by Jeff Strand
“Probably.”
“I guess I just need to get over the idea of trying to impress you. When you’re dead, it won’t matter if I said something witty.”
If Sinister Seamus really was exhausted, maybe this was a good opportunity for Marcus to make a daring escape attempt. He might be able to knock the pistol and knife out of the old guy’s hands.
“Don’t even think it,” said Seamus.
“Think what?”
“About using my lack of sleep to your advantage. I don’t have to be a mind reader to know what’s going on in your head.”
“I wasn’t considering that,” Marcus fibbed. “I’m way too cowardly.”
“Very well. I’m going to sit down on this comfy-looking couch, and you’re going to search the books. If I feel like you’re trying something sneaky, I’ll shoot. If I feel like you’re not searching to the best of your ability, I’ll shoot. If I fall asleep and my finger accidentally squeezes the trigger, I’ll shoot. There are quite a few scenarios where you’ll get shot, so my advice is to search as quickly as possible.”
Marcus walked over to the first bookshelf. He decided to start with the top left, a hardcover book titled Magic for People Who Think That People Who Do Magic Tricks Are Total Losers by Aaron Aackles. He slid the book off the shelf and opened to the first page, and a small white envelope fell to the floor.
“Did that really just happen?” asked Seamus, rubbing his eyes.
Marcus picked up the envelope. The letters “Q Q W” were written in a very fancy manner on the back.
“Give it to me!” said Seamus, setting down his weapons. “Quickly!”
Marcus handed him the envelope.
Seamus cackled with mad laughter. “Yes! I’ve awaited this moment for decades! The secret to all magic is finally mine! All I had to do was not die before Zachary Millian!”
Since Seamus was now distracted, Marcus wondered if this was the proper time to make a move. After all, Marcus had a hardcover book he could use to whack Seamus on the head.
No, Seamus had what he’d come for, and hopefully, he’d apologize for the inconvenience and for Marcus’s possible permanent emotional scarring and leave.
Seamus opened the envelope and removed a white card.
He smiled.
He opened the card.
He looked at it for a moment.
The smile remained frozen on his face, but his eyes, which had been so merry and twinkling, did not convey the same “I’m happy!” message as his mouth.
The edges of his smile began to falter. Then gravity completely took over, and his smile transformed into a scowl of unspeakable, unfathomable, uncheerful rage.
“Are you kidding me?” he bellowed. “Is this some kind of cruel joke? I waited six decades for this?”
Seamus held up the secret to all magic. Written in black ink was one word—Practice.
“Practice? Practice? I knew that! Everybody knows that! That’s no big secret!”
“To be fair,” said Marcus, “the secret to all magic really is to practice. It’s not like the envelope had bad advice.”
“I thought the secret held the key to the universe! I thought this secret was going to change everything for me! Practice? Seriously?” Seamus tore the card into several pieces and flung them to the floor.
“I don’t mean any disrespect,” said Marcus, “but as much as I love Grandpa Zachary, it’s not like he was ever a superstar in the world of magic. Don’t you think that if he knew the ultimate secret, he’d be the most famous magician ever?”
“I figured he squandered the secret!” said Seamus. He picked up the knife and the gun, and now Marcus regretted not whacking him in the head with the book when he’d had the opportunity. “This is unreal! I can’t even describe how upset I am right now! I need to destroy something!”
“You can destroy the couch,” offered Marcus.
Seamus slammed the knife into the couch cushion and then shook his head. “No, this isn’t satisfying.”
“I think there are some eggs in the refrigerator.”
“No.”
Marcus thought for a moment. “He’s got a ventriloquist’s dummy in the bedroom. You could pretend it was a person.”
“No, those things creep me out.”
“Maybe you just need a nice, brisk walk.”
“Never mind. The urge to destroy something has passed.” Seamus sighed. “That long bus ride for nothing. Did I mention that a bug crawled into my ear?”
“Nope, you did not mention that.”
“It might still be there. I can kind of feel it squirming around next to my brain, but of course, I feel that even when there’s not a bug in my ear.”
“Will you be leaving soon?”
“Not quite yet. I need to get something out of this trip. Tell me about this wager.”
“Oh, um, how did you know about that?”
“Magic.”
“Grandpa Zachary and Bernard Pinther made a bet that I couldn’t do an amazing trick at his theater.”
“And you’re confident that you can?”
“Well, no, I’m not the one who made the bet.”
“What trick do you have in mind?”
“Making a shark disappear.”
“Hmmm,” said Seamus. “I can see potential there.”
Marcus would’ve loved to have an experienced magician helping him out, but since Seamus had repeatedly threatened to kill him, Marcus doubted his viability as a good candidate.
“What’s at stake?” Seamus asked.
“Honor.”
“Zachary had no honor. Bernard has no honor either. They’re betting for something nonexistent. The winner of the bet might as well receive a unicorn.”
“Yeah, well, like I said, I’m not the one who made the bet.”
