Magic Street

by Orson Scott Card

"You get me a can of panther repellent and a big stick, I get that glass open."

  "Is that a lie or a promise?"

  "If she's really in one of those jars."

  "That's a good point," said Puck. "What if you open the wrong one."

  "I told you."

  "You told me nothing. You always tell me nothing."

  "I told you it was Queen Mab in that jar."

  "That's probably just another lie."

  "I don't lie," said Puck. "These days, I don't even spin." He demonstrated how slowly he moved when he tried to turn himself around.

  Mack didn't wait to watch. He headed out of the bedroom and out of the house. When he reached the sidewalk, he turned around to look, and the Skinny House was gone.

  Mack reached down into his pants pocket and found the five-dollar bill he carried around in case of emergencies. Like having a magic wand. You have a five-dollar bill and you want a drink or some candy or a bus ride, then you got it. Small magic, but magic just the same.

  Puck's magic—now, that was big time. But it seemed to Mack that maybe Puck wasn't the one did that magic. He didn't seem all that powerful. Couldn't make Mack do anything. Maybe he was trapped in that house the way that fairy queen was trapped in the lantern in the woods.

  If he wasn't lying about what those lanterns were about. Had he really been there and seen the lights? Was he really so small and flightless that he couldn't get to either lantern? When Mack was telling the story, Puck nodded his head like he knew all about it, but then from his questions it seemed like he'd never been there, had no idea what it took to get there from here.

  Puck hadn't even known that Mack would have pants in the closet. And did each one of those pairs of pants have his five-dollar bill in the pocket? If he was ever running short of money, could he come back here and get another Lincoln from the extra pants? Or would they be gone if he ever came back?

  Mack turned away from the house and looked up the street and then took a step forward, then back, until he saw the house come into view again through the corner of his eye.

  Had to make sure the house wasn't gone for good. What if he wanted to go back? Had to make sure he could.

  Then he turned and ran home in the predawn light. A few cars out and running. Dr. Marvin heading out to put big tits into some woman or liposuck the fat out. Mack waved at him, and Dr.

  Marvin waved back.

  Miz Smitcher was standing by her car when Mack jogged up to the house. Mack remembered that she was covering the early shift this week.

  "Where you been?" she asked.

  "Don't scare me like that, Mack Street," she said softly. "You all I got."

  My mother lives in this neighborhood, Miz Smitcher. Did you know that? Did you keep that from me? You lying to me all my life, or you didn't know?

  Out loud, Mack said, "I didn't mean to. I won't do it again."

  "Until the next time you don't mean to but it just happens."

  Mack hung his head, showing his shame.

  She touched the back of his head. Not rubbing his hair, like Mr. Christmas did. Just touching him. Laying her big nurse hand on his head like she laid it on her patients at the hospital. Felt good.

  Felt like a promise that everything going to turn out okay.

  She took her hand away and his head felt cold without it.

  "I be home late tonight, kind of working half a double," said Miz Smitcher.

  "I'll do my homework the minute I get home."

  "Don't wait dinner for me, what I'm saying."

  "I won't."

  She got in the car and backed out of the driveway and pulled out into the street. He watched her out of sight, then went into the house and took a shower.

  When he came out, he heard a voice from the kitchen. "Mack Street, when you get dressed, would you mind coming in here and talking to me?" It was Mrs. Tucker, Ceese's mom. It was plain she knew that Miz Smitcher was gone, so it was Mack she wanted to talk to. She didn't sound agitated—in fact, she sounded downright perky. But it wasn't like adults came calling on him every day. Had to be something wrong, and had to be she thought he had something to do with it or knew something about it, so whatever it was, Mack was probably going to wish it wasn't happening.

  Didn't make him dress any faster; didn't make him dress any slower. He'd find out what it was, deal with it as best he could. Mack wasn't one to worry, or at least he didn't go to great lengths to avoid facing whatever was coming at him.

