by Brian Knight
Late Friday evening, the coals of Penny and Zoe’s fire in the hollow had cooled from orange to a dead and powdery gray. However enough of their spent magic lingered to make the still air hum softly. It was a sound too low for Penny or Zoe to hear. Yet the animals that lived near Little Canyon Creek felt it and responded, converging on the spot that had been theirs alone for years, and which had only recently seen people again.
A squirrel leapt from branch to branch in the upper boughs of the willows, catching more air than it normally would have, almost seeming to hover in the open space between branches. A flock of sparrows circled, twittering madly until an owl hooted them away. A long snake cut wild, swirling wakes in the calm water near the shore of the creek.
Predators cavorted alongside their natural prey in the boundaries of Aurora Hollow, their interest in meat temporarily eclipsed by the buzzing residue of magic.
Sometimes Ronan was there too. The other animals recognized him for what he was, but trusted and helped him whenever he asked something of them.
He was there that Friday night, curled up and sleeping in the mouth of his cave.
A discordant buzz drove away the peaceful hum, a sound that set Ronan’s teeth on edge and made him whimper in momentary discomfort. His fur began to rise, as if with static.
The other animals scattered in every direction, the owl giving a disconsolate hoot as it abandoned its perch.
A thin glowing line like a thread of violet fire cut the dark—slashing downward from a height of ten feet until it touched the ground. For a few moments the line only buzzed and flickered in the dark. Then two sets of fingers pushed through it, widening it into a crack. The fingers forced themselves into the hollow from behind the widening crack, became hands—one holding something slender and dark—then a pair of cloak-draped arms followed the hands.
Ronan stood, his ears perking up as he turned to face the crack in reality.
The opening wavered and groaned as a tall man pushed through it; and for only a moment, another place was visible behind him. It could have been a wide cavern or the dungeon of some medieval castle.
Then he was through, the slender black wand in his hand held out before him. He searched around as the rough oval shape with the crackling violet outline contracted, then slammed closed and vanished with a snap like a firecracker.
Ronan growled, an uncharacteristic sound coming from him, his teeth now bared in threat rather than humor, and rose, his fur bushing up.
The man whirled on his boots, wand whipping around toward the growling fox, and a bright red flash lit Aurora Hollow like high noon.
The man’s spell hit Ronan as he leapt from the mouth of his cave.
With a yelp, Ronan smashed back against the granite wall. His form faded, became a crackling outline in the darkness, and he was gone before he could hit the ground.
The man was still for a moment, watchful, and then turned back to the empty clearing. He muttered, jabbed the slender black object into the air over his head, and a globe of light bloomed from its tip, floating lazily toward the canopy of leaves.
The man lowered his wand, but kept it ready at his side.
For a few minutes he did not move. He scanned the hollow very slowly, taking in every detail.
“Green,” he said. He had a faint accent, one that was impossible to place.
He raised his wand again in an almost lazy gesture, and the cracking of wood sounded overhead. A small limb crowded with leaves sailed down to him, as if on gentle wind.
He snagged it from the air and plucked a single leaf. He held the leaf to his face, sniffed it, and let it flutter to the ground. He tossed the twig toward the fire pit, and while it was still in the air, whipped his wand upward, pointing at it. The wand’s tip flared, and a flash of red light touched the twig, enveloping it.
The living wood and fresh green leaves crackled, warped, shriveled, and fell toward the coals of the fire pit. When it landed among the cold coals and half-burned wood, it scattered like ash.
He stalked past the fire ring and stopped at the edge of the hollow, searching the ground as he walked. He used the wand while he searched, moving the tip back and forth over the ground like a dousing rod. Then, suddenly, it dove toward the ground, making the man stagger forward a step.
When he raised the wand again, something followed it up from the ground, pushing dirt and years of accumulated rubbish aside.
The thing followed him as he backed out of the trees, to the edge of the hollow, obeying the direction of his wand like a marionette. He stopped by the fire pit, urging it forward until it wedged between two narrow willows.
