The Magical Book of Wands

by Raven M. Williams

  Chapter Nine

  I stood on the porch at 1316 Starboard Lane sipping from a bottle of water, picking at my cuticles, and watching the passing clouds. I thought the overcast conditions might be a good thing. Cloud cover did tend to lock in the humidity, but at least the volunteers wouldn't be out in the blazing sun.

  One car, then an SVU weaved down the street and came to a halt roughly in front of Mr. Xerxes' house. Four teenagers, three adults in their thirties, and a man a decade or so older emerged from the vehicles. Dressed in jeans, tee-shirts, and boots, they wore bandanas around their necks and ball caps on their heads except for the oldest man, whom I took for the team leader. He wore a small embroidered black beanie.

  That wouldn't do much to shade his face, I thought. Didn't everyone realize you could get as sunburned when it was overcast as on the brightest day?

  The older man met me halfway up the walk. He held out his hand. “Hi, you must be Juneiffer Cosco.”

  “Yes, that's me. They told you this isn't my house, right?”

  “Yes, we got the story. It belongs to your friend who's in the hospital.”

  Francisco Xerxes felt like a friend. From prowling through his house looking for a spare key, I knew his taste in décor and fashion, or rather lack thereof. And yet, I didn't know the most important thing about him: who Katy was.

  He gave the house and yard the once-over. “It really would be horrible for him to face this mess right after a hospital stay.”

  I sighed. “Wait until you see the inside. I suspect there's mold. Did you bring masks?”

  “We did.” He trotted to the SUV and returned with several looped over his arm. “Oh, by the way, I'm Rabbi Joel from Congregation Beth Israel.”

  Rabbi, I thought. That explained the impractical headgear.

  “It will be a mitzvah to help and we're all grateful for the opportunity.”

  Grateful was such an odd word to use, I thought. I wished I felt that way about it. I found the enormity of the work called for at my home so daunting as to be paralyzing. I would begin each day with the full intention of doing something about it, and ended up getting very little done. I gave the man a weak smile and tried not to project my own feelings. “A mitzvah,” I said. “That's a good deed, right?”

  “More like a commandment. It's a way to serve God, in this case, by helping people in need.”

  Serving God. That did elevate mucking out a yard clogged with smelly rotting debris to a new level. I wondered if the kids felt godly or if they were simply trying to meet parental expectations. The youngsters unloading shovels, rakes, buckets, and brooms from the SUV laughed and elbowed each other. Gathered in a clutch at the bottom of the walk, earnest grownups sized up the job at hand and plotted a strategy. I sensed their enthusiasm and determination from where I stood.

  Half the crew set to clear the yard while the rest followed me inside.

  “We can mop the floors and clean the refrigerator,” said Mari, the crew leader.

  The volunteers set to work and I tackled the bookcase. I hoped to find a family Bible with a clue to Katy, or a scrapbook or photo album.

  Hardbacks and paperbacks on the bookcase's lowest shelf had gotten wet. The covers had dried but the spines were splitting, peeling and curling.

  Yes, there was a Bible. In fact, there were two, Old Testament and New. He also had a Koran. His library held tomes on the Baha'i faith, Native American and Mesoamerican spirituality, Bullfinch's Mythology, The Book of Tao, Confucius, The Three Pillars of Zen, and books on Polynesian religion. Francisco Xerxes' reading material didn't indicate any interest in fiction. I didn't spot a single novel on the shelf. But if a book had been written about a deity, any deity, Mr. Xerxes had it.

  I pulled out the Bible and flipped through it. Center pages for recording family history had sections for births, deaths, and marriages but Mr. Xerxes hadn't written a thing. Disappointed, I returned the volume to the shelf and checked his copy of the Torah, the Five Books of Moses. It too had pages for genealogy but nothing had been logged. Hoping to find old letters or photos stuck in the books, I fanned the pages of the ones whose covers showed the most wear but came up empty-handed.

  He also owned a deck of Waite-Ryder tarot cards, Cartouche runes, and I Ching coins. With all these divination tools on hand, it was a wonder he hadn't seen his illness coming or for that matter, Hurricane Harvey.

