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couldn't help feeling that something didn't quite add up. The woman was well dressed in jeans with a white silk shirt and a thin gold necklace. He could imagine that she was probably an executive in some sort of business. But what was she doing here — and on her own?
    Still, she had given Jamie no choice. He waited for her to follow him up onto the stage, and a few seconds later they were standing in the spotlights. Scott was slightly to the side, not looking at them, waiting for Jamie to begin.
    "I'm going to blindfold my brother…" Jamie began.
    "How did you do that just now?" the woman interrupted. "That trick with the newspaper. I've never seen anything like that."
    "Well…" Jamie didn't know what to say. Volunteers hardly ever spoke to him…and they never asked him questions like that, not when they were up on the stage. Why was everything going so wrong tonight? He turned away and, without meaning to, found himself looking once again at the two men in row five. They were staring at him. Of course they were. Everyone was staring at him. He was the reason they were there. But he still couldn't shake off the idea that they were different from the rest of the audience, that they were interested in him for another reason.
    Jamie forced himself to calm down. The two men were surrounded by a lot of empty seats. That was the only reason they seemed out of place. They were here for the same reason as everyone else: to be entertained.
    "I'd like you to help me," Jamie said.
    "Sure!" The woman nodded.
    Jamie picked up the blindfold, the hood, the English pennies. "I want you to make sure there are no hidden microphones."
    "How did you do it?" the woman asked again. "Can you really read each other's minds?"
    The audience was getting restless. They hadn't come here to listen to an explanation of how the tricks worked. And it was late — almost half past ten. They were ready to leave. Without waiting any longer, Jamie pressed the coins against his brother's eyes. For a moment, he felt Scott's breath, warm against his knuckles. Later on, much later, he would remember it. But now he was moving briskly on. He secured the coins with the blindfold, remembering too late that he hadn't invited the woman to examine it. Never mind. What did it matter anyway? He placed the hood over his brother's head.
    "What now?" the woman asked.
    "I'd like something from your handbag," Jamie said. It was another mistake. Normally, at this point, he went back into the audience. He wished this woman hadn't forced herself onto him.
    "I don't have a handbag," the woman said.
    That got a few laughs from the audience. But it was hostile. They were laughing at him, not with him.
    "Then give me something else," Jamie said. "Just don't say what it is."
    "How about this?" The woman reached into her back pocket and took out a photograph, the size of a postcard. Jamie took it. He found himself looking at a black-and-white picture of a nine- or ten-year-old boy. It was obvious this was the woman's son. Jamie could see the resemblance. The boy's hair was much shorter but he had the same thoughtful eyes and slightly feminine mouth.
    Jamie held it. He realized he was waiting for Scott to speak. Normally Scott identified the object the moment Jamie had it in his hand. Then it would be on to the wallet, the deck of playing cards, the driver's license, and out before the final curtain. But Scott hadn't spoken.
    "Scott — what am I holding?" Jamie asked. He had broken the rules that Don White had taught him. If he said anything, the audience would always assume he was using some sort of code. It was better to remain silent.
    "I…don't know." Scott turned his head as if he was trying to look through the blindfold and the hood.
    Jamie felt the floor opening up beneath him. Something had gone wrong. He glanced at his brother and felt the tension. Scott's arms were pressed against his sides, his fists clenched.
    "It's a picture." Desperately, Jamie tried to help him.