“Now mine doesn’t work,” Zach said. “No hot coin. Like the juice got turned off.”
Barry touched the brim of the hat. It did not hum. “Same here.”
“Son of a bitch,” Zach said. His face got that dark look that reminded Barry of vampires in movies. The dark face always brought trouble. “We both got ripped off.”
“We go back Tuesday afternoon,” Barry reassured him. “We’ll get a recharge.”
Zach banged the joined rings against the table. “We’d better.”
Chapter Ten
While two of the Outsiders struggled with the dissipation of their powers, a third stood before Lyle Miller. Paco Mason still harbored doubts about what Zach had told him of the Magic Shop.
“So you’re some kind of magician?” he asked.
Lyle gave him a wry, condescending smile. “My boy, I’m the best kind of magician. A real one.”
He walked Paco over to the front window display. He reached inside and pulled out the only item there, the one that had immediately captured Paco’s imagination. A black magician’s wand.
The wand was a solid dowel about six inches long. One tip was white. Lyle held it in his hand, white tip out.
“Now think of the white tip as the end of the barrel,” he warned. “Point that thing away from you.”
He returned to the counter with Paco in tow. Two paper cups sat at one end. The rest of the display case, and store for that matter, was empty.
“It’s a wand like Harry Potter has?” Paco said.
“Please,” Lyle said. “Wands that can do anything. That’s all make-believe. A real wand has one true task.”
He held the wand with the grace of a great painter with his finest brush, a delicate touch to direct great power.
“Now all the finest magicians master this skill one way or another,” Lyle said. “A woman enters a box, a coin hidden under a scarf, a sheet draped over an item, the setup is immaterial. One way or another, they all disappear.”
Lyle touched the wand’s white tip to the lip of one of the cups.
“Bakshokah korami,” Lyle said.
There was a tiny flash. A puff of white smoke appeared and dissipated in a split second. The cup was gone.
A look of awe appeared on Paco’s face. It was the same look he had when he watched a campfire burn, the same look he had when he saw fireball explosions on TV, the same look he had at the moment of ignition when a magnifying glass focused the sun’s rays on the back of an ant.
“Where did it go?”
“It didn’t go anywhere,” Lyle said. “It just ceased. Spontaneous endothermic combustion. Always leaves the crowd wanting more. Usually because they now have less. Want to try?”
Paco could not speak. He just held out his hand. Lyle gave him the wand. He positioned Paco’s fingers to hold it like a chopstick.
“There, hold it with reverence. It’s not a plastic fork.”
Lyle held up a hand and waved his fingers. A gold coin the size of a quarter appeared. He put it in Paco’s other hand.
“Now focus and feel the power,” he said. “It will surge to the wand at your command of Bakshokah korami.”
“Bakshokah korami.”
The coin in Paco’s left hand heated up. A tingle ran up that arm, across his shoulders and down the other. The wand between his fingers began to thrum. His pulse pounded harder.
He tapped the remaining cup. The wand jolted like the kick of a shotgun. The cup flashed and vanished.
“Awesome!” Paco shouted.
“You are a natural,” Lyle said. “The wand and you are one.”
Paco stared, enchanted by the stick in his hand. No more matches. No more firecrackers.
“How much for it?” he asked.
“How much do you have?”
Paco pulled a twenty and two fives from his pocket. It was as much as he thought he could take from his mother’s wallet without the loss being noticed. Lyle took the twenty. He pumped two keys and a $10 and a $5 tab popped up on opposite sides of the register’s glass window, like two eyes awakened. The drawer consumed Paco’s money. The two eyes dropped back into satiated sleep. Lyle returned a five to Paco’s cash hoard.
“That’s fifteen with five change,” he said. “Remember, the white tip points out. Come back Tuesday afternoon to master your new craft.”
The wand still had Paco mesmerized. He nodded and went out through the front door. He blinked in the sudden sunlight. The street was empty, but it was still best to hide his new acquisition. He slipped the wand into his pocket and mounted his bicycle for the trip home.
