Magic Mansion

by Jordan Castillo Price

  Crew swept the rings away, then the burliest grips brought out a table-shaped item draped in cloth. A pair of chairs were placed on each side of it, facing one another, as if they were setting up a tea party for John and Muriel rather than a challenge. Once the props were in place, Monty read, “Last but not least, we have the magic silks portion of the Four Prop Challenge. Gold Team, you selected Muriel Broom to perform. What was your reasoning behind that?”

  “Isn’t it obvious, Monty?” Muriel smiled and patted down her peasant blouse. Tiny bells jingled from her bracelets as she shook out her flouncy skirt. “I’m the one who’s best at accessorizing.”

  “Very good, Muriel. And joining you in this challenge is the last randomly-selected Red Team member, Professor Topaz. Magicians, have a look at what’s in store for you this final round.”

  Grips whisked off the covering and revealed a table constructed of plexi. Its top was a deep box, filled entirely with colored scarves. John craned his neck to see the upper surface of the tabletop. It was opaque, with two holes cut through it, one on each end.

  “Magicians have long been known for producing silk scarves from a number of unlikely places,” Monty said. “The fabric is durable enough to make parachutes from, yet it’s whisper-thin, and can easily be packed into a ball, palmed and concealed. Tonight you won’t be concealing a silk, though. This challenge is about finding one.

  “This specially-constructed table holds over three thousand squares of silk—and while the contents are visible to both your teammates and the cameras, you’ll only be able to touch the silks, not see them.”

  “Get a jib shot of the black tabletop,” Iain directed, and the jib camera rolled in and swooped over the table, while a few handhelds circled it.

  Once the cameras backed up, Monty added, “Here’s how it works, magicians. You’ll place one hand into the box and draw out a silk. You must remain seated at all times, and you may only pull out one silk at a time. If two or more silks stick together and you pull out more than one square, you will earn points in the amount of the total number of silks in your hand. In other words, two silks, two points, and so on. You will continue drawing silks for three minutes. At the end of that time, whichever magician has the least amount of points—the lowest score—will be the winner.”

  Iain said, “Let’s get a shot of the magicians behind the table, looking down at it.”

  John and Muriel stepped over to the table. John nodded at Muriel. She smiled at him, eyebrows high, as if she’d just asked him a question and was waiting for the answer. Although…maybe that was just the way her eyebrows looked.

  With John and Muriel in position, Monty continued. “This might lead you to play slow and careful. After all, if you don’t draw as many silks, you won’t have as many chances of incurring a penalty. However, there are several white silks scattered throughout the table. If one of you pulls a white silk, and only a white silk, you will be the immediate winner of this portion of the challenge, regardless of how many points you’ve racked up. In addition, you’ll win a week-long stay valued at five thousand dollars in a luxurious terrace suite at the Las Vegas MGM Grand, and a special guest appearance in the show of the legendary David Copperfield.”

  “Well, that’d be fun,” Muriel said, “wouldn’t it? Maybe they’ll give us a comp to the buffet line, too.”

  “Hold on, Monty,” Iain said. “The light’s bouncing off that table and creating a glare. We’ll need to change the angle.”

  Several grips and a technician came out to reposition the table—apparently it was quite heavy—while John turned over Kevin’s warning in his mind. He would need to win this challenge. Not for the week at the MGM Grand or the phenomenal opportunity of appearing in the show, but to stay in Magic Mansion for one more challenge. Because if that bully Kevin stayed focused on John…maybe he’d leave Ricardo alone.

  If John won, it meant Muriel would not, and John wasn’t thrilled about that…though since it was a competition, one of them would need to lose. He turned to her, and she to him (eyebrows raised) and he offered his hand, saying, “Good luck, Muriel.”

  She smiled and reached toward him…and when her hand touched John’s, her True magic jolted him like an electrical current. She pulled him down to her level, and his body obeyed like it had no will of his own. He bent his head so she could whisper in his ear, and she leaned into him and said, “Don’t let that dumb gym rat intimidate you, John. Loosen up and enjoy the ride. You didn’t even notice that cute twink’s ass in those stretch pants—and him all hot for you. I’m going to be seriously disappointed if you don’t hit that.”

