The Magic Trick: The Card Game, Book 2 (Preview)

by Levi Stack

15 Years Later … 1840

  “Wake up! If we leave soon we can get there by sundown.”

  Viktor’s reoccurring dream of the hanged man and the Brassard alleyway melted away under the late-morning sun. Now he squinted and saw Romulus, who was already packing up their camp. The boy of the forest was taller, stronger, and tanner than he had been before. His tangled blonde hair hung a little longer and his face was a little harder. All of these changes combined to make him look a great deal older, as did the great bearskin that he had fashioned into a coat. As ever, his father’s St. Benedict medallion hung around his neck, glinting in the sun.

  Viktor, also fifteen, rose up and stretched his solid frame, standing but an inch in his blood brother’s shadow. He had a bleaker look about him, with short dark hair and a face sharp from years of measly portions. As of late though, that was changing. Having a friend like Romulus offered many opportunities, like hunting in the forest, passing time in secret hideaways, and—like they were doing today—going on far-off journeys.

  “Grab some food, and then let’s go,” Romulus grunted, throwing their traveling bags atop two black horses, courtesy of their Gypsy friends.

  Nodding, Viktor went over to the smoldering fire and scarfed down a steak beside Romulus’ gray-white wolf, who was gnawing on leftover bones. Blizzard had saved both of their lives many times over, yet as strange as their bond was, even stranger was Blizzard’s bond with the Gypsy steeds. Viktor would never become accustomed to seeing a wolf trot alongside horses, and the sight startled him again today when he and Romulus saddled up and headed west toward civilization.

  Great Perm was their destination, but the metalworking city interested the blood brothers for only one reason: It was home to Saint Demetrius, a school for privileged students. Most importantly, it was the school that the Leopard—or rather, Nocktayl—had attended as a boy.

  Summer was nearly over, but Viktor was still in disbelief at how the school year had ended. On the night that he had broken into Staryi Castle with Romulus, Evenova, and Charlotta, everything had changed. Beyond the experiment rooms full of plants and animals and stones, they had learned the horrible truth about Aryk’s ruler. The Leopard and Master Molotov were the same man, the wicked creation of Nocktayl, a boy who had sunk too far into darkness. On the surface it seemed Nocktayl’s multiple identities were tools used to gain power, but Viktor had begun to ponder over the deeper implications of his enemy’s fractioned psyche.

  The Leopard’s secret seemed obvious after rereading Maksim’s Memoirs. The journal that Romulus’ father had penned as a boy detailed his upbringing as a castle servant, and it also shed a great deal of light on the boyhood version of Nocktayl, who back then was simply the nephew of Aryk’s landlord. Still, large segments of Nocktayl’s childhood were shrouded in mystery, which was why Viktor had agreed to make the trip to Saint Demetrius with Romulus.

  Relax. It’s just a school, Viktor reassured himself as he rode, even though he knew it was not so. Saint Demetrius was more than an academy. It was the place where Nocktayl had begun his transformation into the Leopard, where he carried out his first three murders. According to Maksim’s Memoirs, Timofey, Ambrosii, and Daniil were the first of Nocktayl’s peers that he had made disappear, or as Nocktayl himself once said, “had turned into ghosts.” What Nocktayl had really done to those classmates Viktor could only imagine, but with any luck the Saint Demetrius teachers might have valuable information. Perhaps they knew the secret goal of the Leopard’s experiments. Better yet, maybe they had evidence linking the Leopard to his childhood crimes.

  Often Viktor wished he could go to the Empire for assistance. He wished he could tell them about everything—the Leopard’s escape from prison, his dark plans, his slaughter of an entire generation. Yet there lay the genius behind the Silent Deal. What authority figure would ever believe that half of the Decembrist Revolt had been swept under the rug? Even if witnesses had the courage to speak out against the Leopard, what judge would take seriously crimes that hadn’t been reported for a decade and a half? If anything, the serfs would be punished for hiding their own rebellion.

