A Little Something Extra

by Pam McCutcheon

  P.J. chuckled. “You make it sound so easy.”

  It would be easy. Once he knew the man had the talisman, Connor could use his magic to recover it and incarcerate the thief—a very legitimate use of his power. He glanced at P.J. No, he’d better not explain. After their new understanding, he didn’t want to see her face turn stony at the mention of his magic. “Aye, it will be easy. You’ll see,” he said, and escorted her out of the hotel.

  Taking a cab to the theater district, where the Magnificent Ambrose was performing a matinee, they deliberately arrived early so they could see the magician in action and determine if he was using the talisman’s magic in his act. As they settled into the seats amid a sea of children and their harried mothers, the lights dimmed and the show began.

  The Magnificent Ambrose, a tall, thin man, appeared with an ostentatious bow. His patter was rather uninspired, but as he pulled scarves out of thin air and a Yorkshire terrier out of a hat, Connor realized the act had a bit of pizzazz lacking in many others—a certain spark of…magic.

  Connor’s eyes narrowed. Was it the influence of Stayle’s shoes or Stayle’s stolen talisman? He couldn’t get a good look at the shoes from here, but as for the other…Connor blurred his vision to see if he could catch the man using stolen magic.

  P.J. glanced at him curiously. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m tryin’ to see if he’s using Stayle’s talisman.”

  Several of their neighbors objected to their conversation with loud shushing noises. P.J. leaned closer. “How?” she whispered. “I thought you had true sight.”

  “Aye, but I mentioned earlier there’s a way to see the glamarye everyone else sees. Would you be willing to try it?” Perhaps now she’d be more openminded.

  P.J. looked doubtful, but whispered, “Okay. What do I have to do?

  “Just unfocus your eyes—blur your vision. That’s right. Don’t look straight at the man, look beyond him.”

  P.J. followed his directions, squinting up at the stage. “I don’t see anything different.”

  “Nor do I,” he admitted. The man wasn’t using the talisman as far as he could tell. Then again, Ambrose could use it only if he was one of the Fae. Since he’d failed Stayle’s test, he was no such thing, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have the talisman hidden somewhere. Ambrose had to be their thief—he was the only suspect left. Maybe his assistant was the one with the power.

  “Keep watching,” Connor advised. “If they use it, ‘twill most likely be in the grand finale.”

  P.J. nodded and continued to squint at the stage.

  As the Magnificent Ambrose tapped all four sides of a large box with his wand and asked his pretty assistant to step inside, Connor irreverently wished the man would jazz up the act with a little glamarye.

  A slow grin spread across his face as an idea occurred to him. Should he? Why not? It wouldn’t be very expensive in terms of magic, and he could get a little of his own back on the thief who had given Stayle so much grief. Connor glanced at P.J.’s intent stare. And now, with P.J. finally willing to believe, how could he not use every means at his disposal to get her to trust him?

  Connor waited until the magician made his assistant disappear. With a dramatic flourish Ambrose opened the box and his assistant reappeared and emerged, bowing.

  Now! Connor muttered a few Gaelic words and sent a surge of power through his talisman ring, squinting his eyes to see the result.

  Another woman, twin to the first, emerged and stood next to the assistant and bowed. P.J. gasped and the performers looked startled, but bowed along with the illusory woman as the audience clapped in approval. A man stepped out, the magician’s twin, and ranged himself alongside the other three. The magician and his assistant turned white. Their expressions were bewildered, but they gamely bowed when the others did.

  Connor had two more sets of doppelgangers trot out, bowing in unison with their duplicates before the joke wore thin and he decided enough was enough. He sent the illusions filing back into the box, making each one disappear in a puff of colored smoke.

  The audience laughed and applauded, though Connor didn’t miss P.J.’s quickly indrawn breath or the look of shock on the performers’ faces.

  “Connor,” P.J. whispered. “When I crossed my eyes, I saw—”

  “Aye, I know. Watch this next one.”

  Shaken but still game, the Magnificent Ambrose prepared his grand finale—sawing his assistant in half. Grinning, Connor decided the act needed a bit of spice.

