True Magic

by Colin Sims

  “Anyway,” she said. “He owns a nightclub in Chinatown called Vio. It’s for Magic Community only, which means security is going to be tight. Our mission is to get inside, look like we belong, and then when … what was his German name again?”

  “Baron Von Traubel.”

  “Yeah. When Von Traubel makes an appearance, we take out his guards and snatch him up. A BPI convoy will be waiting for us.”

  I nodded, doing my best to appear serious and confident. Like a Navy SEAL. Ever notice the stance those guys always take when receiving a mission briefing? Feet shoulder-width apart, arms crossed with one hand on the chin, an intense scowl of concentration? Well, that’s what I was going for: Navy SEAL pose. I even gave a little frown, like I’d already been there and done that, and none of this was anything new.

  “Right,” I said. “Got it.”

  I noticed a slight simper from Cassie as she then proceeded to show me a layout of the nightclub, including interior photos and several escape routes in case things went pear-shaped. (She used the word “pear-shaped,” not me.)

  “Anyway, you don’t have to do much,” Cassie noted as we headed out to the balcony. She had just finished attaching several holding discs to mini-drones and was cradling them awkwardly before setting them on the pavement. I counted about a dozen of them. “Your main job is to stand there and look pretty.”

  “Pretty?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” she said. “I’ll explain in a second. Hold on.”

  She took a tablet from her backpack and tapped open the controls to the mini-drones.

  “I’m gonna drop the discs along the escape routes,” she explained as she drew her finger across the screen. “They’ll come in handy if there’s trouble.”

  All twelve drones zipped off like a swarm of bees before they vanished from sight. Cassie concentrated for a few minutes; tapping at the screen until eventually she looked up. “Done,” she said.

  “Do I get a gun?” I asked.

  She gave me a look that left little doubt as to her rejection of that idea. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get you something to wear.”

  The Presidential Suite had a wide array of men’s formal wear hanging within a walk-in closet the size of my apartment. There were suits, tuxes, ties, polished leather shoes … and all of it was in my size.

  “I called ahead,” Cassie noted. “Anyway, you’re my date tonight. My recommendation is the tuxedo. Your cover story is that you’re a spoiled rich kid and I pulled you out of some stuffy dinner party your parents were hosting.”

  “Okay,” I said, examining a diner jacket. “What’s my name?”

  “It’s François. Just go with exaggerations instead of lies. If you try to memorize a bunch of stuff, you’ll forget it. Trust me.”

  With that, she spun on her heels and left. She was clearly excited about the mission and it was actually a little infectious.

  A few minutes later, I was fastening the cuffs of my new tuxedo and thinking to myself: You know what, François? You really do look like James Bond. No bullshit.

  “Hey.” Cassie interrupted my reverie as she came back into the room and I caught a glimpse of her in the mirror.

  There’s this stereotype that women take a long time to get ready, yet Cassie was clearly the exception. She’d gotten ready in the space of a pop song. And what she was wearing … good God. It put the dress she wore to Spago to shame. That dress had been classy, yet this one was tailor-made to make your jaw hit the floor. For starters, there wasn’t very much of it. It was a glittery “Girl Going Clubbing” dress and it wasn’t making any apologies. There was something about the way it hugged her figure yet barely grazed her skin that made it hard not to stare. Now, some people might say that a dress like that leaves little to the imagination. I strongly disagree. A dress like that sends the imagination into hyperdrive.

  “How do I look?” she asked.

  I gulped. “Incredible,” I said breathlessly, but then caught myself. “I mean, okay. Or good. Or beautiful. Beautiful and okay. That’s what I meant say. Hey, what’s the capital of Mongolia?”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  I swallowed again and went back to straightening my bow tie. (Yes, I knew how to tie it.)

  “You look handsome,” she said after a pause, stepping closer.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Like James Bond.”

  I turned to her, surprised. “I thought you never saw any movies?”

  “I’ve seen posters,” she said defensively. “Anyway, the important question is: Can you dance?”

  I’d worried this would come up. I’d had a sick feeling in my stomach since the moment Cassie first mentioned we were going to a nightclub.

