A Magician Never Reveals

Page 02

There's a certain memory of my dad that I've held on to, even after he disappeared.

I was about three then, and I was crying over the death of Matilda, our family dog. She had been in our family for years, ever since my mom and dad got married.

My dad had watched me cry and compared me to a leaky faucet, asking if I needed fixing.

He was smiling, still joking.

I think I remember screaming and punching my dad, asking him why he could still joke when Matilda was dead and Mom was crying too. I asked him if he could read situations, or feel grief. I asked if he had a heart.

After I said that, he grabbed me by the shoulders, looked me in the eyes, and said, "Em, dads aren't supposed to cry in front of their princesses. We've gotta take one for the team; it's the duty of a man. But here, I'll tell you a little secret." He lowered his voice and looked around. "Sometimes it helps to use a smudge of humor to wipe away sadness."

That fixed the leaky faucet that was me.

I hadn't quite understood him then, but I did now. It helped to smudge the grief a little if you countered it with sarcasm and wit.

And although it didn't wipe it away completely, it was now only a dull pulsing in my heart. I'd think about it later, when I was ready.

Right now I needed to focus on the whole magicians thing.

Apparently, magicians weren't simply people wearing tailcoats and sporting top hats with the guarantee of unlimited rabbits.

No, instead, they just had to be this secret organization with a civil war raging on.

Of course. I should've guessed.

Crouching down to catch my breath, I reviewed the contents of the letter. Breathe in, breathe out.

If I turned left at the next intersection, apparently I'd find a stuffed bunny rabbit placed strategically on the ground to mark the entrance of this... whatchamacallit. Wait, secret society. That's the term.

I sighed and got up, my breathing still a little ragged. The Maryland weather was most definitely not in my favor. It was, like, 40 degrees at this hour. That alone was killing me. And then there were the wind chills. I was practically dead-not literally, unlike my mom.

I winced. Okay, brain, just because I'm suppressing my grief does not mean that you can deal such a low blow. Moving on.

What I didn't understand was why it was a stuffed bunny rabbit. Why not a stick or something? Don't children these days go by a self-ensured law of, "Finders keepers, losers weepers"?

The stuffed rabbit didn't stand a chance.

As I ran, I allowed myself to think about what my life would be like from now on.

Would I always be on the run? Would I be able to make enough money to order pizza on a weekly basis again?

My breath hitched as I allowed myself to process a very grave thought. There was a chance that I wouldn't get a sufficient supply of Wi-Fi anymore.

I stopped running. No Wi-Fi was a very serious issue that needed to be contemplated.

Maybe I'd just steal other people's Wi-Fi and stand outside their homes every now and then. Oh, but I don't even have any electronics for Wi-Fi. That sucks.

I sighed and began running again, only to freeze when the leaves in a bush behind me rustled.

There hadn't been any wind.

Oh, dear gosh. I felt like I was in some horror movie.

"Um, hello?" I turned around to ask, as if whoever was there would answer-because of course they would.

Not.

The air was silent, and the bush stop rustling.

I turned back around. It must've been my imagination.

"You're open." A voice-a male's-said, his breath tickling my neck.

Oh, ew. His breath smelled like the trash in school.

I quickly kicked behind me, only to be met with air.

Dang it. I knew Assassin's Creed wouldn't help my fighting skills in real life.

The guy grabbed my arm, pinning it to my back.

"Ow..." I muttered. If only I had increased my arm and shoulder flexibility.

"Hurts, doesn't it? Don't worry; this isn't the worst of it."

Don't worry? Don't worry? How the hell was I supposed to do that?

Oops. Profanity. Bad brain; I thought I trained you better.

Wait, I should be attacking. Man, I'm slow.

I clenched my free hand into a fist and punched wildly. He caught my fist.

"Oh no, that's not going to work." I could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

I heard him take out a piece of cloth and a bottle with some kind of liquid in it.

Crap, I think I've heard of that before. What was it called, chlorine? Chlorifoam? Wait, chloroform. That's what it is. Hold on, chloroform? Oh, sh-no cussing, brain. You've been very bad today.

Before I could move, the guy pushed me to the ground and put the cloth on my face, careful to cover my nose and mouth.

I was suffocating, and the more I struggled, the harder it was to breathe.

"Sweetie, this'll only hurt a bit."

Was he a thug? He was a thug, wasn't he?

Shit, shit, shit. My brain was muddling and could no longer be filtered.

My body stopped listening to me, and I felt it go limp.

Not long after, the world around me dimmed into something less than rainbows and unicorns.

A lot less.

* * *

NOT EDITED YET. PLEASE WAIT UNTIL I GET HERE.