The Magic Shop

by Justin Swapp

“Thank you, sister,” the man said with a friendly nod, and he joined a line that was forming outside what looked like a small circus tent a few feet away.

  “Sister?” Marcus asked. “What was that all about? Well-mannered freak.”

  “Hush,” Ellie elbowed him in the side. “Look.” She pointed to the shop’s entrance.

  “I told you to watch the door,” a familiar shrill voice said, bringing horrible images to his mind; images of the last time he saw his grandfather. “I manage the checkout counter, and you check the guest list at the entrance. Is that so hard?”

  Elizabeth Straton entered, barking orders at the boy. He climbed down off a ladder, and turned to face Elizabeth. To Marcus’s surprise, it was Jason, the boy they stood in line with at the talent show.

  “Look, I was just trying to help,” Jason said. “Things got really busy at the counter, and you had—”

  “Well, I’m in charge, and I say you stay at the door.”

  “We need a place to hide,” Ellie whispered. “Elizabeth knows us, and if they have a guest list, I doubt our names are on it.”

  “Come on,” Marcus said, “over here.”

  Marcus yanked Ellie by the arm and pulled her in line behind the man that had just passed them.

  “This way our backs are to them for now and maybe we can hide in this tent,” Marcus said.

  Suddenly the tent flap opened up. “Wow,” a man said to himself as he emerged from the tent with a blank look on his face, “wow.”

  Ellie gave Marcus a puzzled look. The man in front of them rubbed his hands together and entered the tent eagerly, letting the flap door collapse behind him with a ruffle. Marcus looked up at the top of the tent and saw a sign that read: “The Magnificent Mirella.”

  “Is this a bearded lady or something?” Marcus asked, rubbing his face. “Maybe a hypnotist?”

  They waited in line a few more moments before the man finally exited the tent as well, looking bug-eyed.

  “Three months is all?” the man said to himself, swallowing hard and looking past the children with glossy eyes. “That’s very little time indeed.”

  Marcus and Ellie exchanged a confused glance, and then Marcus opened the tent flap.

  The inside was dark except for the ambient light of two candles on a small round table in the middle of the tent. Behind the table sat a beautiful woman, her long, curly brown hair partially covering her large hoop earrings. The moon-patterned bandanna she wore was red, like the tablecloth in front of her.

  She hovered over a partially draped object on the table in front of her. Whatever the woman possessed, the children couldn’t see, but it seemed to have her entranced.

  Minutes seemed to pass by as slowly as wax melts on a candle. After the silence became awkward, Ellie cleared her throat loudly.

  The woman’s gaze shot up over the children’s heads, as if they were each a foot or so taller, and then settled back down to where they stood.

  “Well,” the woman said in a friendly tone, “you’re the shortest of my guests today, if not the youngest.”

  “Hello there,” Ellie said. “How—”

  “Do you come seeking fame, or fortune?” the woman asked, sitting up straight in her chair and draping her side of the mysterious object on the table.

  “I think we’d settle for a little luck,” Marcus said, still hoping they could find some clues that might lead them to their grandpa.

  “Fortune,” Ellie said quickly when the woman gave the two of them an impatient look. She had only given them two options, after all.

  “Sit down, then,” the woman said. “My name is Mirella, and I… see things.”

  “Are you a fortune teller?” Marcus asked, trying to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

  “That would be the least of my abilities.”

  “So under that cloth there you aren’t hiding a crystal ball?”

  “Crystal balls don’t exist, young man. You should know that. Those are just an old wives’ tale.”

  “Now, young lady.” The Magnificent Mirella turned back to Ellie with a serious countenance, “are you sure you want your fortune told? Not everyone likes to hear the fortune I see.”

  Marcus wondered what kind of predictions this fortuneteller could make. Would Ellie write a book? Be the first female president? End up a millionaire? He tried to contain himself, and just when he thought he might laugh out loud, he heard something from outside the tent.

  “Kids?” a man’s voice said, “there are no kids here besides the apprentices, the ones working the front door and the register.”