During the ride, his mind raced from idea to idea, the way it always did. The ADHD gift did him no good at school, where they gave him drugs to douse it. But he liked it out in the world, where it made him feel free and powerful, like he was jumping from stone to stone in a fast running stream. He faked taking the pills that slowed him down for just that reason. Yeah, it made school easier, but who cared about that when your mind no longer ran like the wind.
He thought of what he wanted to make disappear. There were a few kids from school who made the short list, as did the school itself. He wondered how big something had to be before he couldn’t make it vanish in a flash and a puff of smoke.
By the time he returned to his house, he knew what weekly nemesis was first on his list to make vanish. He made a beeline for the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator door. His target sat alone on the second shelf, wrapped in a clear plastic bag.
Broccoli. The dark green vegetable pointed its mutated heads at him like a pack of accusatory radiation victims.
Paco hated broccoli like vampires hated garlic. Tonight it was going to be him or the green stalk, and this time the stalk was going to lose. He touched the wand to the vegetable.
“Bakshokah korami.”
The coin in his pocket warmed and his hands tingled. The wand twitched in his fingers. A tiny flash sparked in the refrigerator and the broccoli disappeared in a little cloud of white smoke.
“Excellent!” he shouted and slammed the refrigerator door shut.
Next item on the list: Ritalin. He was done getting that crap shoved down his throat. He went to his mother’s bathroom and pulled open the medicine cabinet. There were more bottles here than he expected. He shuffled through them until he found the prescription with his name on it and pulled that one out. He set it on top of the toilet tank.
“Adios, buzz killer,” he said. He touched the wand to the cap, white tip to white top. “Bakshokah korami.”
The pocketed coin barely warmed. His shoulder registered a quick twinge, but no power reached his hand. The wand did not respond. It was like when his mother tried to start the car with a dying battery. Paco gritted his teeth.
“Bakshokah korami,” he said more firmly.
This time nothing happened at all. No juice.
“Son of a bitch,” he said. Just when he was getting started. Lyle had better refill his magic gas tank on Tuesday. This little wand was going to be way too much fun.
Chapter Eleven
Ricky Arroyo stood outside the Magic Shop and stared at the OPEN sign. The early evening sun had dipped lower in the sky and cast the shop front in shadows. Lately, he’d been the last to jump at whatever the Outsiders were into. Barry had always been the Pluto of the Outsiders’ solar system, but recently the little fat kid had tightened his orbit and been first to follow Zach’s lead. Ricky had sensed himself drifting a bit outside the inner circle. Now he was the last of the four to make a purchase at the Magic Shop.
He’d stopped by their houses on the way here and seen what the other kids had purchased. Magic rings, a wand that made things disappear, the hat that could deliver live animals. All cool tricks, and though none of the others could actually make them work, he believed them when they said that the things just needed a jump start of some kind. He just wasn’t sure if he was ready to mess with that kind of power.
One item sat in the window display, a deck of playing cards arranged i
n a fan. The box at the center of the fan had Magic Deck across the face.
Card tricks. That might just be okay. Nothing got destroyed. Nothing got created. No laws of physics were broken. Cool, but kind of safe. And if his mother rifled through his room, as she often did, how much suspicion could a deck of cards arouse?
The bell on the shop door rang a tattling proclamation of his entry. Lyle Miller stood at the rear of the empty store. His black shirt had long flared sleeves and a V-shaped corset lacing at the open neck, very theatrical looking. Ricky exhaled, relieved to see someone more entertainer than warlock.
“Ricky,” Lyle said as he approached at a trot. “Last but not least. I’m Lyle.”
He extended his hand. At first touch, he felt…sharp. It was the way frozen metal and a hot stove element both have the same initial dangerous feel. The sensation faded. Lyle’s grip engulfed Ricky’s smaller hand then released it.
“All magic must be tailored to the magician,” Lyle said. “The illusion must speak to him.”
He walked to the front of the store and scooped the deck of cards from the front window. Ricky followed him back to the vacant display case. Lyle took position on the far side and set out the deck.