  Once he had his briefs on, he paused for a moment before putting on his pants. They weren't too dirty to wear—though they did look as though they had made the passage through the woods. Thing is, he wasn't sure he could trust them. He'd read plenty of stories about magic stuff that disappeared at midnight or some other inconvenient time. But at least he'd have his briefs on, if the pants vanished off his butt. So he pulled on the pants and padded into the kitchen where Mrs. Tucker was sipping tea and looking a little tense.

  Ceese was sitting in the chair next to her. Well, that was no big deal, Ceese probably didn't have a morning class.

  "It's just a little thing," she said. "Hardly worth mentioning, but it's been bothering me since it happened last night." And then she stopped.

  Mack looked at Ceese, who was staring at the table looking solemn.

  "I brought Ceese along because he's going to be a policeman now," said Mrs. Tucker. "Not that I think any crime has been committed!"

  "And not that I know a thing about police work yet," said Ceese. "I just signed up to train for the test."

  "You're going to be a cop?" asked Mack, fascinated. "You never hit anybody in your life."

  "I did so," said Ceese, "but that ain't what decides you on being a cop. The idea is you try not to hit anybody, but if you have to, then you know how. Same thing with guns. You hope to be a cop who never has to fire a gun at a person, but if the time comes when you got no choice, then you know how to do it right."

  "So why you doing it, Ceese?" asked Mack. "I thought you were going to build bridges."

  "I was going to design electronics," said Ceese. "Lots of different kinds of engineering, Mack.

  But I was bored. Didn't feel like anything I was doing mattered to anybody. Being a cop, now, that matters. You make a difference. You keep people safe."

  "Like you looked after me," said Mack.

  "Like that."

  "So what do you think I done wrong?"

  "No," protested Mrs. Tucker. "We don't think you did a thing that's wrong. In fact, if you did it, then it definitely wasn't wrong, but I just have to know."

  "Know what?" asked Mack.

  "What happened to the leftover chili I was heating up for Winston and me for supper last night."

  Mack knew at once what happened to it, and it pissed him off. If the magic at Skinny House could arrange for half a dozen copies of his pants to hang from hooks in a closet, why couldn't it simply copy Mrs. Tucker's chili out of her fridge instead of stealing it?

  But he couldn't very well say so. He could just imagine how they'd react if he said, I ate it, but not from your fridge, it got magically transported to the fridge at an invisible house down the street, so when I ate it I didn't know I was eating yours. But it sure was delicious. I did my hot-mouth dance when I ate it.

  "That's what we don't know," said Ceese patiently.

  Mack just sat there, looking back and forth between them.

  "I was preparing dinner," said Mrs. Tucker. "I checked in the fridge to make sure there was enough chili for the two of us, and there was. And then I went to the sink and washed the corn on the cob and cut up some bananas to put with a can of mandarin oranges to make a little fruit salad. And when I came back from the can opener with the oranges to drain off the liquid into the sink, there was the chili dish, freshly washed and still wet, in the drain-dry beside the sink. And a spoon."

  "Somebody snuck in and ate your chili and washed the dish while you were opening the mandarin oranges?" asked Mack.

  Ceese gave the
tiniest sigh.

  "I'm just so afraid I'm losing my mind," said Mrs. Tucker. "I was hoping you'd tell me that... that you perhaps did it as a prank. Meaning no harm. I'd be so relieved to know that it was you, and that I'm not crazy."

  "You not crazy," said Mack.

  "Then you did it?" said Ceese, sounding calm but also just the tiniest bit incredulous.

  Mack shrugged. "I was not in your kitchen yesterday or last night, Mrs. Tucker."

  "Where were you?" asked Ceese.

  Mack looked at him calmly. "You asking for my alibi, Officer?"

  Ceese got a small smile. "I guess so, Mack Street."

  "Got no alibi," said Mack. "I was walking around in the neighborhood and in the woods and I slept under a tree last night with a big black cat. I reckon that cat ain't much of an alibi."

  "But you didn't eat Mom's chili," said Ceese.

  "I was not in your kitchen yesterday."

  "I just can't imagine," said Mrs. Tucker, "why somebody would eat my chili and then wash the dishes."