“Those stakes aren’t interesting at all. But perhaps…” Seamus’s smile didn’t quite return, but the corners of his mouth perked up a bit. “Tell me, Aloysius, do you believe that true evil exists in the world?”
“I, uh, guess I believe that everybody is capable of doing good things and bad things.”
“They say that everyone is the hero in their own life story,” said Seamus. “I’m not. I’m the villain. I love being evil. Just love it. I am literally the most evil person you will ever encounter. I go by the stage name Sinister Seamus, but that’s just to lull you into a false sense of security. When you hear the name Sinister Seamus, you figure, ‘Oh, this guy is going to be a little scary, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.’ Wrong. Dead wrong.”
Seamus was smiling again. Marcus couldn’t deny it. Seamus did indeed seem to love being evil.
“If this were a musical, I’d do a song right now about how evil I am. Sadly, real life is not a musical, and if I launched into the ‘I’m So Evil’ song, you’d just give me an odd look.”
“You could record the song beforehand and just play it at the appropriate time,” Marcus suggested. “That would be less awkward.”
“That’s an interesting idea.”
“There are some kids at school who are in a band. They’d probably be happy to help you out.”
“I wasn’t legitimately disappointed that people in the real world don’t break into spontaneous musical numbers, but you’re making me think,” said Seamus. “If some people had you cornered and they suddenly started playing a song about how evil they were, you’d be frightened, right?”
“Petrified.”
“Something to consider. Anyway, where was I?”
“Your evilness.”
“Right, right. What I’d like to do is make your bet more interesting. Let’s say, for example, that your life depended on winning. That would make the wager more interesting, don’t you agree?”
“No,” said Marcus. “That would be boring. Totally bland.”
“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport. This is going to be fun.” Seamus tapped one of his teeth with the knife. “Here’s the deal. If your magic trick doesn’t meet the minimum level of amazement to win the bet, I will find you and kill you.”
“I don’t think that will inspire me to greatness.”
“I believe it will. Did you know that the cure for measles was invented at gunpoint? It wasn’t. I just made that up. But it would’ve been interesting. What are you staring at?”
“Your silver tooth fell out.”
Seamus glanced at the floor. “Oh my, I guess it did. Happens every time I tap it with the knife. I have to remember to stop doing that.”
“Do you want me to pick it up for you?”
“Nah. I’ll get it on the way out.”
“Okay,” said Marcus, relieved.
“You’re probably thinking that you’re not in any real danger because you’ll just call the police when you leave this apartment. That would be a very bad idea. That would be worse than the time Benjamin Franklin tried to pierce George Washington’s tongue with a wooden nail. Which I just made up. Being evil, I lie a lot.”
“You were lying about killing me if I lose the bet too, right?”
“No, Aloysius, that was the truth. Before I distracted myself with fun facts about our founding fathers, I was getting to the part where I explained why talking to the police would be such a bad idea. I’m a magician. The police will never catch me. I’ve killed lots and lots of people and haven’t been caught yet. If you try to get me in trouble, I won’t just kill you. I’ll kill your mother, your father, and your sister, and I’ll flush your goldfish.”
“I won’t say anything,” Marcus promised.
“You probably felt a bit of relief just now, Marcus, because you don’t have a sister or a goldfish. And that relief has vanished because you’ve suddenly realized that I know this. I know many things about you. If I wanted to kill you and the rest of your family, believe me, young man, I could do it.”
Marcus felt more than a little queasy. “Don’t hurt my mom and dad,” he said. “I won’t tell anybody.”
“That’s a most excellent answer indeed. I may seem like a bumbling fool, but I promise you, a percentage of my foolishness is an act for your benefit. You may feel braver once we’re no longer having this conversation, but I cannot stress enough how bad of an idea it would be to defy me. Do I need to carve a reminder onto your arm?”
“No,” said Marcus. “You really don’t.”
“Glad to hear it. So how will you determine if you’ve won the bet or not?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Audience vote? A panel of judges? Applause-o-meter?”
“We haven’t worked that out yet,” Marcus admitted.
“How can you have a wager without determining the criteria for winning?”
“Like I said, it was all very spur of the moment. I don’t even know if Bernard Pinther will let me have a giant shark tank on his stage.”
“Sounds like you have a lot of work to do.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll still kill you if you don’t win.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway,” said Seamus, reaching down and picking up his tooth, “I suppose it’s time for me to depart. Best of luck on the task ahead of you. Good night.” He gave a polite wave and left the apartment.
“Well…bummer,” said Marcus before he got completely dizzy and fell onto the couch.
12
Marcus had two options.
1. Tell the police that there was an evil magician on the loose who had threatened him and his family if he didn’t win a ridiculous bet.
2. Not tell anybody.
To figure out whether to choose option 1 or 2, he had to decide which of the following was more credible:
1. Sinister Seamus could indeed evade the authorities and then go on the promised murder spree.
2. Sinister Seamus would be immediately apprehended by the authorities and spend the rest of his life pouting in prison because Marcus hadn’t played along.