  “She’s sure,” interjected Marcus, giving Ellie a nudge. “She wants her fortune told.” If they were going to avoid getting caught, they needed to stay in the tent as long as they could.

  “My fortunes aren’t made for mockery,” Mirella said, “and they come at a price.”

  “What kind of price?” Ellie’s voice sounded a little more timid than before.

  “Place your hand in here,” Mirella lifted the cloth slightly on the object in front of her. There was just enough of an opening for Ellie’s hand.

  “Are you willing to give me what’s in your hand?” Mirella asked.

  “You know very well that my hand is empty,” Ellie said. “If you wanted money, all you had to do was—”

  “But are you willing?”

  Ellie looked at Marcus, and then back at Mirella. She took a deep breath and reluctantly slipped her hand under the cloth.

  Ellie turned to Marcus and gave him a look as if to say that Mirella was loony, and then turned back and said, “Of course I am.”

  Suddenly Ellie’s hand tried to recoil, but couldn’t move. “Ow,” she said, unable to pry it free. “Something’s pricking me. Let go.”

  “What are you doing?” Marcus stepped toward Mirella.

  Calmly, Mirella lifted her free hand. “To tell a proper fortune requires a bit of your essence,” Mirella raised her side of the cloth and gazed at whatever was under it, “and, wait—”

  Marcus asked, “What?”

  With a final jerk, Ellie pulled her arm free and held her sore hand close to her chest, examining it.

  Without looking up, Mirella reached down at her feet, grabbed ahold of something, and tossed it at Ellie. “Here, and remember, don’t use it all in one place.”

  Ellie caught what looked like a red suede bag with leather drawstrings.

  “What’s that?” Marcus tried to intercept Mirella’s gift.

  Mirella’s gaze snapped up from her draped object to look at the Ellie. “You’re an orphan, yes?” Marcus’s hand hesitated.

  “Our parents died a long time ago, yes,” Ellie said.

  “Anyone could have guessed that,” Marcus said. “Besides, we have family now.”

  “Yes, you do,” Mirella shifted in her seat. Her eyebrows met in the middle, and she concentrated. She looked beneath the drape again, harder this time, at whatever lay under the cloth as she shifted it with her hands. “As a matter of fact, you’re looking for family now, aren’t you?”

  Ellie sat up, giving herself an angle to stuff the suede bag in her pants pocket. Marcus rested his hands on the back of her chair.

  “Go on,” Ellie sounded more interested than Marcus liked.

  “Soon there will be a reunion, and—”

  Marcus thought that this might be the clue they had been looking for. “We will find our grand—”

  “Soon you will be reunited again… with your parents,” Mirella paused a moment.

  Marcus shook Ellie’s chair and she let her head fall back. “This lady,” he said, bending down and whispering into her ear, “is a whack job, Ellie. There’s your proof. Now let’s get out of here.”

  “But our parents are dead,” Ellie said, ignoring Marcus. “So, you see, we’ve never met.” It was sad. He thought she sounded sincere, and disappointed.

  Mirella looked confused and hunched over to take another look under the cloth in front of her. She made a frantic movement with her
hand, like she was flipping something over. Whatever was under there made a thumping noise. “But you have. You have met them before—recently,” she said, as if someone was dictating to her, “only you were unaware.”

  “What?” Marcus and Ellie asked simultaneously.

  “Something is wrong here,” she said, puzzled. “I must be—this can’t be correct.”

  Mirella threw aside the cloth that covered the object in front of her and leaned in, squinting. Underneath the cloth had been a small crystal box, red strands of magic danced placidly in the container as if swimming in the air, but there was something more. Small red dots floated amongst the tendrils. Marcus saw Ellie glance at her finger, and realized what she must be thinking; the specks were her blood.

  Suddenly the magical wisps entered the red droplets and shook them to life. They exploded into a million tiny red beads and began to move, to evolve even, constantly mixing with the unorganized tendrils to evolve into various images and then devolving for a moment, only to evolve again. Marcus thought it looked like watching TV; the images were crisp and clear. Apparently Mirella was interpreting them.