  "I think," said Ceese, "we're not quite ready to start an urban legend about a sneak thief called

  'Tidy Boy' who steals food from fridges while the cook is in the kitchen, and washes up without a soul noticing he's even there."

  Magic always found a way to be cruel. Mack couldn't even have a chili supper without hurting somebody.

  "Mrs. Tucker," said Mack, "I can't tell you what happened to your chili, but I can promise you this. You're not going crazy, you're not getting old, something really happened, but if you keep talking about it people going to think you crazy. So maybe you better let it go."

  For the first time, Ceese got real alert. He didn't say anything, but now he was looking at Mack real steady, and the amusement was gone.

  "Do you think so, Mack?" asked Mrs. Tucker. "I know it's silly, you're only a boy, what would you know?"

  "I know that the chili was really in your fridge when you saw it. I know you didn't accidently eat it and wash up afterward and then forget you did."

  "How do you know, Mack?" she said plaintively. "How can I know you really know?"

  "Doubt me if you want, but I know everything happened just the way it seemed to you, and you didn't forget anything. That's the best I can do."

  She looked at him searchingly, then reached out and clutched at his hands, there on the table.

  "Mack, you're an angel to say that to me. I know Ceese doesn't believe me, though he's too kind ever to say so. I just needed somebody to believe me."

  "I do, Mrs. Tucker."

  "Well then," she said. "I'll just wash up my cup..."

  She stood up.

  "I'll do that, Mrs. Tucker," said Mack. "I like washing dishes."

  "You do? That's very strange of you," she said, and then laughed. It sounded only a little hysterical. "But very nice."

  Ceese left with her out the back door, but as Mack expected, he was back before Mack finished drying the cup and saucer and spoon and putting them away.

  "All right, Mack, what was all that about?"

  "Ceese, why should I tell you?" said Mack.

  "Cause I think my mother is losing her mind and if you know some reason I shouldn't think that, you better tell me."

  "That's not good enough," said Ceese. "Just your word like that?"

  "I ever lie to you, Ceese?" asked Mack.

  "Not telling me the whole story, that's the same as a lie."

  "Not if I don't pretend that it's the whole story when it's not."

  "So you're going to keep it a secret."

  Mack laughed. "All right, Ceese, I'll tell you. I went into an invisible house four doors up from Coliseum on Cloverdale, between Chandresses' and Snipes', and in that house I got hungry and opened the fridge and there was your mama's chili in a glass dish. I nuked it for two minutes, ate it, did the warpath dance cause it was so spicy, then I washed the dish and spoon and put them in the dish drain in that house."

  Ceese shook his head. "So you're not going to tell me."

  "I suppose it's better you think I'm a liar than you think I'm wacked out," said Mack. "Except that if I'm a liar, you're going to think your mama losing it when she ain't. And you also won't trust my word, but I never lied to you, Ceese, and I didn't start now."

  "An invisible house."

  "It's only invisible from the street," said Mack. "You get closer, it gets bigger."

  "Show me."

  "I don't know if I can," said Mack. "Maybe I'm the only one can see it."

  Ceese shook his head. "Mack Street, I'm going to hold you to this. You going to show me."

  "I can try. I just... maybe you'll see it, maybe you won't. I see a lot of things I don't tell people about," said Mack. "They just think I'm crazy. Miz Smitcher, she showed me early on that I better not tell what I see. It just makes folks upset."

  Ceese's face looked cold and distant. "Let's go now," he said.

  Mack led him down to the place and all the time he was half afraid that it wouldn't be there anymore, that weird spot in the sidewalk where you could see Skinny House out of the corner of your eye. But it was there.

  "You see that?" asked Mack.

  "See what?" straight up Cloverdale and then step backward and forward.

  "I don't even know what I'm supposed to see."

  Mack shook his head. "It's there. But like I thought, you can't see it."

  Ceese sighed. "Mack, I don't even know why you doing this. It's one thing to make my mama feel better, I don't blame you for that, but telling this stuff to me when it's just us two—"

  Mack didn't hear him finish the sentence, because he figured the only proof he had was to have Ceese watch him disappear. That must be what happened when Mack went into Skinny House, so he'd do it when Ceese was watching.

