The crane operator, nonchalantly sipping a cup of coffee, eased the lever back and the pod lurched skyward, shrinking, gently swinging on the end of the cable, tantalizing the audience with things to come. After a dizzying, neck-straining ascent it reached its highest point, 150 feet above the ground and directly above the volcano, a thin cable stretching down from inside the pod to the stage, another harbinger of future thrills.

Max and Carl swaggered into the trees to remain out of sight until needed.

Mandy arranged her tunic about her and took her place on the hydraulic lift immediately below the mouth of the volcano. From here she could look up and see the sky, clear and blue, the home of birds, of angels. Maybe hers, too.

“You okay?” Andy asked.

That brought her back to business. She crouched slightly to allow the effects that would happen above her and steeled herself. “Let’s give ’em a show.”

Andy threw some levers, actuated some valves.

To the delight of the crowd, the music turned bold and magical and, to the delight of every eye, a huge bubble slowly rose out of the volcano and perched with a soapy quiver in the volcano’s mouth. It filled with smoke, making it look like a huge white marble, and then, with a puff of fireworks, it popped, the smoke cleared away, and there was Mandy Whitacre on a circular, silver platform, holding a glimmering silver hoop to frame her body and face.

Applause!

She’d never seen this big an audience in one place in the daylight, in front of her on the bleachers, to either side of her on the ground. For an instant she could identify with a trained whale at one of those big sea aquariums, holding a hoop, surrounded by laughing, applauding people in sunhats and sunglasses, sitting row upon row in the sun.

The music cue. Time for her routine. Okay, here we go, let’s do it!

She went into dance moves, twirling the hoop above her head, making it spin like a coin atop her fingertips, then— Come on, grab hold!—setting it spinning like a wheel, wobbling a few degrees off axis for the cool look of it, suspended above her. The folks were with her, loving it.

She stepped out of the volcano and onto the stage, the hoop moving out before her until it hung in the air, wobble-spinning perpendicular to the bleachers, its silver coating flashing in the sun.

Now for the birdies!

She found, could feelCarson, Maybelle, Lily, and Bonkers as they launched from their handlers on the third level of the parking garage. Such troupers, day after day, aiming to please and all for a cuddle and some treats! Celery leaves all around when this is over, guys and gals!

She went to them on the waves of time and space, flew with them, guided them, and by now they understood her gentle proddings. They flew abreast in a wide formation over the audience, then fell into single file as they circled down and flew loop after loop through the hoop. Loop the Hoop!

The folks loved it.

On command, the doves broke out of the loop and flew a horizontal circle high above the stage while Mandy let the hoop flop sideways and wobble down to her waiting hands. As she held the hoop in outstretched arms to frame her body and face, the doves came down to rest, two on each arm, a charming portrait inside the hoop.

Ta-da! The crowd was hers.

Too bad it couldn’t last. The “bad guys”—now Andy made three—came back onstage, emerging from the woods. The audience booed again. With a sorrowful face—only half acting—she sent the doves back to their handlers and dropped the hoop so that she stood within its circle. She tossed off her tunic and tried to appearready. The music dropped to an ominous low drone signaling Oh-oh, be careful, look out, this is dangerous …

Tell me all about it.

Getting into the restraints wasn’t the scary part. Max clamped on the leg irons with the same care he always used; Carl cuffed her hands with every regard for her comfort and safety. Andy brought the cable and hook over with the same caution and attention. They’d been through stunts like this many times before.

It was the pod, that tiny little box way up there. As she lay on the stage and Andy fixed the hook to her shackles and body harness, she could see straight up into that cavity no bigger than she was and not see the end of the darkness inside.

She’d never gotten used to that thing, never felt right about it, and concrete blocks out in the desert were fine, she could handle them, but this … it brought back every trapped feeling she’d ever had.

Her legs were bound. She couldn’t move her hands. This time it scared her.

Use it!

“Ready?” Andy whispered.

The truth? No,she thought but couldn’t say. No, wait, I can’t find it, I can’t, I can’t think …

She was hanging upside down. The crowd, every face upside down, was dropping away below her. The blood was pounding into her head. She was gasping, clenching her fists, trying not to.

It’s a go, he said. It’s a go.

I’m not going to get out of there! I’m not ready! Oh, God, don’t let them …

There was no way Dane could put aside the fear, not with her so small up there, arms and legs bound, hooked and dangling like a helpless fish. All he could do was stay put and stay steady, keep his mind on the details, make sure things happened when they should.

Fifty more feet to go, and then …

It was so far to fall.

She looked up past her feet. The pod was a predator with jaws wide open. A breeze played over her. She felt herself gently swinging, getting sick. The crowd was buzzing, stirring up. She could see straight down the volcano. It was huffing, smoking. Pilot flames burned inside the rim.

From a block away, Preston and his crewmen could see Mandy rising toward the pod, a flea on a thread with no appeal to turn back, slow down, find another way. History, her life, Dane’s, theirs, the Grand Illusion, were relentlessly moving forward. All they could do was keep up.

Preston and three men were ready at their stations on the platform atop the semi, Preston holding one end of the net, a crewman holding the other end, and two crewmen evenly spaced along the length, supporting the middle. Two crewmen remained on the ground, waiting for Preston’s signal.

She tried once more to reach for her birds, to touch them—

Her feet passed within the open petal doors, then her legs, her waist, her shoulders. Her shackled feet came up against the ceiling of the pod. She hesitated, let her head flop, and looked down. It was a sunny day. People were ant-size and alive down there, looking up at her through sunglasses, from under visors and sunhats. Kids were pointing. Big Max, now a tiny round spot of black, stood by the oversize hourglass, waiting to turn it over.

The volcano, a gaping, smoking orifice, was waiting.

It’s a go.

She hung the shackles on their hook and tripped them open, then pressed a button with her toe to close the petal doors. They closed around her head and shoulders much tighter than she remembered, shutting out the world where the sun shined and life was happening. She was encased in the dark.

On the stage, with a growl and an impressive display of muscle, Big Max hefted the hourglass and flipped it upside down. As the deep rumble of an impending eruption came over the sound system, he, Carl, and Andy feigned panic and ran from the stage only seconds before the propane jets opened wide and the volcano sent up a tower of flame, igniting the fake trees. It was as frightening as anyone could ask for. Everybody screamed.

The sand in the hourglass was running: Mandy had one minute.

It was hard to breathe.

She could hear and feel the rumble below her, faintly discern the excited cries of the people. Less than one minute. Think, girl, think.