  She turned the box over, and the wisps turned blue. She flipped it to another side, and they turned purple. Marcus thought it looked like something between a fish tank and a Rubik’s cube.

  “What is that?” Marcus asked.

  “Quiet.” Mirella gazed into the movement of the crystal box, and then whispered, “please. I must concentrate on The Magic Box.”

  “The Magic Box…?” whispered Marcus.

  “But we—” Ellie said.

  “Is your name,” Mirella lifted a finger toward Ellie. “Ellie?”

  “How did you know?”

  Mirella looked like she was having a hard time swallowing something. “And would your name be,” she paused a moment to blink several times, hard, “would your name be Marcus?”

  But she didn’t take my blood, Marcus thought. “Look, we need to go; things to do, you know?”

  “Please don’t leave.” She flipped the box over again, exposing the flap side of the box, which she lifted. “Put your hand in here, Marcus, so I can tell your fortune too. I just need to be sure of one last—”

  “No way,” Marcus lifted his sister by the shoulders and quickly directed her out of the tent.

  “They miss you,” were the last words they heard Mirella say before they entered the shop again.

  The Magic Box was alive with a new commotion. Adults were pushing and shoving their way to the front of the shop. Marcus had been worried that someone might spot them, but everyone’s full attention seemed to be on something else.

  “How’s your finger?” Marcus asked.

  “Fine, it was just a little pr—”

  Something bumped Ellie. “Excuse me,” a particularly tall man said, putting a small bottle of some sort into his jacket pocket as he made his way to the front of the shop, “I didn’t see you there.”

  “What’s going on?” Marcus asked.

  “I don’t know, but I think we should find out.” She grabbed her brother’s hand and pulled him toward the back of the shop. They stopped in front of the last aisle.

  “Here.” Ellie brushed her arm along the bottom shelf, clearing some Ouija boards and other products out of her way. She put her foot on the shelf and climbed.

  Marcus followed her lead and cleared a space off the shelf next to her. He climbed until he could see over the top of the adults that were gathering on the other end of the shop.

  “Please find your places, everyone,” Elizabeth Straton said. She stood on a small platform that someone had set up at the front of the shop, “The Great Faustino is a very busy man.”

  The crowd settled into place just as Faustino took the stage.

  “Welcome, one and all,” he rubbed his hands together. Behind him, two men lowered a large trunk onto the stage that could easily have been mistaken for a treasure chest. “We would like to welcome all of our distinguished guests from all parts of the world.”

  It wasn’t until he had heard this that Marcus could put his finger on something that had been nagging at him since they arrived. He looked around the room, and finally noticed that the adults looked very different. Their difference in dress was as distinct as their faces and their skin color. Some people wore lavish outfits with headdresses and bright colors. Others wore more conservative and traditional attire, like suits and overcoats. “Why would people come from all over the world to visit The Magic Box?” he whispered.

  But before she could offer a guess, Faustino spoke again, and he saw Ellie shudder.

  “Before we begin, I wanted to make sure that you all received your complimentary vial. This is our special gift to you today, and, as you know, this is very hard to come by.”

  Marcus thought a moment. Vial. What were they talking about? Something clawed at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t place it. Then it hit him.

  “What was in that bag that Mirella gave you?”

  “I don’t know.” Ellie reached into her pocket and pulled out the red suede bag. She opened it and took out a small crystal vial. It was bulb-shaped at the bottom, and corked at the top of a short neck. It appeared to contain some kind of blue liquid. Marcus thought it looked like a light bulb.

  “Now, if you are all ready, we will begin.” Faustino snapped his fingers once, and the men that had set down the chest behind him on the stage bent over and lifted the lid. Faustino bent over and extracted what looked like a very oddly shaped staff of some kind.

  “Honored guests, as you know, we do not save the best for last here at The Magic Box. In that vein, I give you our first item today – The Sekhem Scepter.”