  The act proceeded as expected until the magician split the box in two. When Ambrose closed the box back together, Connor took control of the illusion.

  Suddenly the bottom half fell off the platform. The magician stepped back, startled, as the legs landed on their feet. Connor grinned. It looked like something you’d see in a cartoon: square head, no torso and long, slender legs.

  The box scurried frantically around the stage as if seeking its upper half, scanning the audience, peering under the tablecloth and checking behind the curtains. Finally it turned toward the center of the stage and stopped dead. Tilting its “head” slowly upward, it did a double take as if it had finally found what it was searching for.

  Ignoring the horrified look on the face of the assistant, the box gave a little bound of satisfaction, then jumped back up to the platform and settled in its accustomed place—upside down.

  The audience laughed. With a wiggle and a twitch, the box quickly righted itself and turned over to the proper position. Its relieved sigh echoed through the hall, and the crowd went wild as the harried faces of the performers were mercifully hidden by the closing curtains.

  Thunderous applause and cries for an encore echoed throughout the small theater, but none was forthcoming. Eventually realizing the show was at an end, the audience filed out of their seats, laughing and talking.

  P.J. and Connor rose to go backstage, and P.J. gave Connor a strange look. “I…I saw it. Two sets of quadruplets…ghostly feet running around. B-but only when I blurred my vision as you showed me.” Her voice was full of wonder. “Was he using…real magic?” It was obvious she wanted to believe, yet was afraid to.

  “Nay, lass, that was me.” He wanted to make sure she knew exactly where the magic was coming from.

  “You?” Her tone was incredulous, disbelieving.

  Triumph welled within him. Not only had P.J. actually seen his magic, but the thief was almost in his grasp now, too. “Shh,” he said as they approached backstage.

  The assistant sat with her head between her knees as the magician listened to the hearty congratulations of the theater manager. “Marvelous act, Ambrose, old boy. Simply marvelous. What a farewell performance! Are you sure you won’t stay on for a few more weeks? That was the best you’ve ever done.”

  The magician shook his head numbly. “No, we…we have another engagement—out of town. I can’t cancel it, I’m afraid.”

  “Too bad,” the manager said, and slapped him on the back. “Well, next time you’re in town, look me up and we’ll give it another go, eh?”

  The magician nodded and the manager left. When P.J. and Connor stepped out from the wings, the magician gave them a harried look. “I’m sorry—no autographs. I’m not…feeling well.”

  P.J. stepped forward and held out her hand. “We had an appointment, Mr. Ambrose. I’m P. J. Sheridan, the writer.”

  Ambrose shook her hand, then ran a hand over his face. “Oh, yes, I’d forgotten. I’m sorry, but I’m really in no condition for an interview right now. If you could come back later…”

  Connor had waited long enough, and he wanted proof of this man’s guilt right now. “We came all the way from America to see you. Surely you could grant us a moment of your time.”

  Connor smiled grimly and stepped forward, thrusting his arm out belligerently. He wasn’t above using his size to intimidate the lanky magician into shaking his hand.

  Ambrose reached out hesitantly toward Connor’s hand, as if he were afraid
it would bite—or perhaps jump off and run about the stage a bit.

  Connor grinned with triumph and grasped the magician’s hand firmly, waiting for the telltale tingling sensation.

  Nothing.

  Connor’s grin faded and he pressed his talisman ring more firmly into the man’s hand.

  Still nothing.

  Ambrose wasn’t the thief. How was it possible? Connor dropped the magician’s hand and looked at P.J., shaking his head.

  P.J.’s eyes widened momentarily, then she reverted to her professional-reporter persona. “It will only take a moment of your time, Mr. Ambrose.”

  He looked scared, and Connor took pity on him. If he’d known the man was innocent, he would never have messed with his act. “No, lass, tell him who we really are.” He favored her with a private wink, hoping she’d follow his lead.

  “Why don’t you tell him?” she parried, putting the ball back in his court.

  “All right,” Connor said with a dramatic sigh. “I’m afraid we’ve used you terribly, Mr. Ambrose. Y’see, we represent a company that is experimenting with a new hologram technology to be used on stage and screen. We used your act to test it—to see if it was ready to market.”