  “I actually don’t dance,” I said.

  “But you have to.”

  “Trust me, it’s a bad idea. I’ll blow your cover and we’ll be screwed.”

  Cassie rolled her eyes. “Don’t be stupid. Come on, I’ll teach you.” She then grabbed my hand and led me into the living room.

  “It’s really simple,” she said. “Dancing with a girl in a club is all about letting her do her thing. Know what I mean?”

  “No.”

  Cassie frowned a moment. “It’s like … caviar,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Yeah. When you eat caviar you put it on a cracker, right?”

  “I think it’s called a ‘blini,’” I said. “The little cracker.”

  “Yeah, well when a guy and a girl dance in a nightclub, he’s the cracker and she’s the caviar. You can’t have one without the other, but the caviar is definitely the special part. Your part is to let it do its thing.”

  “Cassie, seriously,” I said. “The last time I danced, I did the Macarena. You don’t want me to do this. I’ll just stand in the corner somewhere. I’m good at that.”

  Her face turned deadly serious. “That would be really dangerous,” she said. “Some other succubus, or possibly a vampire, would scoop you up.” She shook her head. “No, you have to dance. Honestly, François, your life depends on it.”

  I studied her a moment and saw that she wasn’t joking at all.

  Then I thought to myself: Fuck.

  • • •

  In all my twenty years, I’d never been to a proper nightclub before. There were a couple reasons for this: 1.) I wasn’t twenty-one. 2.) I wasn’t cool enough.

  Nightclubs were for other people—people who I imagined spent their days on yachts and their nights in places I didn’t get invited to. That being said, I’d seen plenty of swanky clubs in rap videos, so there was nothing too surprising. This particular club had a real VIP ambience to it, with blue floor lighting and white leather sofas along the walls. A giant dance floor dipped in the middle and was presided over by a raised dais—reminding me of a cathedral—where a DJ spun his tunes.

  Cassie led me to a reserved table and slid next to me. A waitress on roller-skates—?—emerged from the crowd and smiled. “Hey!” she shouted over the music. “What can I get you?”

  She had a distinctive “Harley Quinn” look to her, and I noticed absently that she didn’t look at me—only at Cassie.

  “I’ll take an Ambo for my little friend here,” Cassie said.

  Roller-Skates answered with a wicked grin. “Coming right up!”

  Once she skated away, I turned to Cassie. “My little friend here?” I said.

  She cringed slightly and leaned into my ear. “I’m in character, that’s all. Also, don’t get mad, but you’re not really my ‘date’ tonight. You’re more like my … prey. Sort of.”

  “Prey?”

  “Yeah. It’s easy. You’re a gullible human and I’m an evil succubus and I lured you here to take advantage. And then, you know … drain your soul. And by the way, that drink I just ordered is kind of like a magical roofie. Don’t drink it. Things will get weird if you do.”

  A moment later, Roller-Skates returned with a single shot glass on a round tray. The Ambo was bright
pink and steamed off the top like dry ice. “Enjoy!”

  I looked at Cassie again. “What now?”

  “We get in character,” she said casually and handcuffed me to a railing along the back of the sofa. She did it so fast I didn’t even see it.

  “What are you—?” I started to say but she cut me off.

  “Shut up!” she yelled harshly. (Then gave me a little wink.) “Stay here,” she ordered. “I’ll be back for you later. Bitch.”

  She got up without another word and melted into the crowd.

  I—meanwhile—sat there with a stupefied look on my face.

  Did she just handcuff me to the table? I thought. And where did she get the cuffs?!

  Anyway, that’s how I found myself sitting alone in a crowded, paranormal nightclub, wondering what in the hell was going on in my life. I thought of Meagan suddenly, and pictured her with Jake O’Malley. How long had that been going on? My friends had been insinuating that Meagan was cheating on me for a while, but I’d always figured they were joking.

  Then another thought occurred to me: What do I do now?

