Magic Street Boogie

by T. R. Cameron

  By the time it was over, Cali was energized. Some students seemed tired and happy as they left. Others were unmoved, but she was always lit up by the sessions. She changed quickly and offered a rigid, deep bow to her instructor as she departed. Ikehara returned a nod of acknowledgment before he shifted his attention to a potential student who had wandered in to watch the end of class.

  It was a couple of miles to Jackson Square. She kept her mind light and watched people as she passed them. Residents out for walks gave way to hungover tourists who squinted against the pain or the bright sunlight. The streets still smelled of the bleach used to clean them overnight as the heat of the day baked away whatever puddles of liquid had resisted its earlier efforts. She wove through the quarter, avoiding the most touristy areas in favor of the ones she knew best. Finally, she arrived at the square and headed to the most profitable corner, the one nearest Cafe du Monde.

  The object of her scanning gaze located her before she found him and his shout covered the distance between them. “Cal, s’up?”

  She turned toward the sound and her gaze settled on her closest comrade, Dasante Parks. He waved to catch her attention and she threaded through the buskers working the street—the ever-present painted statue people, a mime, a thin man dressed in a Snow White costume but with a face made skeletal by stage makeup, and a big woman who belted the blues out on a saxophone. Finally, she reached him and stepped behind his battered folding magician’s table.

  “Same old, Dee.” They performed an intricate handshake involving slaps and fist bumps that brought grins to both their faces. He wore a black dress shirt only a few shades darker than his skin, the sleeves rolled up as part of his act. She flicked imaginary lint from his shoulder with a grin. “You’re a mess.” He wasn’t any kind of a mess, of course, and the way his long straightened inky hair fell over half his face was decidedly cute.

  He laughed. “Well, all right, then. What’s the plan for today, girl?”

  She shrugged. “I thought some frozen fighting if someone’s around.” One of her favorite performances to give was pretending to battle in slow motion. Passersby seemed to like it, often stopped to watch, and less often dropped a dollar or two in the backpack she put out for that purpose. She had other personas too, but they required more effort and didn’t fit well into the time between the dojo and the tavern.

  He grinned. “Bark for me?”

  “Sure. Happy to.” There was no need to ask about the financial arrangements because she only worked with those willing to go fifty-fifty. She scrabbled in her backpack, retrieved an elastic, and bound her hair behind her. The black jeans and t-shirt were adequate, so all she needed was a touch of makeup. She reddened her lips and darkened her eyes to make them easier to see from a distance and took a position in front of the table near the street.

  Working the streets as a performer combined with shouting down idiots in the tavern had built her voice into a far stronger tool than anyone would expect, and she put it to use. “Magic, prestidigitation, sleight of hand. See the amazing Dasante as he performs close-up feats that will blow your mind. Find the cup with the ball in it and win a reward.” She’d picked flowers along her walk that morning because it was always good to have something to say thank you with. “You, sir—surely you can beat him.” She pointed at a college-age man with all the signs of a tourist, including the doting woman on his arm.

  He tried to wave her off, but she shook her head. “Come on, now, impress your girlfriend. You have nothing to lose.” They looked at each other and laughed, then came over to watch. Dasante let the man win the first two rounds to earn a flower for each of them, then put his skill into the next two, hiding it beyond the man’s ability to guess. A few more people had stopped to watch the act, and she grinned as he finished with one of his best simple tricks—making the white ball vanish but replacing it with red balls under all three cups. There was applause and a brief shower of bills and coins landed in the upended top hat resting on the ground in front of his table.

  They worked the crowd for a couple of hours, trading entertainment for tips. By the time the lunchtime population began to fade, she was ready to call it a day and head to the tavern for a pre-shift meal and a nap in the back of the kitchen. As she picked her backpack up, Dasante spoke in a low tone. “Don’t look now, but there’s someone who’s watched us for the last twenty minutes or so. You’ll want to keep an eye out for him. Across the street, two o’clock.”

  She didn’t react to his words, only shrugged the bag on and turned to give him a parting handshake. Long before, she had mastered the trick of looking intently without appearing to do so, and she immediately saw the man in question. He was dark-skinned and had black hair in braids falling around his face and was clad in a ratty t-shirt and baggy jeans. She finished the goodbye and thanked her friend for the information. When she started to move, the watcher did too but immediately, he melted into the crowd and out of sight.

  I’m not sure why an Atlantean is surveilling me, but I’ll damned sure find out. The loss of her nap and the growling in her stomach were forgotten as she dashed across the street in pursuit.

  Chapter Four

  Her senses on alert, Cali approached the alley warily and stuck her head quickly around the corner to discover her quarry was no longer in sight. A bird cawed at her from overhead and she wished momentarily that she could question it, but that wasn’t part of her magic arsenal either. She pulled her hair free from the elastic and rolled her t-shirt up to show a little skin as a hasty disguise. With a promise that she’d start carrying something better or improve her illusion skills, she pounded down the narrow corridor after the man.