  Mr. Xerxes had books about Harry Houdini, Algernon Blackwood, Helena Blavasky, and others whose names didn't mean anything to me but I suspected they were also magicians or spiritualists.

  I flashed on the photo of Mr. Xerxes' charity magic act. Magic wasn't his hobby or his avocation but an abiding interest.

  A wobbly stack of cardboard boxes alongside the bookcase threatened to collapse. The bottom cartons were water-stained and crumbling. I grabbed a black plastic bag into which to transfer the contents: back issues of National Geographic with cover stories about Stonehenge, Peru's Nazca lines, the Sphynx, and the Easter Island statues. As I moved the worst of the boxes aside an envelope fluttered to the floor. Unsealed, it was marked “Katy.” After a brief internal debate I lifted the flap, hoping to find a clue.

  I unfolded the contents, a birthday greeting card. “Dear Katy,” read the handwritten note. “On this, your 18th birthday, I'm bequeathing to you these tokens of your legacy. You worked by my side long enough to understand that these crystals which I collected for you over the years have no power by themselves. They help you to concentrate, to focus your energy. They're tools, as you are a tool, a channel between this world and that of the spirit. But an important tool, capable of healing broken souls. I have every confidence in you and look forward to watching you carry on our heritage and blossom as a magus. Love, your father.”

  That didn't make any sense. The way I figured, Katy must be well past her eighteenth birthday. Mr. Xerxes should have passed the collection on years—decades—ago.

  I reread the card. Mr. Xerxes and his stage assistant weren't mere entertainers; they considered themselves conduits to the spirit world. I saw the frail man lying in the hospital bed in a new light.

  Chapter Ten

  By the time the volunteers had gone through a case of bottled water, two cans of insect repellent, and a tube of sunscreen, they had cleaned the kitchen and moved the debris into sorted piles at the curb, clearing Mr. Xerxes' front yard, walkway to the porch, and the driveway.

  The rabbi presented me with a form to initial. “It doesn't obligate you to anything. The Center wants to keep track of jobs that got completed,” he said.

  “Not a problem.” I signed my name. “I'm astounded. You all transformed the place.”

  “We noticed that the back yard needs work too,” the rabbi said. “If you'd rent a shampooer, we can come back and help clean the carpets. Tell the Volunteer Center if you'd like us to do that.”

  “I will. Thank you so much.”

  It had been some day and I was ready for a glass of wine. My well-deserved happy hour was delayed by the need to replace a burned-out living room lightbulb. I climbed the ladder over my knee's protest and no sooner reached the top step than my phone rang. I didn't recognize the caller's number. Usually I didn't respond to unknown callers. However, these days a lot of unfamiliar numbers belonged to legitimate callers, my new friends at FEMA, TWIA, NFIP, and SBA, so I answered the call.

  It was from an even newer friend, the hospital. A clerk in the Patient Financial Services Department said, “We need some help setting up billing for the care Francisco Xerxes is receiving.” Her tone was both friendly and firm and I pictured her smiling with her teeth clenched.

  I explained for the umptizillionth time that I didn't know Mr. Xerxes. A man of his age had to at least be covered by Medicare, though. Laying down my phone, I rustled up his wallet and flipped past his driver's license and Ellis Memorial Library card in their little plastic envelopes until I found his Medicare information.

  “Does it indicate Part A coverage only? Does he have
Parts B and D also?” she asked. “D would cover his medications. He’ll need home health care once we discharge him, so he would need Part B also.”

  “It just says A.” No doubt the poor man would need assistance once he left the hospital. More than ever, I needed to find Katy. Even if she wasn't in a position to aid in his recuperation, she might know a family member who was. I got back into my car and drove to the CoffeeWaves.

  I ordered a coffee, found a chair, logged onto the Wi-Fi, and fired up a search engine. “Kassandra Xerxes” produced fewer results than my last attempt. Among them was the link to the corporate annual report picturing Phrancisco the Great and his assistant, but there was another I overlooked. A small newspaper story reported a traffic accident that resulted in the death of Kassandra Xerxes, 17, and her mother, Penelope Ebrahimi, 48.

  There could be a number of reasons why Katy's mother didn't have Francisco's last name, but it explained why she didn't come up in my previous search.