  It might sound strange, but I wasn’t sure what the next step was. Should I break up with her? Should I talk to her? Should I leave a burning bag of feces on her doorstep? I didn’t know. Technically speaking, Meagan was my first real girlfriend, so this would be my first real breakup. I wasn’t sure how to do it. Absently, I picked up the shot glass and came within a hair’s breadth of actually drinking it. It was weird, like something was compelling me to put it to my lips.

  With an effort, I managed to set the drink back on the table. Right as I did, a tall, olive-skinned woman in a red dress sidled up to my side. “Hey there, handsome,” she said in a low, smoky tone. “Are you alone?”

  She was absolutely stunning, and I was having trouble getting my mouth to work.

  “Uh, no,” I said.

  She raised an eyebrow. “No? You look alone to me. How about I keep you company?”

  A chill ran down my spine as I realized this woman was definitely another succubus. She had an unsettlingly predatory look in her eye that made me scooch back a little. She looked a bit older than Cassie, too—like maybe a woman in her late twenties. Cassie, as far as I could tell, looked my age. Maybe that had something to do with the half-succubus vs. full-succubus thing. Who knows.

  “How about you don’t!” a voice shouted, emerging from the crowd.

  I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw it was Cassie. She looked pissed. Really pissed.

  The dark-skinned woman turned and regarded her coolly. “You shouldn’t leave your human alone,” she cautioned. “A morsel like that is hard to resist.”

  “He’s mine,” Cassie said, staring daggers at her. “Touch him and you’ll regret it.”

  The other succubus put up a hand in surrender. “Don’t worry,” she said with a broad smile. “I’m not here for a fight. Enjoy him. He looks delicious.”

  Cassie continued to glare at her until she was fully out of sight. She turned back to me and sat down with a scowl. “That bitch. I’ve seen her before. She didn’t do anything to you, did she?”

  “I almost drank the Ambo. It was weird.”

  Cassie winced. “Compulsion,” she said. “Crap. I should’ve thought of that. It’s a type of enchantment. She can do it to you from a distance. Sorry.”

  I shrugged. “Did you see Von Traubel anywhere?”

  “Not here yet. Anyway, we can’t just sit here.” She suddenly straightened and put her hands on the table. “So are you ready to dance with me?”

  “Maybe I should drink the Ambo …” I said. I was genuinely considering it. Roofie or no.

  Cassie laughed and produced a small key from her dress. “It’d turn someone like you into a total loon, trust me.”

  “Someone like me?” I asked.

  She undid the cuffs and smirked. “Someone with way too many inhibitions. Speaking of which …” She stood and held out her hand.

  I took it and once again found myself being dragged onto a dance floor. It was the moment I’d been dreading for the past several hours, and before that, my entire life. And as a side note: I don’t think my reservations about dancing were unfounded. I’d had way too many bad experiences to have anything approaching confidence when it came to my moves. I’ll give you some highlights: Seventh Grade—I asked Lara Peterson to dance during a slow song and she punched me in the face. True story. Tenth Grade—I attempted my first official “grind” with Sarah Pope who promptly screamed and then punched me in the face. Last Thursday—I did the Macarena with Buckner’s friend, although I guess she didn’t punch me in the face. Still, the memories of all these failed dances swirled through my head as Cassie looked at me through the blinking strobe lights and asked if I was ready. Her eyes were glowing purple again, and her voice cut straight through the pounding music as if it weren’t even there.

  “How are you doing that?” I asked.

  “Magical powers,” she said. “Now we’re going to have to get closer.” She stepped forward and pressed herself against me. Before I could react, she took my hand and placed it on the small of her back. I looked up at her, highly conscious of her breasts pressing into my chest.

  Then she started moving. Slowly at first, just with her hips, and then more and more. Her shoulders picked up the beat and it was all I could do to stay upright. I fought to remember what she told me earlier. I thought: Be the cracker, François. Be the cracker. Be the cracker!

  And so I did.

  “Move your hips,” Cassie instructed, guiding them softly with her hands. “That’s it. Now find the beat. You feel it?”

  I felt something alright. “I think so,” I said.

