it was as more to the audience than to
her. 'Are you a magician, Miss Zoe?'

'My father was. Not a bad one either. And he taught me how all the tricks were
just that - tricks. Just smoke and mirrors, distractions and patter. And
nothing more.'

Andrea stepped closer, resting one slim hand on his shoulder. 'Brother, I sense
a challenge.'

'You don't have to be psychic to figure that out, girl.' Zoe ignored the
other's looks. Maybe it was the drink in her, or her general loathing of magic.
Or maybe it was Danny slobbering over Andrea, wasting Zoe's evening here. But
now she was relishing the chance to put someone, anyone, in their place.

'Yes,' Andreas purported sympathy in Zoe's direction. 'A pity your father
stifled your appreciation of magic. Perhaps we can reawaken it.' He pointed to
her. 'I wager you this: we will perform a feat of genuine magic now, with your
active participation. Should you satisfactorily explain it, you and your
friends will take home all you can carry from our cellars.'

'And if I lose?'

Andreas smiled again. 'Then you will be in our debt.'

Zoe turned to the others, who were no longer content to remain out of the
firing line. 'Friggin' do it, girl,' Kim urged, eyes bright with the prospect
of a free crate of Malibu.

Owen drained his glass. 'You sussed out the Rings easy enough.'

Danny just shrugged and smiled, as if it was all out of his hands. Which it
was; this was between Zoe and the twins.

'All right,' she said, 'You're on.'

It was unnerving being onstage again, once more blanketed by bright hot lights
that cloaked the audience, but left her open, vulnerable. How different from
her childhood, when she'd looked forward to those summers touring cabarets and
working men's clubs with her father, being his cute sequinned assistant. It
wasn't the worst upbringing one could have, she supposed, though its ending -
her fifteenth birthday, when Daddy left with an older, bustier assistant, never
to return home again - could have been better scripted. But such memories were
for another evening.

She returned to the present, where Andreas was helping his sister step into a
large black silken sack, raising it to her throat and securing it, until only
Andrea's head remained uncovered.

Andreas turned to the audience, producing a smaller black sack. 'I'll not bore
you now with "distractions and patter, smoke and mirrors." This feat will speak
for itself.' And with that he reached into the smaller sack, producing a pair
of short black boots, letting them drop to the floor.

Zoe immediately understood, though it took the audience a few seconds, and more
items of clothing - dress, gloves, stockings - to follow. Andrea, meanwhile,
remained in the sack, her face coy, as if blissfully ignorant of being
"magically undressed." By the time the suspenders and knickers appeared, the
audience was cheering and whistling.

Zoe waited by the sidelines, unmoved, until Andrea's sack dropped to her feet;
she was naked, and though Zoe had expected it, still she gasped. Andrea was as
striking nude as she was clothed, her breasts firm and pale and budded with
dark pink nipples, and her pubes trimmed to a finger-wide dark blonde strip.
Zoe was surprised at the degree of her reaction; she had acknowledged her
bisexual side long ago, even if her experience encompassed no more than some
drunken foreplay once with the Kim. But still she had to swallow to control
herself.

Andrea bowed, breasts unfettered now, as the audience went wild. Then she
padded towards Zoe, completely unselfconscious. 'Well, dear?'

Zoe worked to keep her eyes on Andrea's. 'Andreas pulled duplicates of your
clothes from his sack, while you removed your own, hiding them inside your own
sack.' She shrugged. 'Houdini did variations on that a century ago.'

Andrea beamed. 'I bet he didn't have a body like mine, though.'

'Perhaps you'd like to try for yourself, Miss Zoe,' Andreas wagered, holding
the larger sack up for her.

The audience cheered her on encouragingly; she never heard them, drawn as she
was into the dare. Andrea, not bothering to redress, helped her into it,
drawing the sack up to her throat and securing the drawstrings, as Zoe searched
the inside for the pockets where Andrea would have hidden her clothes. But
there were none; doubtless Andreas had switched sacks while everyone's
attention was on his sister (a more-than-suitable distraction).