  If we just had the Silent Deal, Viktor thought for the thousandth time that summer. Alas, the parchment had fallen with Romulus off the castle roof and into the river. The current had swept it away, just as it had swept away so many souls on the night of the Card rebellion. Romulus would have been among them had the woman in the water not intervened.

  Viktor’s gaze bored ahead into his blood brother’s back, that painful twinge of doubt flaring up in his mind. He had neither forgotten nor accepted Romulus’ story about his mother, Adelaida, rescuing him. Romulus claimed that she had appeared to him in the form of a Rusalka, a Russian water spirit, just before he blacked out. He claimed that she had transported him to the forest and that he had awoken in a panic. The mere thought made Viktor scoff.

  “Hey, there it is.” Romulus looked back and pointed from atop his horse at the distant waterway. “The Kama River!”

  Viktor raised his eyebrows. Never had he seen a body of water so great, or a city so great for that matter. Teetering steeples and slanted roofs rose toward the sky. Streets were dotted with countless homes and manors. Smithies and woodworkers had their chimneys pluming with murky smoke.

  Bad memories washed over Viktor at the sight of the smoke. He couldn’t help but picture his own house bathed in smoke and flames. The late Captain Ulfrik had destroyed the only home he had in this world, and though his family was safe and anonymous, town officials had reassigned them to a far worse district. The southern slums were not suitable for the lowliest rodents, though they flocked there anyway. Now Viktor’s family was with the rats, and it was entirely his fault.

  Viktor wiped his watery eyes as he was forced to remember his current situation. There was a reason he was free to visit Great Perm and ride Gypsy horses and pass time with Romulus until the new school year stared. It was because he was on his own. He had been estranged from his family ever since they had learned of his role in the castle invasion, and to their horror, the posters that had been pinned around Aryk. After all, those posters had done more than reveal the Leopard’s identity and the truth of the Card rebellion. With those posters, Viktor had broken the Silent Deal.

  The argument from the beginning of summer was still raw in Viktor’s mind. He remembered Grandpap begging him to repent, his mother shaking with sobs, his father forcing him out of the house. But he had refused to apologize for what he had done. He had decided long ago that truth was too powerful to be kept hidden. And since neither he nor his family would bend, they broke.

  Romulus pulled his horse back. “Everything alright? You don’t look so good.”

  “Fine,” Viktor said, blinked hard a few times. “Let’s just find this school.”

  After asking around, they found Saint Demetrius located on the southern riverbank of the Kama River. In a square dedicated to public buildings, the academy was one of the only structures hidden behind tall brick walls. Yet there were hitching posts nearby, so the blood brothers dismounted.

  Romulus flicked his hand at Blizzard. “Watch the horses.”

  Viktor smiled inwardly as the wolf growled and sunk down on his belly. The next moment he and Romulus were marching up a sloped dirt path toward the walls of the school. Around a corner, a great wrought iron gate appeared.

  “What happened here?” Romulus muttered, gazing through the bars.

  Viktor eyed Saint Demetrius with alarm. The building was as big as a manor but utterly decayed. Walls were cracked, and glass windows were broken. In the courtyard, hedges stood like skeletons, stripped of leaf and life. Old trees lay dead, their broken limbs rotting into the earth and giving off the feel of a half-buried graveyard. Even the sun had turned away from the place, and now it sunk into the background, casting long shadows over the grounds.

  Viktor hooked his hands around the gate’s bars and gave them a shake. “Locked. Must be abandoned.”

  “Maybe it is,�
�� Romulus agreed.

  “Maybe it was a bad idea—”

  Whack!

  A hunchbacked man leapt out from behind one of the gates’ pillars, shocking Viktor and smashing his hand with a baton. “Maybe you should take your thieving paws off my property!”

  Bent over, Viktor clenched his good hand around the throbbing one. Memories of Miss Dimovna smashing his fingers with her meter stick swam into his mind—as did the image of her lying dead on the frozen river with Captain Ulfrik. He felt sick again.

  The hunchback in faded black robes leaned closer with his unkept hair, beady eyes, and decaying smile. “What did you think, boy?” he sneered. “That you were going to slip into these grounds? That you and your friend could loot on my watch?”