  As if a breaker had flipped, the Truth, suddenly, was gone. It drained from Muriel’s hand like water. “Casey?” John whispered.

  Muriel blinked. “Is that what I said? Casey? Heh, whatever that’s supposed to mean. Anyway, good luck.” She pumped his hand up and down a couple of times, then released it. “You’ve got to take me with a grain of salt, Professor. I dropped a lot of acid in my day.”

  John was seated at the table, Muriel across from him. He could see through the hole, which was barely bigger than the diameter of his arm. Red, green, black, gold, blue. No white. Digging around in the silks without pulling any out was a viable strategy if he didn’t want to risk getting points off. But, as with life, caution would have its own risks. If John acted by choosing not to act, Muriel could very well pull a white silk and win everything: the trip, the show, and the entire Four Props Challenge for the Gold.

  John shifted his gaze and saw the Gold Team watching him over Muriel’s shoulder. Ricardo’s eyes widened when John met his gaze. Nothing ventured, nothing gained—and perhaps he had Casey’s blessing to actually pursue something beyond a furtive tryst with Ricardo, or perhaps Muriel had just been reading John with her talent and channeling it into the sort of message John thought he would want to hear.

  Whichever the case, with the alluring weight of Ricardo’s gaze on him, John resolved that it was, indeed, time to really try.

  “Rolling,” Iain said. A buzzer sounded, and Monty called out, “Go!”

  John pulled a silk. Red. And blue…damn.

  Monty announced, “Red Team starts with two—and remember, in this challenge, the magician with the fewest points will be the winner.”

  Across the table, Muriel teased a single green silk out of the hole. Then a black.

  John pushed his hand deep into the silks to try again.

  “To your right, Professor,” Faye yelled.

  The focus of the Gold Team shifted, as the other three members kenned to the fact that they could be helping Muriel. John reached in and to the right. “Farther,” Faye yelled, and Jia called out, “A little more. A little more.”

  Bev screamed, “Right there, Muriel. Right there!” and Muriel pulled. White flashed, but green also.

  Monty said, “It’s not alone, so it doesn’t count. Two points to Gold Team.” Muriel was undaunted. She flung it to the side and thrust her hand back into the hole while the mingled silks floated gently toward the floor.

  “There! There!” Faye called, and John pinched the scarf that seemed to be closer to Faye’s line of vision and teased it carefully from the mass. It cleared the hole by itself…but it was yellow.

  “Not that one,” she called.

  Muriel laughed, and drew a pink scarf. “There’s a trick to pulling just one, huh?” she said to John. “But you get the feel for it after a few.” She pulled out another green.

  “Indeed.” John reached back in, and tried to find the spot Faye had been guiding him to before. “Right there,” Jia called again. John pulled…and saw the scarf was blue before it even cleared the hole. He pulled hard, and two more came out with it.

  “That’s five for the Red Team,” Monty said.

  Half a minute was gone. John reached and pulled. Muriel did the same. They each found a rhythm, a speed, that allowed the silks to slide out without bringing along one of the others more often than not, though John racked up
another five points, and in a particularly clingy draw, Muriel four.

  Two minutes had passed, and it became obvious that if he didn’t find a white silk, Muriel would claim this challenge. And although John was loathe to do it for fear of drawing more spite toward himself, he focused on his True power, sent it surging through his fingertips…and then zeroed in on the idea of “white.”

  It was so much easier to convey “white” than “the longest wand” that the response from the silks was practically immediate. Yes came from a place somewhere in the middle. Yes, from deep down in the pile. Yes, from the opposite corner.

  Yes, from the spot toward which Faye and Jia had been trying to coax John.

  John walked his fingers through the silks carefully. White?

  No. No. No. No. Yes.

  He pinched it between his fingers. White—are you sure?

  Yes.

  The timer was ticking. Only fifteen seconds to go. If John pulled more than one silk, he’d never have time to find another white, and Muriel would win the stunt. Slow. Steady. But were there any other colors stuck to it? Hard to say. And just as he began to draw it from the opening, he sent the request, only white.

  Whatever silk had been trying to cling (red, it seemed like, because it thought he could do with a darker pocket square) understood him, and released.

