Magic Lantern. Alex Archer

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СКАЧАТЬ “So it’s mysterious, too.” His dark brown eyes twinkled. “Carlini’s is a very special place. No one gets in here who isn’t invited.” He waved a hand and suddenly there was a single red rose in it. He offered it to Annja.

       Smiling, she took the rose in her free hand and smelled it. The fragrance was subtle and sweet. “You’re a magician?”

       “Alas, you thought I was merely a literature professor?” Edmund feigned a look of pain.

       “From what I’ve heard, you’re an authority on English literature. I saw you in an interview on the History Channel and was impressed. When I got this assignment, I knew I wanted you as a guest speaker.”

       “I’d wondered about that. Your program doesn’t draw immediate confidence from a cursory look.”

       “No.” Annja knew that was true, and it was one of the things she had to accept about the opportunities Chasing History’s Monsters afforded her. “I like to go below the surface of a story.”

       “That was true of most of your segments that I saw.”

       “Sometimes a good deal of what I’ve prepared ends up on the cutting-room floor. So I have to warn you that some of what I’m doing could end up in the same place.”

       “Well, we’ll just have to roll the dice, won’t we?”

       “I do put interviews on the television website.” That was a deal Annja had recently negotiated. “Added-value pieces I believe are interesting.”

       “Then I shall endeavor to be interesting. I consider it a challenge.”

       “That’s hardly fair for you.”

       “Trust me when I say that I am a fierce competitor.”

       “All right.” Annja grinned in self-satisfaction. She’d known Edmund was going to be intriguing. She was happy to be proven right.

       “So how goes your hunt for our new Mr. Hyde?” Edmund looked troubled.

       “We’re still looking.”

       “Please don’t hold it against me for hoping you’re not the one who finds that man.” Edmund shook his head. “I saw some of the pictures and videos they released of those poor women. I would hate to think of you facing such a brute.”

       “I don’t think that’s going to happen. Not with Metro increasing surveillance on the streets.” Annja looked at the pub. “Tell me about this place.”

       “Carlini’s has been a home to magic for over a hundred years. All the great masters have come here. Magicians. Escape artists. Illusionists. Mentalists. And prestidigitators of every stripe—fair and foul. They’ve had just as many villains as they’ve had heroes.” Edmund smiled fondly at the pub. “Houdini was here. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, though he came looking for real magic and a way to contact the spirit world. Walter B. Gibson. Robert Harbin. Chung Ling Soo. David Nixon. David Copperfield. Penn and Teller. You’ve heard of the Magic Circle?”

       “The organization committed to sponsoring and reimagining magic. Of course.”

       “They formed here in London in 1905. Carlini’s predated them. The Great Carlini preferred to keep a lower profile and only invited in the very best in the field. They gave private shows to the royals and other important people, perfected their craft and studied other masters. This was the place where they could be themselves and enjoy magic without the stress of an unfriendly or doubting audience. The people in this place appreciate the orchestration of a skilled magician.”

       “It sounds like the hardest audience in the world to play for.”

       Edmund grinned. “No. And do you know why?”

       Annja shook her head, enjoying his enthusiasm.

       “Because magicians want to believe in magic.” Edmund’s eyes sparkled. “Carlini’s guests are the best audience. They live to be astonished, amazed and entertained. Now, observe.” He gestured at the door.

       In response, the door quivered, rattled and slowly pulled inward with a theatrical creak that gave Annja goose bumps. She’d been in scary situations before, circumstances that would have gotten her killed if she hadn’t been quick enough or strong enough or lucky enough to get through. But there was something about the atmosphere of the pub, Edmund’s story and her own awakened childish fascination with magic that affected her.

       Edmund took her arm and guided her inside.

       After the outside door closed, a small yellow light flared to life overhead. The tiny bulb was barely enough to reveal the three wooden doors at the end of the hallway. One door lay dead ahead and the two others were on either side. The doors were unmarked.

       “Magic is all about choices.” Edmund waved toward the doors. “Tonight you have three.”

       “And if I choose wrong?”

       “We go hungry and I don’t get to show you my biggest surprise.” Edmund grinned. “But I have faith in you.” He gestured her forward. “Please have a look. This challenge has been designed for you.”

       Annja cocked an eyebrow at Edmund. “You realize we could go hungry.”

       “I’ve always found that risk increases appetite and appreciation for a meal.” Beswick looked at her. “I wouldn’t have figured you for someone unwilling to risk.”

       Amused, Annja advanced. As she did, a slot opened up in each door and a three-by-five notecard slid out to hang from each of them.

       “Kind of creepy.”

       Edmund just smiled and waited.

       Examining the cards, Annja discovered the one on the left door had a drawing of a chicken in charcoal-gray ink. The middle door had a drawing of an egg in brown ink. The third one she wasn’t quite sure of but it was black and the drawing was etched deep into the card. She pointed to it. “What’s this?”

       Edmund shook his head. “The best I could do at drawing a chicken nugget.”

       “A chicken nugget?”

       “Yes.”

       “So the obvious correlation would be that I’m supposed to pick the door that comes first?”

       “If that’s what you think.”

       Annja examined the cards again, more closely this time. She paid particular attention to the drawings, the ink and the shape of the lines. She even smelled them to confirm her conclusions. “If you listen to a biologist, the biologist would say that the egg comes first. But a theologian would insist that the chicken came first.”

       Edmund’s face remained unreadable.

       “However, a mystery lover could be tempted to pick the chicken nugget simply because it doesn’t fit, or because it’s not a natural thing, as the chicken and the egg are.” Annja smiled. “You went to a lot of trouble.”

       “Then you already know the СКАЧАТЬ