“This isn’t right…,” Joey mumbled, unconsciously giving himself permission to freak out. “HELLO?” he shouted for the third time, now pounding on the doors with his fist. Giving up on the NATL, he looked up and down the empty street. “IS ANYBODY OUT THERE? SOMEBODY HELP ME!”
His voice echoed in the haze. No one answered. No one came.
“Where am I?” Joey asked himself, pulling out his phone to check his map. “No signal. Of course there’s no signal.” Joey pocketed the phone and ran his hands through his hair. He worried that he had suffered some kind of psychotic break. Nothing he was seeing was even remotely possible. How did he get out here?
The fog drifted before him, revealing the answer. The magic set was right there on the sidewalk. Redondo’s Mystery Box. Joey froze when he saw it. He stared at the black trunk case for several seconds, making the connection.
The wonders contained in this Mystery Box… hold the key.
Lights flickered on across the street, illuminating the marquee of an old theater. The glare was intense in the dark gloom of the ghostlike limbo Joey had found himself in. He didn’t remember the theater being there that morning, but then, he hadn’t really been paying attention at the time. Joey and his father had passed a dozen theaters on their way through Times Square. They had all blended into the scenery, but this one stood out. Especially here. It seemed to be the only building on the block with working electricity. Joey felt a tinge of relief. Lights turning on outside meant someone might be inside. He hoped that somebody in there could tell him what the heck was going on. In the meantime, the theater itself hinted at an explanation. The marquee was missing too many letters for Joey to read anything on it, but the name of the theater glowed big and bright in the space above:
THE MAJESTIC
Even as Joey read the words, half the lights blinked out and died, but the remaining letters still told a story:
_ _ _ MAJ_ _ _IC
Magic. It didn’t make any sense, and yet it was the only thing that made sense. Joey was halfway to the theater door before he realized he was moving. He stopped when he saw the man at the end of the street. At least, Joey hoped it was a man. A shadow was lurking out where the fog grew thick: a tall, thin, silhouette with arms and legs that were too long for a human. It was twenty feet away and looking right at him. Joey’s mouth went dry. His body temperature plummeted. The creature dove into the fog like it was diving into a pool, swimming beneath the mist like a shark. It covered the distance between them in seconds, bursting out of the fog at Joey’s feet—a living shadow, seven feet tall and hissing like a snake. Joey screamed and stumbled, trying to get away. He fell hard on his rear end and dropped the key. Kicking himself backward on the ground, he shouted, “Get away from me!”
The creature kept coming, slowly advancing on Joey. It towered over him, black as pitch, reaching out with an arm that looked like it was made out of dark, solid smoke. Still scuttling away, Joey bumped into the curb. He turned his head and saw the magic set behind him. Fight or flight kicked in, and Joey scrambled to his feet, grabbed the black trunk case by the handle, and swung the Mystery Box around like a weapon. “LEAVE ME ALONE!”
The creature screeched like a pterodactyl as the magic set connected with its midsection. It split apart and stretched wildly, but held together, tethered by a few cotton candy–like strands. “I can’t believe that worked,” Joey said, looking down at the magic set in his hand. He looked back up. “Then again…” His assailant was already knitting itself back together. Fight or flight kicked in again, and this time Joey ran. He tucked the magic set under his arm like a football and barreled through the shadow creature, tearing it apart all over again as he went racing toward the only place that looked the least bit inviting… the theater.
Joey flew to the row of glass doors below the marquee, praying they weren’t locked. The first one was. Joey couldn’t tell if there was anyone inside. The faded poster plastered on the door blocked his view of the lobby. He moved on to the second door. Locked as well. Relentless, the shadow creature closed in behind him, looming over his shoulder. Joey spun around with the magic set, desperate to keep it at bay. The creature shrieked again as Joey defended himself and slid over to the next door. It, too, was locked, but Joey noticed something that could change that—a keyhole large enough to fit an old skeleton key.
