True Magic

by Colin Sims

  “A few paragraphs at least.” He gave me a pleading look. “You can do this François. Just take it one sentence at a time. Once you’re confident that you know every single word by heart, call me and I will take it down. I would do it myself, as you know, but I cannot let this clue fall into the wrong hands. The consequences could be quite dire.”

  I told him I’d do my best, and a few minutes later, I found myself trailing Cassie out the restaurant’s front exit. (Rosewood had used the rear, which had a direct backdoor to the SIA.) She still wasn’t looking at me, even as I followed her to where she’d parked. I wasn’t surprised at all when I saw her ride. It was possibly the most aggressive looking speed bike I’d ever seen. It was jet black, just like her Mustang, with big angry wheels and a massive engine. Once seated, she finally looked at me. Her face was hard to read. “So you want to follow?” she asked.

  If I had to guess, I’d say she looked annoyed. I wanted to ask her if I did something wrong. I mean, did I miss something? Why was she being so weird? Instead, I just asked if we were going straight to New York.

  “I know a backdoor that will take us to the library,” she said

  “Okay,” I said, and then paused. I cracked a small grin as I glanced down at her motorcycle. “Just, uh, take it easy, okay?”

  She frowned.

  “I don’t think Mary Lou can keep up with that thing,” I explained.

  Cassie followed my eyes to the insane motorbike between her legs and looked up. “Oh,” she said. “Yeah.”

  “Cool.”

  • • •

  The sun was beginning to dip behind the Manhattan skyline when we arrived on the library’s front steps. One of the cool things about New York is that it gets dark a little early because the skyscrapers block the sun before the horizon gets a chance.

  We headed through the crowded library until we arrived at the ultra-modern magic library. Cassie seemed to know exactly where to go. I followed her down a dozen flights of stairs until we reached a small librarian’s booth amidst an entire floor stacked with books reaching to the ceiling. Sitting at the booth wearing a dark suit and glasses was a balding middle-aged man who—even at a distance—looked incredibly creepy. As we approached, he had this awkward, serial killer smile attached to his face like a Lego, and when he spoke, he had a thick, German accent.

  “Guten Tag!” he said brightly. “Ve don’t get many visitors down hyere! Zis must be my lucky day, ja?”

  “We’re, uh, looking for a book,” I told him.

  “I should think so! Zis is a library! Hahahaha. Do you know ze title?”

  When he laughed he literally said ha and ha and ha. I recoiled slightly, but managed to fish the paper Rosewood had given me from my pocket.

  The Nazi interrogator from Raiders of the Lost Ark adjusted his glasses and took a look at it. “Hmm.” He licked his lips. “Ja, zis is a good one. Hey!” He looked up excitedly. “Are you avare of ze dance beats of Felix Jaehn?” He started bobbing up and down in a little dance. I glanced at Cassie and she gave me a shrug. I turned back to our librarian who had raised his arms, bent at the elbows, and started club dancing behind the booth.

  “So …” I said slowly. “It’s kind of important. Is the book available?”

  He kept swaying his hips with his arms raised. “Life is short, ja? You have to dance, dance, dance! Vhy is zis book so important, heh? You have zis beautiful fräulein hyere!” He gave a slow wink to Cassie, who suddenly spoke up. “It’s for a bet,” she explained. “Our friend Quentin thinks he invented something new. We bet him a hundred bucks he was wrong.”

  The librarian stopped dancing. “Ooo!” He rubbed his hands together. “An itsy-bitsy wager! Zis is most exciting!”

  “Yeah, so we’re really in a hurry,” I said. “Is there any chance we can—”

  “Nein! Du musst mir alles über diese Wette erzählen!”

  I took an involuntary step backward. Then, in a blink, Creepy Librarian looked bashful.

  “Oops! Sometimes I get excited and ze German comes out! You need zis book right away?”

  “Yep.”

  He flashed me a grin. “Your vish is my command, heir … ew, I do not know your name!”

  “François,” I said.

  “Ah! Ravi de vous rencontrer, François!”

  “Thanks.”