  Coughs and whispers rushed across the patrons like a wave. Some men twiddled their mustaches, others rocked in place. Moments later, murmurs broke out.

  One dignified-looking man cleared his throat loudly. “Do you mean to tell us, or rather, do you really expect us to believe that this is the famed Sekhem Scepter from the early Egyptian dynasties?”

  Faustino glowered at the man as if he had just insulted some member of his family. “Precisely,” he said.

  “The same symbol used to convey the power of Osiris and Anubis?” continued the man.

  Faustino gritted his teeth. “It seems that this,” he stopped for a moment, seemingly looking for the proper word, “gentleman, this brother of ours, needs further proof of this relic’s authenticity. Very well. If you insist—brother.”

  Without further discussion, Faustino raised the Sekhem Scepter and pointed it, mumbling something in another language at the man in the crowd.

  A yellow glow gathered around the symbol on the head of the staff. The man’s eyes grew wider with each passing moment. Great yellow sparks jumped from the scepter and met the man in flame and smoke. He cried out briefly and collapsed to the floor with a loud thud, smoldering.

  Marcus’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t believe what he had just seen. He had just witnessed a human barbeque, live and in person. His stomach lurched. He turned to Ellie who had clapped a hand over her mouth, and looked sick herself.

  “Behold the power of the Sekhem Scepter!” Faustino held the scepter high. He snapped his fingers and the two men behind him collected the body and removed it from the multitude.

  The crowd stirred before it erupted. “I’ll give you one million!” one man said, stabbing his hand in the air.

  “It’s worth much more than that,” scoffed another person in the crowd. “I’ll give you two million!”

  This went on for a few more minutes, until finally the scepter was sold. “To the man with the bowler hat in the front for ten million!” Faustino said. One of Faustino’s men directed the winner to a back room, and the other carried the scepter.

  “What will the magic trunk hold next?” Faustino asked in what Marcus had recognized as his fine performance persona.

  “Is this some kind of auction?” Marcus asked. Ellie breathed through her fingers, her hand still over her mouth,
and nodded hesitantly, as if to say his guess was as good as hers.

  Momentarily, Faustino’s men returned and positioned themselves by the chest. “The next item is,” Faustino turned to look over his shoulder to see the next item the men would remove from the trunk. They slowly removed a large, bird-like skull.

  Marcus couldn’t take his eyes off the skull. He reached out to Ellie, patting around blindly, trying to get her attention. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “The next item…” Faustino paused to do a double-take then turned back to his men. “No, there has been a mistake. Take that away, right now!” Turning to address the crowd, he said, “We’re sorry for the confusion, but this item is not—”

  “No,” said one man in the crowd, shaking his head, “it can’t be. Is that—?”

  “Look,” said the tall man that Marcus recognized from earlier. He pointed at the skull. “It’s the skull of the mystical phoenix.”

  “Ten million!” one man yelled. He shook, almost uncontrollably.

  “Eleven million,” said another, waving his hand frantically and edging his way past the previous man.

  “It’s not for sale,” Faustino yelled. “Sir. This item is… priceless.”

  A short, portly man in the middle of the crowd didn’t seem to understand what all the fuss was about. “It’s just a bird’s skull,” he said. “What’s the big deal? Are you going to get excited if he pulls out the bird’s feather next?”

  A hush fell over the crowd. Apparently this man was the only one to hold this opinion, because, even before he finished his last sentence, the others took a step back and left him alone in the center of the group.

  The tall man stepped forward and explained. “Have your studies not taught you anything about the Phoenix, brother?” he asked. “Not only does the bird possess unexplained healing properties, but the skull of the Phoenix is rumored to contain eons of knowledge that can only be unlocked by the possessor alone.”

  “It’s a bird’s skull,” the portly man said. “Just a bird’s sk—”

  “Do you know how hard it is to collect a phoenix skull when the bird regularly burns to ash from head to foot?”

  “Enough,” Faustino said. “We’re done here. We will reschedule for such a time as we can organize our special inventory for a proper auction. In the meantime, enjoy the free gift you received today. Good day.”