  With ten seconds to spare, and Jia and Faye screaming themselves hoarse, John drew the silk from the hole.

  “Is that…?” Monty said. “Yes, it’s a white silk. Professor Topaz has successfully drawn a single white silk. Not only will he spend a week at the MGM Grand and enjoy a guest appearance with David Copperfield, but Red Team wins the silk scarf portion of the Four Props Challenge.”

  Chapter 25

  FAREWELL DINNER

  Ricardo covered his face with his hands. He tasted blood…God only knew what he’d done to his tongue during the last few seconds of the damn scarf challenge. He had no idea how his reaction would be interpreted. Disappointment over Red Team stealing the victory at the last second, he hoped. When really, he was just excruciatingly relieved it hadn’t been John who’d lost.

  “Well, that does it,” Bev said. “Two Reds and two Golds. I’m sure they have a nice twist in store.”

  “Don’t think that way,” Sue said. “Maybe they’ll let us all—”

  “Okay, kids,” Iain called out, “line up in front of the table and pay close attention to Monty.”

  Ricardo tended to think Bev was on to something. Whatever a tie meant, it probably wouldn’t be good.

  They lined up, John center back, as the tallest contestant, Ricardo to one side of him and Kevin Kazan to the other. Sue, on Ricardo’s other side, was tall enough to stand in the back row, especially in her heels, and she took Ricardo’s hand and squeezed. Thankfully, Ricardo caught himself before he slipped his other hand into John’s. He turned to him instead, looked him in the eye, and said, “A spot with David Copperfield? Way to go.”

  “Thank you,” John said gravely. Which gave Ricardo a special thrill, since onstage, it was the way Professor Topaz said pretty much everything.

  “Tonight,” Monty told them, “eight magicians battled it out head to head. We had four winners, and four losers—two on Gold Team, and two on Red Team. There is no losing team.”

  Sue squeezed Ricardo’s hand hard. He squeezed back and told himself to be happy that even though he couldn’t do the same with John, at least they were standing there side by side—and (barring a very cruel twist) neither one of them would be going home.

  “Unfortunately, there is no winning team either, and only one person can be dubbed the Grandmaster Magician in Magic Mansion. And so, in the interest of fairness, our viewing audience will be sending home one member from each team.”

  Sue gasped, and Ricardo held on tight as she swayed. Sue hadn’t had one of “her girls” go home since Charity Young…and truth be told, no one missed that awful dummy of hers.

  “You’ll have tonight to celebrate the winners and say goodbye to your fast friends at a lavish dinner party in your honor. And next episode, we’ll announce who the viewers have chosen to stay…and to go.”

  The formal dining room looked pretty enough, with its champagne fountain, white roses and sparkling candelabra. But Ricardo was exhausted, bone tired, and nauseated from the stress of the day. His tongue tasted like pennies and he suspected if he did manage to swallow any food, it might very well come right back up.

  His teammates’ voices registered: Bev saying it was statistically unlikely she would get to stay much longer anyway, and Muriel saying that she’d had a blast at the Mansion, and she’d only done it for a lark anyhow, and Sue saying that it wasn’t fair one of them had to go home since Gold Team, in her opinion, had not officially lost. But mostly he allowed himself the luxury, while the cameras were still setting up and scoping out their best spots, of gazing at John. He tucked a red silk into his breast pocket, then looked up at Ricardo, and smiled. It was a sad-ish smile, and heart-wrenchingly handsome in the way it fit him just so. Like the black suit, and the pocket square.

  “Earth to Ricardo,” Muriel said. “Have some champagne. You look like you can use it.”

  As Ricardo sipped his champagne, which helped numb the awful taste of his tongue a bit, the catering staff hauled in huge platters of finger-foods, cheeses and fruit, canapes and shrimp. The dining room was in fairly good shape, even the spots the cameras weren’t shooting, and the food was actually better than the fancy dinner they’d had for eleven minutes with David Blaine. And slowly, between the champagne and the camaraderie of his teammates, despite the fact that he would need to bid one of them goodbye, Ricardo felt the horrific anxiety of the day begin to ebb. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he was enjoying himself. But eventually his knees stopped trembling, and he felt he could carry on a conversation without marking the location of the nearest trash can in case the urge to spew took over.