Joey’s heart sank as he turned around to look at the foggy street behind him. The key was out there somewhere, hidden beneath the rolling mist. With no time to lose, Joey sprinted across the street and fell to the ground, searching frantically for the key. Crawling around on his hands and knees, he heard more hissing. The shadow at the theater door was reconstituting itself yet again, but much to Joey’s dismay, it wasn’t making a sound. The snakelike noises were coming from elsewhere. Apparently, this thing had friends.
Joey counted six of them standing shoulder to shoulder in the fog at the end of the street. At the other end of the block, there were four more, and that was just the beginning. They were poking their heads out from around the corners of buildings… stepping into the intersections… rising from the fog… They were everywhere. Joey looked back over his shoulder at the magic set that, so far, had served him well as both sword and shield. He had foolishly left it outside the theater door some ten feet away. It might as well have been a thousand. He doubled his efforts to find the key, fanning his arms to push away the fog. He was done for unless he found the key in the next few seconds—assuming it was even a match for the lock in the theater door.
As the mist wafted away, Joey spied a glittering thread lying on the curb. He lunged for it, snatching it up like a lifeline. The large metal key dangled at the end of the string. Joey leaped to his feet as the shadows came for him, hissing like vipers. They chased him to the theater. Reaching the door first, he inserted the key into the lock. It was a perfect fit. As he turned it, there was an audible click, and the key disintegrated into twinkling dust. Joey’s hand shook as he wrenched the door open and dashed inside. The shadows rushed the entrance, eager to follow him in, but Joey pulled the door shut behind him quickly. He was about to turn the dead bolt when he saw the magic set was still outside the door. Again, if Joey had stopped to think, he might have left it behind, but instead he found himself pushing the door back open to grab it like Indiana Jones going back to get his hat. The shadows swooped in, but Joey locked them out just in time. Try as they might, they couldn’t get the door open after that. Joey collapsed in a heap as they pulled on the handle from the outside and pounded the glass in vain.
He exhaled, feeling momentarily safe but not mentally sound. Was this really happening? It couldn’t be. “This is all in your head,” Joey told himself. “You’re just under a lot of pressure right now. None of this is real. You’re gonna close your eyes, count to ten, and everything’s gonna go back to normal.”
Ten seconds later, when Joey opened his eyes, things were still very much abnormal. The shadows were still there, pressed up against the glass. Joey pinched his wrist, trying to wake himself up. When that didn’t work, he gave himself a good hard slap in the face. Nothing changed. Either hitting himself wasn’t the answer, or he needed to hit himself harder. Joey backed away from the doors as the creatures outside gave up and drifted off. He didn’t know what those things were, and he didn’t want to know. All he wanted to do was to go home. Joey turned his attention to the theater, hoping to find someone in there who could help him.
He wandered through the spacious, empty lobby. The place had clearly not been “majestic” for years. Joey flipped a light switch, and a handful of wall sconces lit up, followed by a few buzzing bulbs in a crystal chandelier overhead. The rest of the fixtures were either burned out or so caked with dust that it didn’t matter if they were on or off. A grand staircase, no longer worthy of the name, led up to an uneven balcony with broken spindles on the railing. Joey remained on the ground level, unwilling to trust the platform with any amount of weight. Large mirrors hung throughout the room wer
e spotted with black rustlike stains. The white walls they adorned had all yellowed with age, and the carpet, probably once a rich shade of red, had faded to a frayed, balding pink.
“Anybody in here?” Joey called out. The room was quiet and still. There has to be someone, he thought. Who turned on the lights?
He spied a series of vintage posters on the back wall advertising a performance by none other than Redondo the Magnificent. “No way…,” Joey said, entranced. His picture matched the one in the instruction booklet exactly. Redondo was dressed in a black tuxedo with a crisp white dress shirt, a vest, a bow tie, and gloves. He was a young man with black hair, heavily laden with pomade, who looked like his photo belonged in the dictionary next to the word “magician.” One poster depicted him onstage, levitating a beautiful young woman. In another, he stood contemplating a skull with green, ethereal smoke pouring out of its eyes.