  I caught her smile as her hands traced up my back and around my neck. “See?” she said, twisting suddenly and pressing her backside into me. “Not so hard, right?” She took my hand again and pressed it against the flat of her stomach, pushing her thin dress up off her hips.

  I got an erection.

  It wasn’t the first time this had happened. At my Junior Prom I had a very similar experience with Tiffany Garcia. It was a slow dance, I had a huge crush on her, and there was nothing I could do. She punched me in the face. (Just kidding. She just looked really awkward for the remainder of the song and then never spoke to me again.)

  Cassie, however, didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. She spun back around and pulled me close again.

  “Having fun?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Then grab my ass,” she ordered and her body moved harder against mine.

  Now, in life, there are certain things that feel really good—an ice-cold drink on a hot day; a fireplace on a cold night. Yet as Cassie’s dress rode up in my palms, I learned that a girl’s bare backside on the dance floor is a feeling like no other. We were both sweating in the crowded heat, and I noticed Cassie’s eyes half-lidded as she moved to the music. Her body felt incredible, writhing against mine, but it was her eyes that truly got me. She looked right at me, but didn’t smile. At first I thought she was angry—like maybe I was doing something wrong. Then her hand snaked up my neck and her fingers entwined with my hair. Her mouth was slightly parted, breathing hard.

  So I kissed her.

  It was a small kiss—it was practically just a reflex. Our lips barely grazed, but she pulled back immediately, studying my face in wonderment.

  I was about to apologize when she broke into a broad grin. “Took you long enough,” she said and pulled me back in. Her kiss was deep and slow and she pulled me against her with an inhuman strength. It reminded me that she was a succubus and not just a normal girl, and a brief wave of panic shot through me. The fear was quickly overshadowed, though, by the softness of her lips and the thrill of her tongue. My hands traveled south again and she mewled softly.

  “We better not,” she said, pulling back a fraction. “If we keep going, I won’t be able to stop.”

  I almost brought my lips back to hers anyway, but caught my
self at the last second.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  She grinned and put her forehead to mine. “I forgive you. Besides, Von Traubel just got here. See him?”

  We had discussed the plan for nabbing the Vampire Lord for several hours back at the hotel. Cassie would do the heavy lifting, taking out his bodyguards and then knocking him out with a hypodermic garlic shot. She had several micro discs on her body concealing a variety of small weapons. I—meanwhile—was to use my newly acquired wizard skills to create a distraction. And since I only knew two spells, Firelight and Firebolt, my options for doing so were limited. We both had decided that a well-placed Firebolt at one of the guards’ feet would do the trick. Cassie said she only needed a half-second to get close enough to do her thing.

  “You remember where the back exit is, right?” she asked, still moving sensually against me.

  I had to think a moment. She could’ve asked me my name and I would’ve had to think about it.

  “Uh, yeah,” I said.

  “Good. Give me a second to get in position. Then after you do the Firebolt thing, run straight for the exit. I’ll meet you outside.”

  With that, she broke away and disappeared into the crowd.

  I caught my breath and then moved off the dance floor. Von Traubel was sitting at a large VIP table with two slave girls at his side and four bodyguards surrounding him. They were unquestionably the biggest guys I’d ever seen. They were all wearing expensive suits, yet I noticed a slightly green tint to their skin. I wondered what kind of creatures they were. Not human, that was for sure.

  I waited a few more seconds until I figured Cassie was ready.

  I looked side-to-side, checking to see if anyone was watching. It was probably a stupid thing to do. The Imago from my spell was going to draw plenty of attention anyway.

  I drew another breath, glanced at the guard I intended to target, and formed the spell. The Imago was even brighter in the dark nightclub than I’d feared. The guard instantly turned to me and shouted. I made the Canti so fast, it was practically a cantrip. (I felt a brief moment of pride in that.)

  The next thing I knew, the guard was nearly on top of me. He yelled, “wizard!” and lunged. I flicked my wrist and hit him in the shin with the Firebolt. It burst into a small flame and set his pant leg alight. It didn’t slow him down, though—not even a little. He reached for me and I managed to duck out of the way. He stumbled and slapped at his leg, extinguishing the fire. I ran.