  The magician looked relieved, and the assistant’s head came up slowly, hope shining in her eyes. It appeared she’d much rather believe in holograms than mass delusions. Unfortunately it appeared P.J. felt the same.

  Ambrose’s face relaxed. “You mean those people, the legs…they were holograms?”

  “Aye, that they were.”

  Fear and confusion disappeared, to be replaced by indignation. “Then why the devil didn’t you warn us?”

  Connor shrugged. “We had to make sure the illusions appeared solid to everyone, even under the closest scrutiny. Did they appear real to you?”

  The assistant nodded emphatically. “You betcha. Nearly scared me half to death.”

  Connor smiled. “I’m sorry about that, but it couldn’t be helped.”

  The magician’s chest expanded, and his brow furrowed. To head off the incipient thunderstorm, Connor pulled out his checkbook. “To compensate you for your assistance, involuntary though it was, we’d like you to have this.”

  He scribbled out a check and handed it to the magician. The assistant peeked at the amount and her eyes widened.

  “We’re very sorry if we’ve caused you any distress,” Connor said. “Will this take care of it?”

  The magician appeared uncertain, but the woman tugged on his arm, whispering urgently. He turned reluctantly back to Connor. “All right, but when you want to market this holo…thing, I want to make sure you give me first crack at getting one…and a discount, too!”

  Connor grinned. “I’m not sure it’ll be on the market anytime soon, there are a lot of bugs to work out. But if we do, I promise, you’ll get one.”

  They shook hands on it, and Connor escorted a strangely silent P.J. out the side door into the bright sunlight.

  She turned to him. “Okay, which is it—magic or hologram?”

  Connor couldn’t resist. “Surely you know there’re no such things as portable moving holograms—they’re a myth.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Why do I bother? I suppose you’re saying it’s magic?”

  “Aye, why do you find it so hard—” He broke off suddenly as he spotted an all-too-familiar face lurking across the street.

  Connor pulled P.J. back down the side street they’d just exited.

  “What is it?” P.J. demanded.

  “Shh,” Connor said, and peered around the corner. “Aye, ‘twas just as I thought. ‘Tis Neil Chalmers.”

  P.J. flattened her back against the wall and cursed to herself. Neil Chalmers! That man kept showing up everywhere they went. Since they’d changed hotels, he’d obviously tracked down the person they were to interview and was lying in wait for them.

  Damn the man—couldn’t he take a hint? She had absolutely no desire to be in his movie, or to come anywhere near it or him.

  Connor tugged on her arm. “I don’t think he’s seen us. Let’s go the other way.”

  P.J. nodded and followed him out the other end of the street and onto the next block, where they hailed a taxi. She sank into the seat in relief. “Whew! I’m glad we lost him. What a pest.”

  Connor nodded glumly.

  She turned to peer at him more closely. “What’s wrong?”

  “We’re back where we started from. I thought for sure Ambrose would be the thief, but he tested clean.” His mouth twisted into a grimace. “We cleared all the suspects, and I don’t have any more leads. I’ve failed Stayle, and my people.” He sounded dejected, forlorn.

  P.J. couldn’t bear to see him like this. “No, you haven’t failed yet. We’ll still find Stayle’s talisman. You’ll see.”

  “And how will we be doin’ that?”

  “Well, since you’ve cleared these five, someone else must have stolen it. We’ll just have to go back to Vail and question Stayle more closely about the events of that day.”

  “But she’s already told me everything she knows.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Let me have a crack at her.” She grinned. “I’ve got lots of experience as a nosy reporter. If there’s any knowledge left to wring out of her, I’ll find it.” She made her voice sound confident, though she wasn’t really all that sure she could keep her promise.

  Connor brightened at the hope she offered. “All right, but what about your story? I’m sorry you didn’t get your interview with Ambrose.” He smacked his palm against his forehead. “Faith! We didn’t even get a good look at his shoes.”

  P.J. shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I have almost enough information to write an article, anyway.”

  “Almost? What is it you’re missin’?”