  He was actually a bit tipsy by the time he wandered off to the bathroom, which only made sense. Even though the food was pretty good, his tongue wasn’t allowing him to enjoy anything that needed chewing, and the bubbly went down crisp and smooth.

  The parts of the Mansion that weren’t currently taping were poorly lit and even a bit ominous. Ceilings were high, and in the dark, Ricardo’s footsteps sounded strange. It didn’t smell like a regular house. It smelled like a museum, or maybe an old library. And the mirror in the bathroom closest to the dining hall was speckled with dark spots where age had worn the silver backing away, which gave it a spooky, decayed feeling. He was glad enough to do his business and return to the party, but as he hurried back with his mind on the dining room, someone grabbed him by the elbow and spun him against the wall.

  Kevin Kazan itching for a fight was his first thought—but Kevin Kazan was roughly the same height as Ricardo, so Ricardo wouldn’t find himself looking at a goatee and a red bow tie rather than Kevin’s stupid sideways hat.

  Lips fell on Ricardo’s mouth. Urgent. Needy.

  Kevin Kazan probably didn’t kiss like that, either.

  Ricardo slid his arms around John’s neck, though he turned his mouth aside. “My tongue is a mess,” he said.

  John stiffened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think—”

  “Don’t be sorry.” Ricardo held on to him and stopped him from pulling away, and even managed to coax him into another brush of the lips. “Just be careful.”

  John pressed his lips to Ricardo’s, more gently now, but not chaste, not at all. He held Ricardo to the wall, pinned by chest and hip, with a chair rail prodding into the center of his back and a rough bit of plaster catching at his hair, while his tongue teased at Ricardo’s mouth.

  When John broke the kiss, he was breathing hard. Ricardo, too. “We shouldn’t stay out here in the open,” John said, but before Ricardo could protest that he frankly didn’t care, John added, “Follow me.”

  John slipped around the corner, stealthy as a secret agent in his trim black sui
t, and Ricardo followed. He headed into the ballroom, then made a beeline for the screened-off parlor where props and equipment were stored. Perfect. If there were cameras in there, they’d be piled on the floor, not rolling, which meant…Ricardo’s heartbeat thrummed at the thought…that they could get away with doing pretty much anything.

  The room was dark, but enough outdoor security lights seeped through the filmy curtains to allow them to pick their way through the clutter of furniture and gear. John paused in front of an old love seat at the far wall, turned to Ricardo, and held out his hand. Ricardo stepped forward, and in that moment, the disappointing reality of Magic Mansion fell away, and he could ignore the smell of sawdust and distant decay, and pretend that it was just him, and just John. They were together, alone. And this was their mansion. Their window, their curtains. Their love seat. And yes, it was a silly fantasy, since John probably just wanted a quickie, and Ricardo was probably reading into things, and no one owned a mansion these days, but who cared? Because this really was Professor Topaz, in the flesh. That was the only part of the fantasy that actually mattered. And that part was definitely real.

  Ricardo stepped into John’s arms, and John bent his head to press his forehead to Ricardo’s. Not kissing him, not yet. Just holding him. And even that motion sent Ricardo’s heart soaring. “You look fabulous,” John said. His hands slid down the stretchy top. “Did you wear this to distract me?”

  “Oh my God, no—”

  “Shh. I’m kidding. I do that, sometimes.” John murmured the words against Ricardo’s lips as his hands dropped lower, hesitated, and then slid lower still, to cup Ricardo’s ass.

  Now there was something to fantasize about. John grabbing him. Spreading him.

  Taking him.

  Ricardo moaned.

  He nearly thrust his tongue into John’s mouth, but at the last moment a metallic taste threatened to spoil the mood. He turned his head so his face was buried in the crook of John’s neck instead, and he rubbed up against John, hungry to press together everywhere. His groin butted John’s thigh, and John let out a small gasp. “You’re so hard,” he whispered, fingers pressing deeper into Ricardo’s glutes, kneading them roughly. “I haven’t even touched it yet.”