“These speak to you,” he said with a soothing, easy patter. “The familiarity of the cards is the card’s draw. Fifty-two cardboard rectangles are so simple, the audience expects nothing.”
He hovered a palm over the cards and swept right. The deck spread out along the counter, but Ricky swore Lyle’s hand hadn’t touched them. With nothing but fingertips, Lyle flipped the entire deck back to front and back again. He swept the cards back together and held the deck in both hands. He pulled his hands apart and the red-backed cards fluttered from left to right like a flight of robins. He closed his hands together and spread the deck into a tight fan. Ricky stared, dumbfounded.
“Now the dexterity tricks are just the warm up,” Lyle said. “The people want the magic, the demonstration of the inexplicable. Pick a card. Don’t let me see it.”
Ricky pulled one card free with a hesitant finger and thumb and tilted it up. Six of spades.
“Now back inside,” Lyle said.
Ricky slipped the card back into the deck. Lyle cut and rearranged the deck with one hand. Then he shuffled the deck and fanned it again. “Bakshokah serat. Pick again.”
Ricky pulled a card from the deck. Six of spades.
How could that be…?
Lyle closed the deck, flipped it over and fanned it again face up. The cards were all the six of spades. He took Ricky’s card and reinserted it.
“Bakshokah serat.” He flipped the deck, shuffled it and fanned it out again face up. Fifty-two different cards.
“Killer trick,” Ricky said.
Lyle slid the deck across to Ricky. The blue sapphire ring on Lyle’s finger flickered with different shades. “Your turn. Show me some moves.”
Ricky picked up the deck. He felt foolish. He could barely shuffle cards without having them end up all over the floor.
“Focus,” Lyle said. “Magic is all around you. You must focus it to move through you.”
Ricky stared at the cards. He waved his hand across the deck. Nothing moved. He stared harder and tried again. Nothing.
Lyle slid a gold coin across the counter. The careworn face on it stared at Ricky. “Here, put this in your pocket, say ‘bakshokah serat’ and try again.”
Ricky picked up the coin and got the same fleeting feeling he had when he first touched Lyle’s hand. He put the coin in his pocket.
“Bakshokah serat,” he said. The coin warmed his pocket. He touched the deck. The cards hummed with a rhythmic pulse, like they had a heartbeat. He raised his hand over the deck and swept it right. He could feel his hand pull the cards, as if they were attached to his fingertips by spider webs. He moved his hand back and the cards restacked.
“Whoa.”
“Now the magic,” Lyle said.
Ricky picked up the cards and swore they fanned themselves in his hand. Lyle picked one from the pack, flashed the king of diamonds to Ricky and replaced it. Ricky’s hands tingled like they were plugged into a wall socket. He shuffled the deck like a Vegas pro and fanned it again. Lyle pulled out a card and turned it face up. King of diamonds.
“Easy as pie,” Lyle said. “Nothing to be concerned about with a simple deck of cards, right?”
Of course not, Ricky thought. It’s not like he conjured up something from thin air, or made something disappear into it. This was cool. The hard part was coming.
“What do they cost?” he asked. The others told him what they had paid. It hadn’t been much, considering what they had bought, but they had more money than Ricky did. He doubted he would have enough.
“What have you got?” Lyle asked.
Ricky pulled out two bills and an assortment of change that totaled $3.50. “I can work off whatever it costs extra,” he offered, red-faced.
Lyle broke into a crocodilian grin.
“No need. You have more than enough. It’s your lucky day.”
He counted out $1.75 and pressed three keys on the big register. The cash drawer rolled open with a solemn ding of the bell. Lyle deposited the money and when he pushed the drawer back in, it returned with a soft guttural sigh.
“Now come back with your friends on Tuesday. Great mysteries will be revealed.”
“We’ll be here!” Ricky said. He shoved the remaining cash in one pocket. He stuffed the cards into the other. He hit the door in a euphoric sprint.