  Gone. Katy was indeed gone, and not to Austin. Though the shop was filled with people clattering and chattering away on their respective devices, I could have been in a vacuum. The tragedy of Mr. Xerxes' loss sucked the life out of the room.

  My cell phone notified me of a new text message, an alert from Nurse Netzel that Mr. Xerxes had taken a turn for the worse. I downed my coffee and headed for the hospital.

  I arrived to find Mr. Xerxes lying still, eyes closed. Sunk against the pillows, he looked smaller and grayer than the last time.

  “We've done what we can for him,” said Nurse Netzel. “He isn't responding.”

  “Katy,” Mr. Xerxes said. “Gone.”

  I leaned toward the bed. “Mr. Xerxes, it's Junieffer Cosco. I'm the lady who found you. I've got your house cleaned up, sir. It's much better now. You can come home once you're a little stronger. You can have your crystals.”

  “The crystals. Yours now. Enlil called you.” The lines in Mr. Xerxes' face softened. His chest heaved then sank with exhalation and he smiled.

  Mine? Whatever would I do with them? They're tools, Mr. Xerxes had written to Katy. They focus and concentrate the magician's will. I could focus my will, actualize my intent, what would it be?

  The noise the monitor emitted sounded to me like an alarm. I didn't know what the flashing numbers and squiggles on the display meant but they spurred Nurse Netzel into action and he called for more help. “He's in extremis,” he told me as other nurses wheeled in additional equipment and a doctor rushed to Mr. Xerxes' side. Medical personnel crowded around the patient.

  I backed out of the room. I stood in the corridor, hugging the wall and trying to stay out of the way. After what felt like forever, but was only a few minutes, Nurse Netzel came to tell me that Mr. Xerxes had died. I released the breath that I had been holding.

  “We'll need to know what his final wishes were,” he said. He took both my hands in his. “I know you're not family or even well acquainted. But anything you can tell us will help.” He gave me a gentle smile.

  “What if I can't?”

  “We'll offer his remains to medical schools for research and education. If that isn't an option, he'll be cremated.”

  Either of which could run counter to Mr. Xerxes' beliefs, I thought with a shiver.

  “We can keep him for a couple of days.”

  “I'll ... I'll see what I can find out.” I flashed on the shoeboxes of receipts on Mr. Xerxes' coat-closet shelf. One of them might contain a will or at least the name of an attorney, an accountant, a financial advisor, someone with a clue.

  Nurse Netzel squeezed my shoulder and nodded. “Thank you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  With a flourish, the band ended their set and bowed. They gathered their instruments and moved off the stage. The coordinator of the city’s Parks and Recreation programs stepped up to the microphone. Behind her, a couple of guys set up a folding table and chair.

  “Thank you, Wall of Future,” she said, waving to the departing band members. Weren’t they great?”

  Seated at wooden picnic benches, the crowd filling the pavilion in Port Aransas’s Roberts Point Park put down their hot dogs and hamburgers and delivered a round of applause.

  “And now, it is my pleasure to introduce Phrancisca the Great, here to bring a little magic into our lives. We could all use a little magic, couldn’t we?”

  The partygoers murmured their grudging assent.

  The audience was bigger than I would have expected but that didn’t faze me. I spent my working life at the head of a classroom facing a tough crowd: schoolchildren.

  I stepped from the sidelines and mounted the riser serving as a stage. I doffed my top hat, discovered in Mr. Xerxes’ closet during my hunt for a will. “Welcome,” I said. “I’m Phrancisca the Great.” I held out the magic wand, caught the afternoon light angling in below the pavilion’s roof in its facets, and cast sun dogs on the seated guests. “I am here to amaze you with feats of magic.”

  “Can you put the roof back on my house?” someone hollered.

  “I’m working up to that. I’m kind of new at this.”

  His tablemate tittered and slapped his friend’s shoulder. “Hey, give the Great Phrancisca a break. We’re just here for fun.”