Andreas held up the smaller sack, as before, turning it inside out and back
again for the audience. Then-

At first Zoe felt a sudden loss, as if she'd blinked and missed a crucial scene
in a film, or a vital clue in a mystery novel. Before Andreas began producing
clothing - dirty white trainers, pink socks, leggings - her hands had confirmed
what her mind already knew: she was naked.

Panic raced through her; she punched the insides of the sack, as if to grasp
the invisible hands that had somehow reached through and stripped her so
quickly. She didn't hear the audience cheering as Andreas produced her
unmistakable Oasis T-shirt, favourite bra and pink pants.

Hands clasped her shoulders. It was Andrea, directly behind her, leaning closer
and whispering, 'Be at ease.'

Somehow, this dampened Zoe's rising panic. Still, her eyes were wide at the
pile of clothes on the stage floor. There had to be an explanation; there had
to be.

Andreas indicated the clothes. 'Are these yours, Miss Zoe?'

With one arm reflexively crossed over her breasts, the other hand cupping her
vulva, Zoe's words came out as a tentative whisper. 'I-I'm not sure.'

'Not sure?' Andreas returned to the audience. 'What can she do to make sure?'

The responses were immediate. 'Hop out of the coal sack, love!'

'Go on, show us your tits!'

Angry, confused and afraid, Zoe tried in vain to free herself from Andrea's
invasive touch. But Andreas moved closer, blocking the audience's view of her;
she could smell his musky cologne: the scent of crowning triumph? His voice was
low. 'Can you explain it, Zoe?'

She swallowed. 'Not at the moment, no. Just give me my clothes back.'

He shook his head. 'You still owe us a forfeit; help us complete the feat. Tuck
your head fully inside the sack.'

Zoe could call out for Danny and the others, or try to hop over like a rabbit
to retrieve her clothes - either option leaving her open to ridicule from the
crowd. Or she could just be mature about it, and concede defeat.

Feeling vastly deflated now, she nodded to Andreas, who opened the sack mouth
just enough to pull it straight over her head, then tied it shut. There was
room enough for her to move about, albeit in total darkness.

'And now,' he seemed to whisper to her through the lining, 'Comes the real
magic.'

And Zoe fell. Not to the floor, or through a trap door, but through what seemed
to be a narrow, winding, velvety tunnel, made of the same material as the sack!
She screamed, unanswered, unassisted, as she slid down a helter-skelter ride,
Alice down a Rabbit Hole as twisted as a mile of plumbing.

Then, without warning, her descent had stopped, and she opened her eyes.
Surprisingly, she could see without benefit of light, finding herself in the
centre of an enclosure only a few cubic metres in size, its walls seemingly
made of thick, bilious ash-grey smoke, warm and rubbery and impenetrable to her
touch. The support beneath her was firm, but malleable, like a bean bag chair;
her skin felt charged, hypersensistised by her descent. The tunnel which had
dropped her here had been consumed by the smoke; she instinctively pulled her
legs up to her chest as she cried out for help.

But remarkable in itself, remarkable enough for her to notice amidst all this
insanity, was her utter lack of fear. Disorientation, excitement, yes; her head
felt giddy at the level of illusion the Zaubers presented here. Still, she
called out, her voice resounding off the walls.

'You do make a lot of noise, don't you?'

Zoe looked up at the smiling face of Andrea, as she squeezed herself like a dab
of toothpaste through a wrinkle in the ceiling of the enclosure, landing naked
onto the floor beside Zoe, giggling.

'Where are we?' Zoe asked, both glad and afraid to see her again.

'You're in the Realm of Lost Things.'

Zoe was startled by the appearance of Andreas' head in the wall behind her,
continuing to speak as he emerged like his sister. 'Here go all the things we
lose in the Real World - odd socks, pens, keys, telephone numbers - and when
magicians send people away, they go here, too.'