Lyle watched him go with great satisfaction. Four would be a good number. Manageable, yet still able to spread the power across town. At first he thought the boys’ ages would be a problem, but now he saw it as an advantage. The irresistible lure of the magic combined with limited life experiences meant things would spin out of control quite quickly.
And that was just what the Grand Adventure needed.
Chapter Twelve
“What’s that?” Angela said.
Startled, Ricky jerked and magic cards sprayed from his hands all across his desktop. The desk in his room faced away from the door his little sister stood in. He shot an annoyed glance over his shoulder as he reassembled the deck.
“Pest! Stop sneaking up on people.”
“I’m not sneaking,” Angela said. “My shoes are just quiet.”
Since her fifth birthday she had started shadowing Ricky more often, wondering what her big brother was up to. Rather than flatter him, her curiosity had gotten on Ricky’s nerves. He wanted to kick himself for forgetting to close his bedroom door. She wandered in and stood by his desk.
“Playing cards?” she said.
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“I can play too,” Angela said. Her little bangs bounced as she shook her head up and down in affirmation. “I know how.” Last week she had learned to apply her counting skills to playing Go Fish. A lamer game had never been created.
This deck wasn’t going to stoop to Go Fish-ing. But while Ricky had been able to practice some of his tricks, he hadn’t been able to test some without a participant to pull a card and be amazed. Angela might have a purpose after all.
“These cards are for a different game,” Ricky said. “A magic game. You can play if you will keep it a secret.”
“A secret?” Angela looked wary.
“Sure,” Ricky said. “The magic will be a surprise for Mom and Dad later. You will just be first.”
“I’ll be first,” Angela said. She straightened up like a soldier about to be decorated with a medal.
Ricky turned to face her and spread the cards into a tight fan. “Pick one.”
Angela ran her hand back and forth along the edge of the deck. She stopped and pulled out a card. She showed Ricky the four of diamonds. “How about this one?”
“No.” Ricky said. He shoved the card back in the deck. “Pick one and don’t show it to me.”
“You didn’t say that,” Angela said. She pulled out a second card, slap
ped it to her chest, folded up one corner and peered down at it. She looked back at Ricky in satisfaction.
“Now back in the deck,” Ricky said.
She slipped it back in. Ricky cut the deck one-handed and then shuffled the cards with the fluidity of running water.
“Bakshokah serat,” he said. He felt the coin in his pocket get warm, but nowhere near as warm as it had before. He fanned the deck again. “Pick again, Angela.”
Angela selected a card from a new place on the deck. She looked at it with confusion and flipped it around to Ricky. “King of Clovers,” she called the ruler of Clubs. “I had the six of diamonds before.”
Ricky turned the deck over. Fifty-one different cards. Damn.
Angela put the card on his desk and patted his shoulder. “I won’t tell Mom and Dad until you are good. Promise.” She gave an “oh, well” shrug and left the room.
Ricky slapped the deck down on his desk. He’d hoped it would be different for him, but it seemed that the magic drained out of his purchase just like everyone else’s had. Whatever stream of wonder he’d tapped into earlier had run dry.
Tuesday, he thought. Tuesday it would all come back. For all of them.
Moments earlier, a third pulse of energy, weaker than the two that had preceded it, had come to life beneath the Arroyo house. It wrapped itself around the old copper piping like a boa constrictor and then corkscrewed down to the main water line, following the path of its brethren. The pulse shot across town along the pipes, pinging from junction to junction like a disk in a pachinko machine, bouncing left and right but holding one overall course. It finally found the rarely used line from town to the abandoned Apex sugar plant.
The pulse hit the plant’s long-dead pumps and then angled down. It plummeted several hundred feet until the pipe opened up into a vast underground limestone cavern, drained by decades of the plant’s thirst for processing water. The energy flew in the darkness like a shooting star. It hit one wall, ricocheted across the cavern and bounced off another, leaving an afterglow trail.
A half dozen other pulses rebounded from wall to wall, flashes in the inky void, the first fruits of Lyle Miller’s new Grand Adventure.
Black Magic Page 4