Did he bring me here? Joey wondered, staring at the posters. Is that even possible?
Joey entered the main house of the theater. The cavernous auditorium was as empty as the lobby and in equally bad shape. Everywhere Joey looked he saw signs of decay. The plush red velvet seat cushions were torn and littered with debris. On the walls, paint peeled off cracked paneling to expose the bare brick and mortar underneath. The decorative molding that seemed to cover every surface with an impossible level of detail had been buried under a layer of dirt and grime. Intricate, gilded designs had grown dull, worn away by age and neglect, but the theater’s problems went further than that. Fire damage spread out from the stage like a rash, covering the walls with dirty black streaks. Joey craned his neck up toward the ceiling. Its curved surface was warped and riddled with holes large enough to make him worry about the structural integrity of the building.
“Anybody home?” Joey called out. The acoustics made his voice resound through the theater. “Redondo?” he added, taking a chance. Again no one replied. He climbed up onstage, and looked out on the empty room. It was big enough to hold a few thousand people. What do I do now? he wondered.
Joey heard a noise backstage. It was a gurgling sound, like air bubbles rising inside a water cooler. Cautiously, he crept to the rear of the stage and put an ear to the heavy red curtain. He heard the noise again, or something close to it. This time it sounded like water sloshing around in a tub. There was definitely someone back there.
Joey was nervous, but he parted the curtains and slipped between them. On the other side, he took one step and nearly slammed his face into a giant aquarium. Inside the tank, an old man floated upside down, his eyes closed. He was wrapped up tight in a straitjacket with heavy chains tied around his chest. He had a thick head of white hair and a pencil-thin mustache. He shimmied ever so slightly, working to free himself while inverted. The scene was oddly tranquil as the man went about his work with Zen-like calm. Careful not to make a sound, Joey knelt beside the tank to get a closer look.
Joey’s face was two inches away from the glass when the old man’s eyes flew open. Joey shouted and leaped to his feet. The old man let out a garbled cry that was swallowed up by the water. Joey backpedaled and fell through the curtain, tumbling out onto the stage. By the time he’d scrambled back to the aquarium, it was churning with bubbles as the old man struggled to free himself. His Zen-like calm had vanished. Still floating upside down, the man wrestled with the straitjacket and kicked his legs like a wild horse. “Don’t worry!” Joey rushed to the side of the water tank. “I’ll get you out of there. I’ll…” He trailed off, looking around the room for something to help pull the man out of the tank. “I’ll be right back!” The man looked pained, desperate. Joey darted off to find something that would save him.
Backstage was a mess of props, costumes, lighting rigs, ladders, ropes, pulleys, and crates. Joey rummaged through a cluttered desk looking for tools, but it was a prep station with nothing to offer but stage makeup, powders, and brushes. He rifled through a series of cardboard boxes filled with magic tricks. There were unbreakable ropes, color-changing gemstones, invisible light bulbs, and waterproof fire… all of them very interesting, but nothing useful. Then he saw an iron crowbar lying on top of a wooden shipping crate. Jackpot.
“Get back!” Joey yelled as he bounded back to the tank, holding the crowbar like Babe Ruth.
The old man shook his head, writhing in the water. “Mmmmmph!!!”
Joey swung the crowbar. The glass shattered. Water poured out everywhere, followed by the old man. And more water.
And more.
And more.
An ocean of water—more than the tank could ever hold—gushed out of the aquarium, stronger than a massive wave at the beach. The force of it knocked Joey off his feet. When he got up, he was submerged to the knees and the entire backstage area was flooded, as if some invisible dam had burst. Joey waded over to the old man, who was on his knees, still tied up in the straitjacket and weighed down by heavy iron chains.
“Are you all right?” Joey asked, helping him to his feet. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
“You’ve got me?” the old man repeated. “You’ve got me?!!” He wrenched a sopping, straitjacketed arm away from Joey. “WHAT ON EARTH DID YOU DO THAT FOR?”
Joey backpedaled, sloshing in the water.