His gut feeling was that option 2 was more likely, but if the correct answer turned out to be number 1, it would be the worst wrong answer he’d ever given on a multiple choice quiz.
What if he just canceled the bet with Bernard?
1. Seamus would say, “Oh well,” and move on with his life.
2. Seamus would say, “That’s a violation of the rules!” and go slash, slash, slash with his knife-wand thing.
Again, option 2 seemed more likely.
He couldn’t tell anybody what had happened. If he did, he’d be putting those he loved at risk. Marcus had to win the bet. He’d have to make the shark disappear.
Marcus staggered into the kitchen. His throat had gone dry. He opened Grandpa Zachary’s refrigerator and peered inside. His options were:
1. bottled water or
2. apple juice.
He went with number 1. He drank the entire bottle in one gulp (well, seven or eight gulps, but one big swig). Then he had to clutch the counter to keep himself from losing his balance. He’d never been this terrified in his life. Which made complete sense. What other times should he have been more terrified?
Maybe Seamus was just kidding. Maybe he had a really dark sense of humor and thought it was funny to make a kid think that he had to pull off an amazing illusion or die. Maybe he thought it a delightful prank. The options were:
1. Seamus was joking or
2. he wasn’t.
Marcus had to go with his second thought.
He left the apartment and rode his bicycle home. When he walked into the living room, Mom and Dad could tell something was wrong, but they seemed to assume he was upset about Grandpa Zachary and not a random encounter with a gun-and-knife-wielding madman. So Mom gave him a big hug, which was comforting but insufficient to calm his nerves.
That night Marcus had plenty of nightmares.
The next day at school, he tried not to think about sharks and evil magicians and to instead focus on what his teachers were saying. It was a challenge. When Mr. Parker announced a pop quiz in the last ten minutes of history class, Marcus froze. He hadn’t heard a single word of the lecture.
“This one will be easy,” said Mr. Parker, handing out the papers. “Just making sure you were awake.”
Marcus glanced at the first question. It might as well have said, “In what year did Zagglehoggenfritz eclipse the mutton-chopped 245x371.98 45dms7ifg42?” The other four questions were no easier to answer. He wrote, “I don’t know the answers to any of these questions, and I humbly apologize,” at the bottom of his quiz, hoping he’d at least get a point for humility.
He didn’t think he could handle a lunchtime encounter with the trio of bullies if they were looking for him, so he ate his lunch on a bench outside. He hoped that Ken, Chris, and Joe weren’t wreaking vengeance upon Peter at this very moment, but there wasn’t much he could do if they were. He didn’t think they’d fall for another card trick distraction.
He needed to relax. If he really did end up getting killed by Seamus, he didn’t want to waste his last seven weeks on earth being stressed out.
Yet, Marcus remained stressed out for the rest of the school day. Fortunately, there were no other pop quizzes, although he was pretty sure he missed some crucial information about the Pythagorean theorem in math class.
When he got to his locker after the final bell rang, Peter was waiting for him.
“Hey,” said Peter.
“Hey,” said Marcus.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Didn’t see you at lunch.”
“No.”
“Detention?”
“I ate outside.”
“Oh.”
“Sorry.”
“No. Are you?”
Peter shook his head. “Nope. You want to come over?”
“I can’t. I’ve got a lot of work to do on the trick. We should walk together though. Safety in numbers.”
“I started on the shark tank,” Peter said.
“Seriously?”
Peter gave him a sheepish smile. “Yeah.”
“I haven’t even finished designing it yet,” said Marcus.
“I know. Just gathering materials. Glass and stuff. Thick glass.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“Can’t talk about that.”
“Is it stolen?”
“Can’t talk about that.”
“I can’t do a magic trick with stolen materials.”
“I’m no thief.”
“Seriously, Peter, if I get arrested, I’ll lose the bet.”
“Is that a rule?”
“No, but I can’t afford to lose the time I’d spend locked away.”
Marcus wondered if Sinister Seamus could get to him in jail. Maybe going to prison for being an accessory to glass theft was the way to keep himself alive.
“Trust me,” said Peter.
“I barely know you.”
Peter looked at the floor. “Yeah, you’re right. I was just trying to help.”
Marcus closed his locker. “Believe me. I need all the help I can get. Anything legal you can do would be great.”
Peter looked up and smiled. “Okay.”
As they walked out of the school building, Marcus froze. Somebody was in the parking lot, waiting for him.
“What’s wrong?” Peter asked.
Bernard saw Marcus and motioned him over. Marcus didn’t really want to talk to him. But then he decided that it would be one of the less dangerous conversations he’d had lately.
“I have to talk to this guy,” said Marcus. “If you want to wait for me, that’s cool. Otherwise, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’ll wait,” said Peter.