  She skidded to a halt and eased her head around the corner as the passage ended, which drew confused looks from several people walking past. The sidewalk traffic was one of the things she loved about the town and provided so many different individuals to look at. But for a foot pursuit, it was a decided negative. Fortunately, her quarry was tall enough that his braids were visible, like a beacon drawing her eyes directly to it. She plunged into the flow of pedestrians, kept him in sight, and snaked closer whenever the current permitted it.

  He stopped at a corner and looked down, and as she drew closer, the person on the ground came into view. He held a sign asking for money for beer. Points for honesty, anyway. His skin was lighter than the braided man’s but far darker than her own. Their body language made them seem more like acquaintances than friends, but it was enough that she didn’t want to pass and let him see her.

  Another alley provided the solution. She darted inside and clambered up onto a closed-top dumpster, vaulted, and caught the iron poles of the balcony above it. With more grace than awkwardness, she climbed over the railing, landed on the narrow surface, and ran up the stairs to the roof. The asphalt covering was sticky and it pulled at her boots with a sucking sound as she ran to peer over the edge. She frowned as the braided man dodged through traffic to the other side of the road and entered one of the many small shops that lined both sides of the street.

  The bright daylight meant she couldn’t use her magic. Under cover of darkness, she would have launched from the roof and relied on her force power to slow her fall. Instead, she scrambled back to the alley and to the exit at the end opposite from where she’d entered and walked slowly past the door he’d gone through. The view through the glass revealed a store filled with clothes, a decent looking selection based on a quick glance as she went past. Too many of the shops near the quarter focused on the tourist trade, and aside from her Saints jersey, she had little interest in the cheap New Orleans branded merchandise they peddled.

  She didn’t dare go in as it wasn’t big enough to offer her any cover. A coffee shop was conveniently located a few doors down, however, so she slipped inside and took a seat at the window, ordered a cafe au lait, and drifted her gaze between her phone and the doorway. A momentary blank screen reflected her face to remind her that she still wore the barker makeup. She pulled out a w
ipe and cleaned it off, irritated that she hadn’t thought of it already. James Bond, I’m not.

  Her coffee arrived and she paid with cash so she could leave when she needed to. Slow sips savored the chicory brew, another of her favorite things about New Orleans. Finally, an eternal seven minutes after she’d finished, her quarry emerged with a bag over his shoulder. She looked down and away as he passed her window, merely a random person obsessed with her phone.

  Cali stepped out and located him easily as he moved toward the street that marked the boundary of the French Quarter. She followed him across it and past the casino, thankful that he hadn’t gone inside where it would be far harder to tail him. He entered a small restaurant and she groaned. Will the jerk simply walk around doing nothing all day? She didn’t dare get close enough for him to see her again, so she sat on the sidewalk and tried to look tired and inconspicuous.

  He was back ten minutes later, eating something out of a tin foil wrap. Two more people were with him and from behind, they looked similar—dark skin, dark hair, and thinner, shorter braids. They walked like friends who tried to be tough with a rolling stride that suggested hidden weapons under their long sports jerseys. The man she’d pursued was imposing without the posturing. Something about him conveyed the certainty that he wasn’t someone who would react well to being followed.

  Pedestrians thinned out as they continued. She began to despair that she would have to give up the chase when they stopped at a large building and knocked on the door. It opened almost instantly, and after a short conversational delay, they entered. She waited in case someone inside was watching for a tail, then walked slowly toward it. A mural on the front proclaimed that it was The Shark Nightclub. The only other notable feature on its facade was the bright red door that had swallowed the men.

  She sauntered into the narrow alley that bordered the club and the building beside it. The passage was barely wide enough to accommodate two people walking together and was devoid of anything interesting. This wall of the club was equally featureless except for a side door, also bright red but without a handle. She peered around the back and discovered another entrance and a fenced-in area containing dumpsters. Her phone buzzed as she was about to climb the fence and try to reach the roof.

  Cali yanked it out of her back pocket to find a message from Zeb telling her to get to the bar early because some important magical person was coming in with a group of other important magical people. She shrugged the backpack higher on her shoulders and walked into the alley. Fortunately, she knew the basement of the tavern well and it was a simple matter to open a portal between that and her current location. A silver line sparkled in a circle as she drew it in the air with her index finger, then filled from the outside with a wavering image of the other location. She stepped through and collapsed the rift behind her.

  Tanyith watched from the roof of a nearby building as the redhead made her magical exit. It had been a surprise to see her following one of the members of the Atlantean gang, and he was reasonably sure they hadn’t noticed her. Interesting. I wonder what she’s up to? No matter. As long as she stays out of my way.

  Chapter Five

  Tanyith’s return to New Orleans had been shocking on several levels. First, the transition from prison into society was jarring. Loud noises made him flinch, and there were far too many of them, from friendly greetings to threatening bellows, the cheerful chime of the trolley bell, or the angry honks of frustrated drivers.

