Magic Lantern. Alex Archer

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      3

      “Something’s wrong.” Annja started to get up. She was already reaching for her sword, thinking that she could break the glass walls and release the water.

       Calmly, Gaetano put a hand on her forearm to restrain her. “Relax. This is part of the show.” But he didn’t take his eyes from the stage.

       Annja forced herself to sit, but she noticed that several of the other dinner guests were ill at ease, as well. She didn’t know how much time had passed, but she thought at least two minutes had gone by. Perhaps as many as three.

       Abruptly, the assistant hurried forward and draped a bloodred curtain over the water tank. Maybe it was supposed to protect the audience from the horrid sight unfolding before them. Then the woman lifted an ax and prepared to strike.

       The audience held its collective breath.

       The only thing holding Annja in her seat was Gaetano’s firm, unshaking hand on her arm. And that wasn’t going to hold her back for much longer.

       The assistant started her swing with the ax just as the curtain rose above the water tank. She dropped the ax and yanked the thick material away to reveal Edmund standing triumphantly on top of the locked water tank.

       Annja released a tense breath as enthusiastic applause filled the dining room.

       Dripping wet and looking magnificent, Edmund bowed theatrically. Then the stage curtains closed.

       Gaetano smiled at Annja. “Now are you glad that I asked you to wait?”

       “Yes, but that was nerve-racking.”

       “It was meant to be. Magic is meant to confound or astonish. But really good magic, the kind like Houdini practiced, was more in line with a circus performance.”

       “How?”

       “An aerialist working without a net. A lion tamer sticking his head into a lion’s mouth. A motorcycle daredevil whirling madly inside one of those steel balls. And even someone who allows himself to be shot from a cannon. They all flirt with death. At least, they do to an untrained eye. But the reality is that even the best performers sometimes catch an unlucky break. The audience never truly wishes to see something like that, but the expectation is there that it could happen.”

       “I suppose that doesn’t speak highly of us, does it?”

       “We’re all human. What is life without spectacle? And risk?”

      * * *

      “I LOVE DOING MAGIC.” Edmund, dressed again in his tux, sat at the table and walked a euro across his knuckles. The coin flashed in the light. “Ever since I was a boy, I wanted to know how magicians did the things they did. So I worked at it.” He shrugged and smiled sadly. “Unfortunately, magic doesn’t pay much unless you get very good and very lucky.”

       “Being good doesn’t always help.” Gaetano poured more wine all around. “Edmund, you are good. What you need is a dedication to your craft and luck.”

       “So why didn’t you become a magician? The money?” Annja basked in the glow of the dinner, wine and company.

       “I thought I needed a legitimate job. Something to fall back on. In addition to magic, I also loved stories. So I became a professor of literature.”

       Gaetano threw his arm around the younger man. “Edmund is being modest, which is no way for any self-respecting magician to be. He attracted the attention of Oxford University and is now one of their shining lights.”

       Annja grinned. “So I’ve been told.”

       Gaetano shook his head. “Modesty ill becomes a magician. A performer of magic must be unique and daunting and commanding, while being extremely skilled at his craft. Edmund lacks the callous disregard for others that a magician must develop.”

       “Appearing on Chasing History’s Monsters should help correct that.”

       Gaetano licked his finger and mopped up graham cracker crumbs from the small dessert plate that had once contained an excellent blackberry cheesecake. “And that is precisely why I pressed him to agree to see you. Of course, that might not have happened, anyway, except for that little predilection of his.”

       Annja was intrigued. “What predilection?”

       “Oh? Usually he’s very prompt about mentioning it and the curse.”

       Annja studied Edmund, who looked even more pained. “Now I’m curious.”

       “Annja, you must be tired.”

       She shook her head. “Not too tired to hear about cursed predilections. And I hate mysteries. If you don’t tell me, I’m going to be wondering all night.”

       Edmund grinned. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

      * * *

      “WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF phantasmagoria?”

       Annja walked beside Edmund as they strolled from Carlini’s Magic Bullet СКАЧАТЬ