  Romulus shot his hands through the bars and yanked the man inward so hard that his face slammed against the iron. “Do you treat all your students so kindly? It’s no wonder they’ve left!”

  “Students?” the cripple repeated, his eyes suddenly bulging with excitement. But then he glanced at Viktor’s ragged wardrobe and frowned. “You’re students?”

  “Prospective students,” corrected Romulus, releasing the man and adjusting his bearskin coat with importance. “Though not anymore, now that you’ve assaulted my servant.”

  Servant? Viktor cast Romulus a wry look. The entire point of the Decembrist Rebellion was to rid Russia of serfdom, not embrace it. But perhaps he shouldn’t complain about Romulus’ quick tongue or the difference in their appearances, especially since the gate was being unlocked.

  “Forgive me, forgive me, sir,” the hunchback sputtered as he fumbled with his keys. “Please, don’t be offended. It has been so long since we’ve had visitors. Ever since…”

  “Since what?” Romulus asked.

  The hunchback shook his lopsided haircut and pulled the gate open. “No, nothing. Ignore my sputtering. I am but Sir Oleg, the greenskeeper here. But step inside, yes, don’t be shy. Behold, Saint Demetrius Academy!”

  Viktor regretted the decision to step forward the moment the gate closed behind him. “Sir Oleg?”

  “Yes?”

  “If you are the greenskeeper here,” Viktor said, “then why is nothing green?”

  Sir Oleg frowned at the dead courtyard. “Oh, I try, but nothing grows here anymore. Not after…”

  “Not after what?” Viktor said.

  “And who are they?” said Romulus, sweeping his hand out at half a dozen men jogging toward their position.

  “Not to be alarmed!” Sir Oleg exclaimed, clapping his hands. “Just old soldiers. Yes, just security. The headmaster hired them to help keep out local riff raff. So many trespassers after…”

  “After what?” Viktor exclaimed.

  “Oleg, you found more troublemakers,” said the first guard to reach them. He was a graying, crusty veteran, and he held a baton that he seemed desperate to use. “Shall we haul the vandals to the courthouse, eh? Or the jail?”

  “Absolutely not!” squeaked Sir Oleg, craning his head upward. “Ipati, these boys are our guests. They are students.”

  “Prospective,” Romulus interjected.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Sir Oleg said gleefully. His hands shook so he clapped them again. “Quickly, Ipati, go before me—inform the headmaster. Real students!”

  As Ipati jogged off, Sir Oleg gestured for the boys to follow, hobbling across the grounds as quickly as his curved spine would allow.

  Viktor tilted his head, not really believing this place could exist. It was as if he had entered one of the dark fairytales he had heard as a child. Romulus nodded to Viktor as if he could read his thoughts, but he stepped forward nonetheless.

  If Viktor had been uncomfortable walking through the forsaken courtyard, entering the building had him downright terrified. The gargoyles that flanked the main door did nothing to ease his mind, nor did the slow creak of rusty hinges.

  Sir Oleg moved forward a bit in the entryway, and then he pointed at the main stairway, which was cloaked in darkness. “You would save a weak soul a walk, yes? The Headmaster is just inside, first door on the right.”

  “Delightful,” Romulus said, keeping a wide girth as he sidestepped the man.

  “This makes the Leopard’s new school look like a nursery,” Viktor whispered when they were out of earshot. “After this, I might be glad to go back.”

  Romulus grunted. “Don’t be so sure. This is where it started. Remember it’s all connected.”

  “I’m more concerned with what’s connected to this smell,” Viktor said, tasting chemicals and rotting mysteries. Rats with missing patches of fur scampered up and down the staircase, bolder than any he had ever seen.

  The stairs emptied them into a long hallway. Only the first door had light shining behind it, and Romulus approached it slowly. He was about to knock when the door swung open, revealing a figure so startling that Viktor audibly gasped.