It was a door. Old, dirty, set into a snug frame that wedged perfectly between the two trees. Its old brass knob was filthy and tarnished, and undoubtedly frozen in place by years of corrosion.
Smiling, satisfied, the man turned quickly, his wrap of black cloak swirling around him. His red hair stood from his head like flames frozen in mid-dance.
The hand with the wand disappeared beneath his cloak, and reappeared a second later holding a wooden flask. He crouched at the water’s edge, uncapped the flask, and dipped it beneath the clear, running water. When it was full, he capped it and stowed it inside his cloak again.
He strode back to the door with his wand drawn, muttered, and rapped the wood of the filthy door sharply with it.
When he grasped the knob it worked roughly, but it did work. He opened the door. However it did not open onto the density of willows and brush on the other side of it, but, somehow, rather on the lamplit semidarkness of downtown Dogwood.
Glancing once more around Aurora Hollow, he said, “They’re back.”
He smiled then, turned sharply toward the door, and strode through it.
Boots that had made no sound on the dirt ground of Aurora Hollow clapped loudly on the blacktop on the other side of the door.
He swept it closed behind him, and once again the hollow was empty.
Chapter 11
Tovar The Red
Tonight only in Dogwood Park,
experience the magic of Tovar The Red.
He will amaze you!
Free admission–Showtime 8:00 to 9:00 PM.
Beneath the large, extravagant text of the flier pinned to the telephone pole, one of many it seemed—every pole, notice board, and window in town seemed to have one—was a picture of a man with a narrow, handsome face covered with red stubble, and red hair that stood from his head like flames. There was no magician’s top hat in either his hands or on his head, just a simple black cloak draped over his wide shoulders, a simple white shirt tucked into black pants, and black boots with heels that added another few inches to his tall, narrow frame.
In one of his wide-stretched hands he held a plain black wand. In the other, a small oval mirror that reflected the face of a wonderstruck teenage girl.
“We have to see this,” Zoe said, yanking the flier from the tack that held it. Then, almost whispering, “I wonder if he’s … you know, for real.”
Penny didn’t respond. Her eyes followed the face of the red-haired man, Tovar The Red, as the flier moved with Zoe’s gesturing hand.
“I mean, if he’s real maybe he can help us. I bet he knows stuff. Maybe he can show us…Penny?”
Penny snatched the flier from her hand, still not responding, and held it close to her face.
“Earth to Penny,” Zoe said, waving her hand between Penny’s nose and the flier.
Penny flinched back, blinking, and looked up at Zoe. She felt numb, stunned and slow.
Zoe’s good-natured grin vanished. “What’s wrong?”
Penny handed the flier back wordlessly and dug in the front pocket of her jeans for her coin purse. She pulled it out, almost dropped it, and fumbled with the zipper, finally catching hold of it and drawing it back with a metallic rasp. She pulled a photograph out, examined it, and handed it to Zoe.
Zoe regarded the photo, her eyes growing wide. They flicked back to the flier, stopping there for a
moment, then back to Penny.
“Who is it?”
For a few seconds Penny’s silence held, then she swallowed, as if trying to clear an obstruction in her throat, and croaked two words.
“My father.”
They skipped their trip to the rock shop and walked to the park, sitting underneath Zoe’s favorite reading tree. Someone had covered the gazebo in the middle of the park with fliers and large poster boards advertising the free show.
“It looks a lot like him,” Zoe conceded, “but...” She seemed unable to finish the thought aloud and only shrugged.
“It looks exactly like him,” Penny said. “And he looks like me too.”
“But you can’t be sure,” Zoe said. “Maybe we should show Susan.”
“No,” Penny said, a little more sharply than she intended. “We can’t let Susan see this.”
“Why not?”
Penny said nothing for a few moments but seemed to be deep in scheming.
“Why can’t Susan see him?”
“Because she hates him,” Penny said, turning her green eyes from Zoe’s face, regarding the poster at the gazebo.