  “I am Hans Müller! I vill get ze book right away! You two vait hyere, ja?”

  With that, he bounded into the endless stacks and disappeared. I turned to Cassie and gave her a “what the fuck was that?” look. She just smirked and gave another shrug.

  A few minutes later, Hans reemerged carrying a dusty, leather satchel with the book inside. He climbed back into the booth and laid the case on the countertop with care. “You must sign hyere,” he said, indicating an open logbook accompanied by a little ink jar and a feather. I couldn’t help but get a little excited. My inner five-year-old had always wanted to scratch his signature into an old book with brittle pages using ink and a quill. (That’s not weird, is it? Surely I can’t be the only one …)

  Cassie and I made it back up to the main room where we found an empty table. There were only a few other library-goers quietly reading nearby, and I noticed that all of them looked human. Although, who can tell?

  “Have you found it?” Cassie asked after I’d flipped through the pages for a few minutes.

  “I think so,” I said. “Check this out.”

  I showed her the passage for Inter Regna Telescopio. Her eyes scanned the page until they flicked up to mine. They flashed with what appeared to be poorly restrained amusement. “That, um … sucks,” she said after a pause. Her lips remained curved in a small smile.

  “Yes,” I agreed. “It sucks.”

  The passage for Inter Regna Telescopio—only a “few paragraphs,” according to Rosewood—was frighteningly long. And it was all in Latin, in case you’ve forgotten about that part. The writing looked like the Seventeenth Century version of fine print—and it covered an entire encyclopedia-sized page from top to bottom. And I had to memorize it. Word for word.

  “So, um, maybe I’ll just leave you to it?” Cassie suggested.

  I frowned at her. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll just be here. For the rest of my life.”

  “Cool.” She grinned and bounded away from the table in a flash of ponytail and cut-off shorts.

  I scowled after her a moment and then down at the book. I could’ve sworn the full page of dense Latin was laughing at me. I began reading, sounding out the words and using my finger to trace under the lines. It didn’t take more than a few seconds before I realized how hopeless this was. Then—in my despair—I got an idea. It was the type of idea that makes you feel like an idiot for not having it sooner. I didn’t need to memorize the entire page at once. I could memorize a small chunk of it, run outside so that I could use my phone, and then call Rosewood to give him the passage in pieces. Genius, right? I thought so. The only problem was that I didn’t know if I could leave the book unattended while I escaped outside. And there was no way I was going back downstairs to leave it with Hans Müller. Thus, I’d have to wait for Cassie to return so she could watch it. In the meantime, I set to work on memorizing as much as I could.

  When she finally got back—three freaking hours later—she was carrying a flimsy, pink, cardboard box.

  “Make any progress?” she asked and flopped down into an empty chair. She slid the box in my direction and rested her chin on her palms. “Here,” she said. “I got you some donuts. I ate a couple, though. There’s only one left.”

  I opened the box and found half of a jelly donut resting in a little puddle. I looked up and told her I was touched.

  “Hey, it’s not my fault,” she said. “This assignment is so boring and I didn’t want to bother you and … whatever. So are you like halfway done, or three quarters or what?”

  I frowned down at my place in the book. “Three and a half sentences,” I said.

  Now, I know what you’re thin
king. You’re thinking three and a half sentences doesn’t sound like much, right? You’re wrong. These were long sentences. And in Latin. Let’s see how far you get in three hours.

  “Is that a lot?” Cassie’s nose wrinkled.

  “No,” I said. “But I’ve got a plan. I’m going to memorize it in pieces. Every couple sentences, I’ll duck outside and call them in to Rosewood. I just need you to stay with the book.”

  She looked miserable. “Ugh … Are you sure there’s no other way?”

  “Positive.”

  “Fiiinne. Go call him. Just hurry, okay?”

  I told her I’d be back in a flash—though to be honest, I was a little annoyed. Apparently even Cassie had her quirks, and one of them, it seemed, was a serious dislike for hanging out in the library. It wasn’t like she had to memorize a bunch of Latin. Was she still miffed about the spider thing, or what?