  “Hello, I’m Miss Madulina, head secretary,” whispered an old woman. She stood in a paper-strewn office that looked as if it had been struck by a tornado. Her gray, frizzy hair spilled out of a bun that resembled a bird’s nest, and her sharp face jabbed at them like a bird’s beak. “We have had so many appointments this afternoon—we’re so busy. Headmaster Antipov really doesn’t have the time, but he’ll see you now.”

  Before Viktor could spout an excuse, he felt himself being pushed into an adjoining office, the door slamming shut behind them.

  Romulus waited for a moment and then cleared his throat. “Headmaster Antipov?”

  Before them was an ancient, droopy-eyed man who appeared to have sat at his post so long he had become a part of his desk. Perhaps it was his slow gestures or his dust-grey features, but it seemed to Viktor that the man had sunk so deep into his leather chair that he would never get up.

  “Ah, that is me,” said the headmaster, slowly coming to life. “And you must be our new student—your servant too.”

  Viktor fumed.

  “Prospective,” Romulus growled. “Of course, I expected to find your school a bit more … intact.”

  The old headmaster blinked in annoyance. “Yes, I agree there is some upkeep to be address, but term hasn’t started yet. Need tuitions and whatnot.”

  Is this a joke? Viktor wondered. Or are these people actually mad?

  Romulus shrugged. “You seem to have money to pay guards.”

  “My life savings is invested in this school!” the headmaster snapped suddenly. “My staff lives here, and I will not see our home be plundered for its great wealth! Nasty, filthy neighborhood boys, men trying to demolish my hearth—nonsense!” Headmaster Antipov chewed his yellowed fingernails, mumbling. “Nasty, filthy rumors’ fault. Besmirching our reputation—”

  “Rumors?” Viktor cut in.

  “Oh, decade old rumors, spreading like a sickness, drops in attendance every year, the filthy liars. They’re ruining me and my school—”

  “Yes, I had heard something about that in town,” said Romulus. “Something about murders here.”

  Spider webs seemed to snap off of the Headmaster as he rocketed up in his chair. “See here! No murder happened at my school!”

  Romulus sniffed. “What were those boys’ names? Timofey, Ambrosii, and Daniil, I believe—”

  “The townspeople know nothing!”

  “And is it true that no murderer was ever found?” Romulus asked.

  “Guess what else was never found—the bodies!” the headmaster shouted.

  Viktor glanced back and forth. “Is that true?”

  “Of course it is! Authorities searched all of Great Perm—swept half the Kama River—biggest manhunt this region has ever seen.” The headmaster clenched his chest, breathing to calm himself. “Now excuse me, pardon me. Let’s get back on course. How about we go over some files, hmm? Schedules for spring?”

  “What about the investigation file? Is that here also?” said Romulus.

  A wrinkled hand batted the question away. “No, no, long gone.�
�

  “Do you know where we could find it?” Viktor added hopefully.

  The headmaster quit shifting papers on his desk and looked up slowly, angrily. “You boys aren’t here for classes, are you?”

  Viktor flushed, looking to Romulus for aid.

  “You’re just like rest of those nosy little liars,” the headmaster whispered. Romulus raised a finger but the old man exploded with a century’s store of built up wrath. “OUT! GET OUT! MISCREATS! VANDALS! GUARDS! IPATY!”

  The blood brothers bolted from the room. Romulus was through Miss Madulina’s office and halfway down the hall before Viktor caught his arm.

  “Wait, what are you doing?” Viktor hissed. “Are we leaving—just like that?”

  Romulus grinned. “Don’t you know me yet? Come on, let’s get a look at the lower classrooms. I want to…”

  Romulus’ voice fell as Viktor elbowed him and gestured down the dark hall at the strangest sight he had seen yet. Miss Madulina had exited the offices and was crouching deep in the shadows. She raised a finger to her lips and then curled it inward several times.

  “Um … I think she wants us to follow her,” said Romulus.

  “How reassuring,” Viktor hissed with false happiness. “First the hunchback and now the lunatic secretary. Wait, where’d she go?”

  Romulus smacked Viktor’s chest and started forward.