“Oh.”
“We can tell her there’s a show in the park, but we can’t tell her about him.”
Others were filling the park now, migrating toward the gazebo to read the poster. Much speculative chatter filled the day.
“Okay, so we don’t tell Susan. She’s going to see the posters though.”
Penny nodded. “Maybe. But I have to come here tonight. I have to see him.”
“Then we will,” Zoe said. “If you still think it might be him after watching the show, then we’ll find a way to talk to him afterward.”
Penny’s green eyes found Zoe’s brown ones, tears blurring her vision. Her thin-lipped grimace loosened. A small smile had replaced it.
“Thanks,” Penny said.
The show started at sunset, and the park was full. It seemed to Penny that every kid in town was there, along with a number of adults.
Penny and Zoe, neither eager to endure more unpleasantness from the local kids, stayed back from the crowd surrounding the gazebo, almost hiding behind Zoe’s tree. A girl neither knew, but whom Penny recognized by face as one of the few girls who had been friendly, sat a little ways off from them, alone. She glanced in their direction a few times, as if hoping to be invited over.
Penny returned her wave at one point, forcing a smile, but when they didn’t ask her to sit with them, she returned her attention to the empty gazebo, looking disappointed.
Zoe nudged Penny in the side and nodded toward the girl. “We’re supposed to try and make new friends,” Zoe reminded her.
“Not tonight,” Penny said, and faced the lamplit platform of the gazebo, waiting.
The gazebo, Tovar The Red’s makeshift stage Penny presumed, appeared newly whitewashed. Tiki torches circled it, waiting to be lit. A thick, dark cloth draped the back half of the gazebo. There were no other visible props, and as the small clock tower at the town square ticked the last few seconds to 8:00 PM, there was no magician.
A small, broken ripple of displeasure rose and spread, until the audience seemed to thrum with discontent.
“This sucks,” someone shouted, one of the older boys who had teased Zoe that summer. He rose, tugging at his girlfriend’s arm until she followed, casting embarrassed glances back at the crowd.
“Just where do you think you’re going?”
The voice boomed across the park. When the audience’s eyes moved from the stunned and pale boy standing with his girlfriend’s arm clutched loosely in his hand back to the gazebo, they found Tovar The Red standing above them on the raised stage. His grin was wide and good-humored. He held a wand in one outstretched hand, and when he waved it, the dark torches around him blazed to life, casting a dancing light over his stage.
Tovar’s wand looked nothing like her wand, Penny noted. Hers was a tapered twist of root, the natural wood grain darkened by age but otherwise unchanged. The crystal at its tip was small, clear as water and with a perfect point at each end, but natural. Tovar’s wand was narrow, straight, and had an almost mirror-black sheen. There was a glimmer of reflected light from the polished facets of a small ruby red gem at the tip.
His trick with the tiki torches was neat, a great icebreaker provoking a few oohs and aahs from the audience—but Penny wasn’t convinced yet.
“Come on, son, at least be a gentleman and let the young lady stay for the show.” Tovar spoke calmly, softly, but his voice carried over them as if amplified.
He pointed his wand at the girl, and she gave a little shriek of surprise, raising her free hand to regard it. A small bouquet seemed to grow and blossom from the loosely clenched fist her hand made: strange tropical-looking flowers with great drooping bells of orange, purple, a shouting bright red, and an almost neon blue.
The girl laughed in surprise, and applause rippled through the crowd.
“She’s a plant,” Penny heard a man mutter from behind, sounding both amused and a little impressed. “It was all planned in advance. Good trick though.”
“I am Tovar The Red,” the magician said. There was no need to speculate about where his title, The Red, came from. His wild red hair waved like flame atop his head in the lazy evening breeze. His eyes, an emerald green as deep as Penny’s, glittered in the torchlight. “Welcome to my show!”