  When I got outside, I realized it was getting pretty late. It was almost 10:30, and I still had a million hours to go. I called Rosewood and gave him my three and a half sentences. He—unlike Cassie—seemed duly impressed and encouraged me to keep going. He also promised he’d do whatever he could to figure things out. With any luck, he said, he might find what he was looking for without me needed to memorize the whole passage.

  Back inside, I found Cassie standing on her head in the middle of our table.

  “Having fun?” I asked.

  “A little.” She grinned and then vaulted back onto her feet. “So do you want to take a break?”

  I looked at the book. The dense Latin looked very uninviting. “Can we?” I said. “I think Rosewood needs this right away …”

  “A few minutes won’t matter. Come on.”

  She took my hand and yanked me toward the shelves. I managed to grab the book before we left. I followed Cassie deep into a labyrinth of shelves until we got to a quiet, secluded corner. She spun around and looked oddly nervous.

  “So,” she said. “Hi.”

  “Hey,” I said.

  I noticed she was shuffling her feet a little.

  “So yesterday …” she started, and then paused. “Well, I’ve been acting kind of weird today and I’m sorry. I was just embarrassed.”

  “Are you talking about that spider thing?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Seriously, François, that really shouldn’t have happened. I mean, I want you to know I’m better than that. Like, way better. I was just … distracted.”

  I paused to think a moment. I wanted to make sure I said the right thing here—even if I still didn’t fully understand what she was so embarrassed about.

  “Cassie, that thing came out of nowhere,” I said, trying to gauge her reaction. “How could you avoid something like that? Besides, you’re looking at a guy who got his ass kicked by a garden gnome the other day.”

  “That’s different,” she said, frowning. “Besides, Howard just has a crush on me. But anyway, I still want to explain. It’s like … I don’t know. If you were a musician or something, and this cute guy that you really liked came to hear you play, and then you totally screwed it up, it would suck, right?”

  “That actually happened to me once,” I said. “I had a piano recital in the fifth grade and Denise Walton was in the—”

  I cut myself off. I was babbling.

  “So you know then,” Cassie said earnestly. “That’s what I felt like. I mean, before this, I’ve taken down some serious monsters you couldn’t even imagine. I’ve saved the world. Twice. Plus, I’m supposed to be protecting you. I take that job really, really seriously. And I’m not going to let my guard down like that again, I promise.”

  I studied her a moment and saw that she was deadly serious. So, in an effort to reduce the tension a bit, I said, “Well look at it this way: The whole thing has boosted my self-esteem. I’ve gone from gnomes to spider women. I’m on my way to becoming a total badass.”

  “Shut up,” she groaned. “I’m serious. And I feel stupid.”

  But then—quite suddenly—she stepped back and gave me a funny look. “But yeah …” she said slowly. “You did kind of charge in there like a hero, huh? I wonder what you were thinking …”

  I stood a little straighter. “Just doing my job, ma’am. It’s nothing.”

  “Nope.” She shook her head. “That’s not it.”

  “What’s not it?” I asked.

  “You like me,” she said. It was more of an accusation than a statement. “You really like me.”

  “What?”

  “It’s okay, you can admit it.”

  “Cassie, I don’t, uh …”

  “You’ve got googly eyes right now. You’re all smitten.”

  “No I’m not.”

  “Are too.”

  “I am not smitten,” I insisted. “And I have to memorize this!”

  For the first time ever, I was actually glad to have the Latin assignment. I held up the heavy book for emphasis, yet Cassie just looked at me. “Do you?” she asked.

  Her face was enigmatic, but I’d known her long enough to realize something was up.

  “What do you mean, ‘do I’?” I asked cautiously.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I brought more than just donuts.”

  “Cassie if you’re telling me I just spent the past three hours buried in this stupid Latin book when I didn’t have to, I’m never speaking to you again.”

  “So …” She hesitated. “Do you want me to tell you that you have to keep going then?”

  I stared at her a moment with an odd mix of shock, delight and fury. “I don’t have to memorize it, do I?” I said. “That’s why you’ve been acting all bored, isn’t it?”