“Who are you?” The old man was soaked to the bone. His hair was matted down, dripping water onto his face. He shook his head like a wet dog and blew sharp bursts of air up to dry out his mustache. His skin was wrinkled at the eyes, with sharp character lines around the nose and mouth. “Well?” he demanded. The old man had a crisp, proper voice, enunciating every word precisely. “Where did you come from? How did you get in here?”
“I, uh… I’m Joey? I don’t really know about the rest.…”
“What did you think you were doing?”
Joey, who’d had a growth spurt during the school year, suddenly felt very small. “Saving you?” he said feebly.
“Saving me! Is that a fact?” The man let out a rueful laugh. “Do you want to know what you’ve done? Shall I tell you?”
Joey saw something out of the corner of his eye. A splash. Something moved in the water behind him. “What was that?”
“What indeed? Young man, I hope you’re a strong swimmer. Because if I can’t get out of this straitjacket in the next sixty seconds, you’ve killed us both.”
Joey shook, startled. “Did you just say I killed us?”
The old man smiled brightly. “I did!”
As unsettling as that was to hear, Joey was even more alarmed to find the water he was standing in had a current. A strong undertow was pulling at his legs and feet. “This doesn’t make any sense! Where’s all this coming from? That tank couldn’t hold this much water.”
“Do tell.” The man nodded to something over Joey’s left shoulder. Joey turned. An ominous swell of water rose behind him like a ghost. Glowing sapphire eyes appeared inside the flowing, wraithlike liquid.
“What is THAT?”
“That,” said the man, “is Aqua de Vida. Also known as the Water of Life.”
“It’s alive?” Joey said, backing away from the agitated water.
“It’s alive, and it doesn’t like you.” The old man wriggled in his straitjacket, trying to free his arms.
Joey’s stomach writhed. “What’s it going to do?”
“Certainly nothing I intended. This water is said to have regenerative properties for those who treat it with respect. For those who hit it with a crowbar, however…” He gave Joey an accusatory look. “Quite the opposite.”
A mouth opened up below the water creature’s eyes. It let out a gargling moan and crashed into Joey and the old man, sending them both flying. When Joey came up for air, he was in the water up to his waist. “What the—” Joey asked, splashing around. “Is this water getting deeper?”
“Nothing gets past you.” The old man rolled himself onto the top of the large shipping crate where Joey had found the crowbar. He was still in his straitjacket. Still chained up. “We’
re in deep, all right.”
“Can I help you out of that?” Joey asked.
“Don’t you dare.” The old man looked at Joey like a water moccasin ready to strike.
“But you said we have less than a minute before—”
“You’ve done enough. Just hold on to something and try not to drown.”
The current started up again, swirling in a circle. Joey latched on to a thick rope connected to the theater curtain as the rushing water pulled him off his feet. Holding on for dear life, Joey looked over his shoulder and saw the floor drop away as a whirlpool took shape all around him. He was trapped in the maelstrom, and down at the bottom, a much larger pair of eyes opened up, turning the watery pit into a wide, hungry mouth. Joey screamed in terror. “HELP!”
“Patience.” The old man’s voice was calm and even. Somehow, he had managed to shimmy his way into a stable position on top of the crate and stand up, even with his arms bound.
“Patience?!! We’re gonna die!” The monster’s gargling moan gave way to a roar as it sucked everything in. Its gaping maw devoured whole costume racks, equipment cases, and assorted magical paraphernalia. One of Joey’s shoes slipped off and disappeared into the churning bubbles. Joey couldn’t see the floor. The pit of the whirlpool was impossibly deep, at least twenty feet below what should have been ground level. “Get me out of here!”
“Quiet, please!” the old man barked. He was balanced on top of the crate, circling the water funnel and trying to free his arms.
Ordinarily, Joey would have been astounded by the old man’s ability to ride the crate around the flooded room, but, the circumstances being what they were, he didn’t give it a second thought. It was far from the most unbelievable thing that was happening.
Order of the Majestic Page 3