Zoe had been caught up by his words that she didn't realise that he was naked,
too, until he fully emerged into view and rose to one knee. Like Andrea, he was
a perfect specimen, a smooth-skinned Adonis whom Zoe couldn't help admiring.
She couldn't help staring at the firm stem of his cock, either: long and thick,
its moist head collared by dark wrinkled skin, its base collared by a clump of
black pubic curls over his balls. His shaft was pointed in her direction like a
divining rod, seeking her well.

Ignoring the physical pulse of desire shooting through her like a wire, Zoe
drew her knees further into her chest, aware of the wetness seeping from
between her clenched thighs.

He moved slowly towards her, like a panther in the long grass. 'Here also went
not just your love of magic, but your love of life's magic, of letting go and
enjoying every surprise, every opportunity presented us.'

Andrea mirrored her brother's approach, her breasts pendulous. 'Tonight's show
was all for your benefit, Zoe. To entice you to this realm, and help you
rejuvenate your spirit.' She smiled as she paused. 'And to help you repay your
debt to us.'

Unable and unwilling to raise a protest, Zoe closed her eyes and stretched out
as they began touching her. Someone kissed her, slipping their tongue between
her lips. She opened her eyes to find it was Andrea - not that it made a
difference to her now - and sent her own tongue in reply, even as Andreas was
running strong, confident hands along Zoe's nude body.

Abandoning her remaining inhibitions entirely, Zoe swiftly guided Andrea
beneath her, trailing kisses over her warm, round breasts, down her stomach to
the soft, deep-pink folds of her labia, parting them with her fingertips and
drinking in the released perfume. A pause, and Zoe pierced her with her
fingers, remarking at the velvety tightness, so like her own, pulsing with
moist, eager passion. Another pause, and Zoe replaced her fingers with her
tongue, lapping up the nectar and teasing the engorged clitoris, as Danny used
to do to her. Beneath her, Andrea moaned and thumped her head against the walls
of this place, crying out.

Andreas did not remain inactive, moving behind Zoe's half-crouched position,
reaching between her parted thighs and delving deep inside her with expert
fingers, cooling her hot inner flesh. Her mouth still planted on Andrea's
vulva, Zoe groaned aloud, bucking against his thrusts. She wanted to come.
Wanted everyone to come.

'Now,' Andreas whispered, 'Lie down.'

Zoe wouldn't argue, lying back as two pairs of hands, lips, bodies worshipped
her own. Someone worked their way to her vulva, drinking in her copious juices,
as another worked on her tender nipples; who did what was irrelevant, as this
and everything else was cast aside in the tidal pool of emotion, churned
further as Andreas mounted her, pumping into her engorged sex like a rutting
stag, while Andrea rivalled her brother's penetration with her tongue into
Zoe's mouth again.

Zoe was consumed, her mind and body spiralling upwards into an undeniable
climax. She moaned inside Andrea's mouth-

-As the sack dropped to her feet. She staggered, blinded by the stagelights,
ears still pounding, as if from the applause she only distantly heard. She
looked down; she was fully dressed, as were the Zaubers, flanking either side
and bowing repeatedly. They took her hands to guide her back to her seat; she
felt too stunned to resist, surprised she could still stand after-

After what? She'd gone nowhere, did nothing with the Zaubers but participate in
a grand illusion. Despite the now-rescinding waves of pleasure still tingling
her flesh, despite the tastes still on her mouth and the wetness between her
legs. Hypnosis, it had to have been.

Then she shook her head, laughing giddily. Did it matter, really? Regardless of
the cause, the effect was clear: she had changed. She felt invigorated, alive.

Danny reached across and kissed her; she responded, the hunger for him revived,
her tongue rolling hungrily along his own. Then he whispered, 'By the way, how
did they do that?'

His breath tickled her, and jangled the golden "Z" earrings she now wore. She
beamed, replying simply, 'Magic, dear. Magic.'

END

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