  “After that demonstration in the theater, I…I’m almost convinced you have real magic,” she whispered, not wanting the driver to hear.

  “But not quite?”

  “No, I need a little more evidence—more proof, so I can be sure it really was magic and not a hologram. Your explanation to Ambrose was far too plausible.”

  Connor frowned. “I told you I promised to use my magic only when ‘twas absolutely necessary.”

  She raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Like the magician’s act?”

  His ears reddened. “Well, that was different, y’see. I…I thought the man was the thief, and that I could trip him up, get him to reveal his true nature. Besides, ‘twas only glamarye, not the lasting sort of magic you’ll be wantin’ to see.”

  “No, if you show me glamarye, and convince me that’s what it is—a part of your magic—I’ll take your word for the rest of it.”

  Connor gave her a lopsided grin. “All right, then.” He asked the driver to stop the car about two blocks from their hotel, and they exited on Regent Street in the midst of a crowd of shoppers.

  Connor rubbed his hands together. “All right, lass. What’ll it be? You name it so you’ll know I’ve not rigged it ahead of time.”

  P.J. glanced around, considering. Across the street, a lingerie-shop window displayed a mannequin sitting on a satin-covered bed, wearing nothing but a long black wig and a lacy red teddy. “There—make that mannequin come to life.”

  Connor grinned. “All right, watch. And don’t forget to squint your eyes.”

  P.J. obediently blurred her vision and watched the shop window as people hurried past. A fuzzy outline took shape around the mannequin, and it soon took on softer, more human features.

  Familiar features.

  P.J.’s features.

  She gasped. “Connor, what are you doing?”

  He grinned. “Well, with that long black hair and all, I thought she looked a wee bit like you. Watch.”

  P.J. turned to stare in horror as the mannequin stretched and yawned. People, mostly men, began to stop and watch the window. The mannequin smiled and waggled her fingers at them.

  Is that how P.J. looked to Connor? She felt her face turn hot.
The vision was altogether too flattering. P.J.’s skin wasn’t all that translucent, nor her face that exotic and alluring. Connor must have one hell of an imagination.

  The gathering crowd blocked her vision, and P.J. tugged at Connor’s sleeve. “Put it back. Now!”

  Connor nodded and complied. Through a momentary gap in the throng, P.J. saw her twin sit up and blend into the plastic mannequin, until the face blurred back into the rigid features.

  The crowd watched for another moment or two, then dispersed. About half of them entered the lingerie store, and the other half went back to their shopping, talking excitedly among themselves. One old gent spotted P.J., recognition dawning on his face. “Say there, wasn’t that you—”

  P.J. grabbed Connor’s arm. “Let’s get out of here!”

  Connor laughed and used his bulk to weave a way through the crowd for them, never stopping until they reached the safety of their hotel lobby and were sure no one had followed them.

  “So, lass. Did you get your proof?”

  “Yes, I did, but you sure picked a fine way to…” Her voice trailed off as she realized what she’d just said.

  Yes, she had gotten her proof. There was no way Connor could’ve staged that. He couldn’t know when or where she’d ask him to demonstrate his glamarye, and it was quite evident that at least ten other people had seen the same thing she had. No, make that a hundred other people, if you counted the stage illusions. She believed him now.

  Magic was real!

  Her world tilted and reformed anew. The accompanying wave of realization made her giddy with elation. She grabbed Connor’s lapel for support and closed her eyes until the dizziness passed. She opened them again to gaze into his twinkling green eyes.

  “I told you I’d help you find your magic,” he whispered.

  She laughed. Everything was so much brighter, so much sharper and clearer. It was as if a mist had been obscuring her vision for years and had suddenly vanished, needing only her belief in magic. In its place was a truer, more vivid awareness of the world.

  P.J. threw her arms around Connor’s neck and kissed him enthusiastically. “Yes, isn’t it wonderful?”

  Connor grinned and gave her a hug, then steered her toward the elevator. “Aye, that it is, but we’ll be needin’ to pack our bags now if we’re to catch tonight’s flight to the States and avoid Neil Chalmers.”