Free The Last Illusion by Porochista Khakpour

wide and ready, reached them out like a black-winged angel-savior, and came down down down down to the front row— Zal, my God, my name is Zal, I am yours, hands out, heart down, when in doubt breathe breathe breathe —until his arms were just over and then around a waist.
    The waist of a thin blonde in a long white dress who made what could only be called a soft scream, almost a singsong holler, as he scooped her into his arms and up.
    Silber rotated her as the audience applauded even louder and faced her and embraced her and for a moment everyone wondered if they were kissing or more.
    It was hard to say.
    On the ground, Zal watched with a red face, eyes overflowing, his hands in fists without his knowing it. He left for the bathroom while Silber and his volunteer—his stooge, no doubt, Zal would later learn to call her—were still up in the air.
    He stayed in there until he was sure the show was over—men flooded the bathroom with Well, that was somethings, and Did you see thats, and By Georges, and Holy shits —and finally people were out. When he left, Indigo was pacing outside, waiting for him.
    “What the hell did you do in there?” she snapped. She did not look at him any differently than before.
    It was possible the potential and therefore the disappointment had all along been in his head only.
    “Did you like it?” she asked. “Out of this world, right?”
    Zal nodded slowly.
    “Ready to go back? There’s def an after-party, but I’m not sure—”
    Zal pretended to look at his watch. “You know, I’m exhausted. These past three days have been a lot for me. I’ve never in my life really traveled like this. And I have my train tomorrow, pretty early.”
    Indigo looked at him with wide eyes, but it was clear she wasn’t going to insist. “Okay . . . well, dude, I just waited for nothing. Nice meeting you, have a sweet life!”
    “Indigo,” Zal said suddenly. “Will you tell Mr. Silber I am so grateful? And that if he needs any help or anything at all, or will even take me as volunteer or apprentice or whatever is possible, I would be most glad to help. I was very much interested in his act tonight. I’d love to be, you know, involved.”
    Indigo nodded, softening for a second, then flashing a smile he took to be real. “Gotcha. He likes you. He’ll be in touch.”
    “I’ll write him, too,” Zal said as Indigo passed him one of his gold cards, the third time she’d done it in three days. He kept every one in a different spot, in case.
    Zal did not know exactly what love was, but if he had to guess he would say that it was love he felt for Silber that trip. And that love had to do with possibility, he guessed. So it made sense to him that night why he felt, as he walked home alone, heartbroken and lovesick and consumed by, more than anything, wishes, real wishes.

    And so Zal’s fascination with Silber had germinated in a season of a particularly contagious strangeness, when he was acting off, but then the whole world was, too: Y2K season. When he’d announced to Hendricks he was going to Las Vegas to see his favorite magician, Hendricks had been so caught off guard that he’d almost just shrugged at it.
    Then he’d paused. “Really? You feel that your first trip alone could be to Las Vegas, of all places, and it’s fine?” he had asked. “Do you know about Las Vegas?”
    “Yes,” Zal had replied. “I have read about it. I understand the pros and the cons. I know what I am getting myself into.”
    Hendricks had looked deep into his eyes, searching, a near-impossible task with Zal, even for his father. “You’re sure, Zal? You can tell, I’m sure, that I am not comfortable with this. You’re really, really sure?”
    Zal had thought about it for a few seconds more. “I think so. I would have imagined you would have thought this is one of those perfect opportunities for me to come into my own.”
    “Yes, I suppose . . . Your favorite magician, though? I didn’t know you had