  Second, many of the foundational truths of his previous life no longer existed. He’d had friends but could find none of them. The house he had lived in with several other like-minded individuals had burned down, to judge from the stray scorched lumber chips that still lay in the empty lot. Worst of all, his mentor and best friend Karam had vanished, his home sold to a human family. The neighborhood had felt wrong from his first step into it. The lack of Atlantean gang tags or street sentinels was an instant clue that something important had occurred. Territory changed hands while I was away, which makes most of my hard-earned street knowledge nothing more than an old man’s ramblings of the past.

  At twenty-seven, Tanyith was hardly old, but his time in Trevilsom had aged him in body and mind. As far as he knew, there was no one to ask about how long it would take to recover or if it was even possible to repair the damage. Despite that, his gratitude for being away from that horrible place could still stop him in his tracks for fear it was an illusion or that he was dreaming if he focused on it too hard.

  After the strange would-be-spy woman had left, he had remained on the roof across from the nightclub for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. He used small, subtle magics that were unlikely to be detected to convince the breeze to keep him cool and to veil himself from sight with the help of the wavering heat rising from the black surface beneath his boots. The dirty blue jeans and too-tight t-shirt stolen from a second-hand store were dark enough to not stand out in the shadow of the chimney at his back.

  The club was a quandary. Fourteen months before, it had been one of the most popular nightspots for Atlanteans in the Crescent City. He’d been inside any number of times, permitted in the front section where the dancing, drinking, and live music happened and denied entry through the other doorways he saw people of influence pass through. Karam had joined him only once, pointing out those in the crowd who hid their magical strength and teaching him how to do the same as they listened to a jazz trio led by a sultry-voiced woman who resembled a young Ella Fitzgerald.

  Now, though, those entering the scarlet door were hard-looking men and younger folks trying to look tough. It seemed to have become more a clubhouse and less an entertainment venue, at least during the daylight hours. A gathering place for people committed to causing trouble, if he retained any ability to understand the streets. Who knows, maybe it was always like that and I simply didn’t see it. In any case, there’s a solid chance I’ll have to get in there, eventually. But it’s a lousy first option.

  Tanyith leapt from the roof and used a gust of air summoned by his magic to carry him gently to the street. He ran his fingers through his shaggy beard and tugged at it as he concentrated. There were only a few people he could still trust and no guarantee that they were around or even willing. He laughed inside. When your best option is an ex-girlfriend who dumped you, pickings are definitely slim. With a shake of his head, he began the trek toward where she’d lived before his abduction and imprisonment.

  His knowledge of the city was out of date, which denied him easy portal opportunities until he’d found locations that were secretive enough to use. His treasures were at least temporarily out of reach, and the money Nylotte had given him was dwindling quickly. The only option was a long walk. It took an hour and a half to arrive at the gorgeous neighborhood, full of grand old houses protected by high hedges. The avenue itself was idyllic with narrow cobblestone lanes separated by a wide central island of towering oak trees and pockets of bright flowers. It brought back memories, more good than bad.

  He strolled slowly past the house she had lived in on the opposite side of the street and searched for clues of her presence. The red flag with the white peace symbol on it was still suspended over the porch and blocked a part of it from view. They had spent many hours in its shade, laughing, talking, and, near the end, arguing.

  She hadn’t shared his concerns about his people and advocated for a life where problems were set free to be carried off by the breeze. He’d called her naïve and she’d called him territorial and power-hungry. Tanyith wasn’t certain if he was totally right or if she was totally wrong. But the one thing he did know was that of all his friends, she was the only one he could be one hundred percent sure wouldn’t have played a role in his abduction. So, she’s the only one I can really trust.

  The impulse almost involuntary, he picked a flower from the oasis in the center of the stone paths as he crossed them. His stomach flip-flopped as he walked up the familiar sidewalk and the sense that he’d been transported in
time fourteen months back was almost overwhelming. He peered nervously left toward the shaded area, almost certain he’d see himself there, his tanned limbs wound around hers.

  It was empty, but his relief was quickly shattered when the door opened. He turned his head slowly and drank in the sight of his former love where she stood in the doorway—blonde hair, tall and thin, her California childhood displayed in her sun-kissed skin, crop top, jean shorts, and bare feet. Uncertainty swept across her face followed by dawning recognition, and then she was in his arms and her tears dripped onto his shirt. “Tay, I thought you were dead. They told me you were gone.”

  He lowered his head to kiss the top of hers. “I was gone and I was very nearly dead. It didn’t stick, though. I’m too stubborn, I guess.”

  She gave a choked laugh and pulled him through the door.

  Chicory coffee with a dash of bourbon in it steamed before him. The kitchen hadn’t changed and still gleamed with bright yellow walls and white counters. The chair he sat in was yellow vinyl with gold accents and a metal frame and matched the beaten linoleum of the wobbly table. Sienna sat across from him, cross-legged on her own seat, and sipped slowly from her own mug. He waited patiently, not wanting to break the spell or the memories of so many other moments like this one that they’d shared. Well, not exactly like this one.