  So Mack lined himself up with the thin vertical line of Skinny House and then strode right toward it. As before, it grew wider until it was the full width of a house. He reached out far enough to touch the front door, then turned around.

  There was Ceese on the sidewalk, looking around every which way, trying to see where Mack went.

  Mack opened the front door and went inside.

  There was nobody there. And not a stick of furniture. Nothing in the kitchen, either. No fridge, no dishes in the cupboard, nothing.

  But there were five pairs of pants in the closet, hanging from hooks. And when he checked the pockets, five dollars in each of them. Mack took all the bills and put them in different pockets of his pants. Then he went back out the front door and jogged toward the sidewalk.

  Ceese was a few paces away, and partly out in the street, still looking for him. Mack called to him, but Ceese couldn't hear him. Not till Mack actually set foot on the sidewalk. Then he whirled around.

  "Where were you?" Ceese demanded.

  "Watch me carefully," said Mack. "Your eyes right on me."

  Ceese watched. Mack stepped off the sidewalk. Skinny House disappeared and Mack clearly did not.

  "Shit," said Mack. "All right, look away, but keep me visible in the corner of your eye."

  Ceese rolled his eyes, but did as Mack had ordered.

  This time when Mack stepped off the sidewalk, Skinny House grew larger and Ceese whirled around to see what had happened to Mack. Mack walked right back to the sidewalk and reappeared right in front of Ceese's eyes.

  "Of course I can't disappear," said Mack. "It's not my magic, it's the magic of Skinny House. It's not like I can disappear by stepping off the sidewalk anywhere else in Baldwin Hills."

  "You been magic the whole time I looked after you?"

  "I'm not magic!" said Mack, and now he was getting a little angry. "Or can't you hear me?"

  "I hear you, I just don't—I never saw anything like that before."

  "You seen it all the time," said Mack. "In movies and on TV"

  "Yeah, but they fake it."

  "But do you know how they fake it?"

  "Not exactly, but it has something to do with... hell, I don't know
."

  "You don't know how to do it, it's magic to you." Mack held out his hand.

  "What," asked Ceese.

  "Take my hand and look up the street. Don't look toward the houses at all. Stand right... right there."

  Ceese obeyed.

  "Now, when I pull you, you just follow, but don't look where we're going." When he could see that Ceese was following orders, Mack stepped off the sidewalk and headed toward Skinny House.

  He half expected to feel Ceese's hand vanish from his, or to have the grass just be the grass between the two visible houses.

  But no, Skinny House loomed, and Ceese's hand stayed in Mack's, and in a moment they were standing on the front porch and Ceese was looking back and forth between the neighboring houses and touching the door and the walls, saying, "Good Lord."

  "Ceese, I know the Lord got nothing to do with this, and I'm pretty sure that it ain't good."

  Chapter 10

  WORD Mack and Ceese stood on the back porch of Skinny House, looking at the orange trees and the rusty barbecue and the umbrella-style clothesline.

  "We're standing on the back porch of an invisible house, and you still don't believe me?" said Mack.

  "Well, there wasn't a fridge in the kitchen, either," said Ceese.

  "Because it was your mama's fridge. It was probably all your mama's stuff. I showed you the pants. I showed you the claw marks and the bloodstains. I showed you the five-dollar bills I took out of all the pockets."

  "That doesn't prove anything. Lots of people got more five-dollar bills than that."

  "But not me," said Mack.

  "Miz Smitcher didn't up your allowance?"

  "Ceese, you gave me the original five dollars."

  Ceese hooted. "That was three years ago!"

  "I don't spend much."

  "Mack, I believe you, of course I do. But it takes getting used to."

  "What's to get used to? Either it's in front of your face or it isn't. This is, so you got to believe it."

  "And if it isn't in front of my face?"

  "Then you got to have faith."

  "When you have faith in something a lot of other people believe, then you a member of the church," said Ceese. "When you have faith in something nobody believes, then you a complete wacko."