  Fun was what I hoped my performance would be. I got the idea when the city’s Parks and Recreation department announced the informal get-together and solicited entertainers. That brought to mind Francisco and Katy’s benefit magic act and I volunteered. “I’ll start with something simple. First, let me assure you there is nothing up my sleeve.” I pushed back the sleeve of Mr. Xerxes’ tuxedo jacket, its fit broad in the shoulders, but fine for my purposes. “Except my arm. Which I can twist three-hundred-and-sixty degrees. Let me show you.”

  It was just one of several illusions I learned to perform from a kit I found in the back of one of Mr. Xerxes’ closets. The printing faded and the cardboard edges foxed, the kit was old enough to have been young Katy’s toy. Not real magic, just sleight of hand, but even the crystals were merely tools, or so Mr. Xerxes had written to Katy.

  My humble parlor trick earned a few oohs and ahhs so I did a similar routine where it appeared that I detached and reattached the tip of my thumb.

  I performed the Wobbly Pencil and the Clinging Pencil tricks using the magic wand. Its glittering crystal snared the viewers’ gaze and they overlooked what I was doing with my hands to create the illusions. I amazed the spectators by linking and unlinking metal rings that appeared to be solid, except one had a gap known only to me. More oohs and ahhs urged me on.

  “For my next trick, I need an assistant,” I announced, scanning the audience for a likely helper. I saw a familiar face. I closed my eyes, put my hand to my forehead, and said, “The spirits tell me that I need a female. Someone young who would be open to the possibilities of magic. Someone named ... Tina.”

  The little girl I had met at the Community Center with her beleaguered mother perked up. She looked a question at her mother who nodded her approval. Tina swung her legs over the picnic bench and took slow measured steps toward that stage, casting several backward glances at her mother.

  The little girl mounted the riser and approached. She frowned and peered at my face. “I know you. You’re that lady from the Community Center,” she said in a hushed tone.

  “Yes, dear.”

  “You helped me and my mom. Mom got us a motel room. And Mom says that she and me and Cody can stay there. It has a pool and a playground and everything and Mom doesn’t cry so much.”

  Just as I had envisioned. I tried not to chortle and wondered how far they had to travel to find FEMA-assisted lodging. “I’m glad to hear that. Now, Tina, I’m depending on you to help me. Pay close attention. This is a very delicate maneuver.”

  The little girl pressed her lips together and gave me a sober nod.

  From the table I picked up a deck of cards that to my untutored assistant looked ordinary but which I knew were rigged. I riffled the cards and fanned them
out one way. “They all look like regular playing cards, right?”

  Tina nodded again.

  I leaned close to her. “Tell our guests, OK, Tina?”

  “They’re just plain old cards,” she called out earning a chuckle from the seats.

  “Excellent. Thank you. I couldn’t have picked a better assistant. Now, I will concentrate and ...” I tipped up my chin, squeezed my eyes closed for a moment, passed the magic wand over the cards, and pronounced the incantation, “Prestodazzlemundo, change! Change, cards, change!” I fanned the cards in the other direction. “What do you see?”

  “Oh, now they’re all the same,” Tina cried with widened eyes and parted lips. “How’d you do that?”

  “Magic.” I did a couple basic “forced cards” tricks I had practiced at home. They failed to impress Gunsmoke. But they drew applause and laughter from the audience and had Tina clapping her hands and jumping up and down, the rigors of her post-Harvey life forgotten, at least for the moment. “Can we do another one?”

  “Sure.”

  “Could you show me how to make magic?”

  “If your mom says it’s OK. So, you believe in magic?” I asked her.

  “I do,” she declared. She smiled and her eyes sparkled.

  I do too, I thought, and smiled back.

  About the Author

  What if? Those two words all too easily send Devorah Fox spinning into flights of fancy. Best-selling author of The Bewildering Adventures of King Bewilliam epic historical fantasy series she also co-authored the contemporary thriller, Naked Came the Sharks, with Jed Donellie. She contributed to Masters of Time: a SciFi/Fantasy Time Travel Anthology and has several short stories to her name, including Murder by the Book, A Mystery Mini. Born in Brooklyn, New York, she now lives in The Barefoot Palace in Port Aransas on the Texas Gulf Coast with rescued tabby cats ... and a dragon named Inky. Visit the “Dee-Scoveries” blog at http://devorahfox.com.