  She looked like she was doing everything in her power to keep a straight face. “So you wanna see what I brought?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “I do.”

  She immediately pulled a small device from her pocket that I could’ve sworn was a miniature tricorder from Star Trek. “I went and got this from Q,” she said. “It’ll scan the page and email the whole thing to Rosewood. Cool, right?”

  “I thought we couldn’t use technology in here,” I said. “Or magic. And I thought only a wizard could read the text?”

  She shrugged. “It takes care of all that. That’s why it’s such a cool invention. Wanna give it a try?”

  “So that’s all there is to it? A little device from Q?! You’ve gotta be kidding me. Cassie, if I could tackle you right now, I would. You know that, right?”

  She flashed me a devilish grin. “You know,” she said, stepping closer. “I might not mind getting tackled. Let’s see what you’re made of, wizard boy.”

  Blushing, I quickly said, “Just gimmie the stupid thing,” and snatched it from her fingers. “How does it work?”

  She snatched it back. “It’s complicated,” she said. “Only a trained professional can do it. Watch.”

  She pointed the tricorder at the open page and clicked a little button. “Done,” she announced. “Rosewood should get it any second now. You should go call him.”

  “Yes,” I said, “I’ll do that then,” and turned toward the exit. I only got half a step before Cassie caught my sleeve and pulled me around.

  “Not that way.” She rolled her eyes. “This way.”

  She tossed the book aside and led me across the back of the library until we reached an exit. When we stepped through, we emerged directly onto the open-air roof of the library. Cassie took my hand and pulled me over to the edge where we had a sweeping view of Bryant Park. A small crowd was milling about the grass as a giant screen got hoisted up for the showing of an outdoor movie. According to the nearby posters, it was going to be Casablanca.

  “It’s like a drive-in,” I said.

  Cassie half turned. I noticed she was still holding my hand. “Hm? Oh, the movie thing. Yeah. It better not be Cars 2.”

  “It’s not,” I said with a chuckle. “I think it’s Casablanca. Humphrey Bogart. Coolest guy ever. Did you know that lin
e ‘play it again, Sam,’ is actually a misquote? In the movie, Bogart just says, ‘play it!’ and it comes across as vaguely racist as he orders the black guy to play piano for him.”

  Cassie shifted a little closer. “So you’re really into movies, huh?” she asked.

  I was really into movies. I was also really into babbling incoherently because Cassie and I were standing alone together on a dark rooftop holding hands.

  “I guess,” I said. “It’s kind of dorky, isn’t it?”

  “It’s not dorky to be passionate,” she said. “Girls like passionate.”

  “So what are you passionate about?” I asked.

  She giggled slyly. “A bunch of things. But as a succubus I need to retain my air of mystery. I guess you’ll have to work for it.”

  And then neither of us said anything for way too long. And by “way too long,” I mean about thirty seconds, but it might as well have been an eternity. Because that’s the thing about awkward silences: They’re awkward, yes, but they’re also the ultimate green light to kiss the girl you’re standing next to. Heck, awkward silences are the very cornerstone of romance when you really think about it. And all you need to make them un-awkward is to cowboy the frack up for a split freaking second and just kiss the girl for Christ’s sake.

  Or you can totally chicken out and say something like, “So should I call Rosewood to make sure he got the page?” And then you feel her hand loosen a smidge as she says, “Um, yeah. I can do it if you want?” And then the green light turns to yellow … and then to red.

  “Okay,” I said.

  She let go to bring her phone to her ear. After a moment, she chirped, “Hey boss! Did you get my email?”

  A pause.

  “I know, right? Yeah, okay. I’ll tell him. Okay. Bye!”

  She put the phone back in her pocket and looked at me. “Rosewood says hi,” she said. “He also said you did a great job. Or actually, he said ‘smashing job,’ and it was cute.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Thanks.”

  Cassie looked back out over Bryant Park with me again—although this time there wasn’t any handholding. I silently cursed myself.

  After a moment, she said, “So I guess this doesn’t qualify as a ‘height,’ huh?”