Penny had never been to see a live magic show before, but she had watched a few on television—and those were nothing like the one Tovar put on. His stage was too small for the complex kind of props other magicians used, and Penny couldn’t see how he would have been able to install a trapdoor in the gazebo floor without having to tear it up first. The floor was clearly visible, clearly unchanged, except for the fresh coat of paint. There was no curtain to escape behind, only the cloth he’d hung as a backdrop from the backside of the rounded ceiling. What props he did use, he seemed to conjure from midair, or to pull from one of what must have been a hundred pockets hidden inside his cloak.
Tovar did not produce a saw and cut anyone in half. However, he did hypnotize several audience members in order to assist him with his tricks.
One of the girls he hypnotized, much to Penny’s amusement, was Katie West, the rude girl from the school library. Katie danced a jig (Penny thought it was an Irish River Dance) on the top step of the gazebo. But instead of holding her arms at her side, she’d flapped them briskly up and down like a bird and had levitated off the floor, bobbing in the air for several seconds to wild laughter from the audience.
When she left the stage, her cheeks glowing red with embarrassment in the flickering light of the torches, she spotted Penny in the crowd and shot her a withering look.
The girl who had sprouted a full bouquet of flowers from her clenched fist at the start of the show continued to sprout new flowers throughout. They came from behind her ears, from the pockets of her shorts, from the sleeves of her shirt, and once from her right nostril. Her boyfriend cultivated them with growing amusement, plucking them as they appeared and laying them with the original bouquet, the whole time pestering her to tell him how she was doing it.
She could only shrug, looking equally amused and bewildered.
“And now for a look into the Conjuring Glass,” Tovar announced. He pulled a small mirror from beneath his cloak. It was oval, without a handle, and framed in pewter. It fit nicely in the palm of his hand, and he raised it high for the audience to see. “Is anyone here brave enough to peek into the magic glass?”
All through the gathered crowd hands shot up and voices called out eager willingness. Penny’s was among them, and after a nudge from Penny, Zoe’s hand went up too.
He startled two girls Penny’s age—the one who had sat near them earlier and one Penny recognized from her English class—into near hysterics when he invited them onstage and handed them each a mirror, instructing the girls to look into them.
They looked, frozen in near identical expressions of s
hock, and shouted in alarm. Instead of seeing their own faces in their mirrors, they saw the face of the other looking back.
The illusion (but was it really an illusion, Penny wondered) had only lasted a few seconds, and the girls left the stage laughing and clutching the mirrors in their hands, which Tovar insisted they keep as gifts.
He’d repeated the mirror trick a half-dozen times, choosing his volunteers from a forest of raised hands. He matched Katie with one of her friends, then Rooster and his older brother. Rooster had seemed impressed—until his brother muttered something about cheesy tricks and dropped his own mirror in the grass while walking away from the stage. Finally, he called on Penny and Zoe.
Penny had watched Tovar closely throughout the show, but he had given her and Zoe no more than a passing glance until they stood onstage to either side of him.
“Young lady,” he said, bowing slightly as he passed the first mirror to Zoe. His movements were sharp and twitchy, his manners forced and curt; Penny thought that despite his profession, he didn’t like kids much.
Then he turned to Penny and froze for the barest second, his green eyes going wide, before handing Penny an identical mirror.
“Look into each other’s eyes,” he instructed. “Clear your minds, then when I tell you, look into the mirrors.”
Tovar faced away from Penny and focused his attention on Zoe, who seemed to be growing more nervous by the second.
Penny fixed her eyes on Zoe’s, but could not drive the image of Tovar’s startled face from her mind. She seemed exquisitely aware of his presence, and as if sensing this, he stepped back from them, turning away to face the backdrop.
“Now,” he whispered.
Penny looked into the mirror cupped in her hands, and could not stop the startled squeal that rose to her lips.
She had expected to see Zoe’s face looking out at her, but that was not what she saw.
Though his back was to her, she was positive he was holding his own mirror, gazing into it while they gazed into theirs, because she was looking through hers at his sharply concentrated face.
