He scanned the room again, suddenly feeling vulnerable, worrying that Redondo was already dead. Joey held his breath and listened, but he heard nothing. “He’s not dead yet,” Joey whispered, trying to reassure himself. “This place wouldn’t even be here if he were.” He went to the office windows and opened them up, looking out on the dark, decrepit theater. For better or worse, this place was a part of Redondo. He had to be here somewhere. Joey was about to give in and call out for him, but Manchester beat him to the punch.
“Honey, I’m ho-oome!” Manchester’s voice echoed up from the theater lobby with a mocking, melodic tone. The sound grated on Joey, boiling his blood. He ducked low and withdrew from the window overlooking the theater as he heard Manchester moving around downstairs.
“Redondo! Where are you?” Manchester shouted, pushing the lobby doors open and entering the main house of the theater. “It’s showtime, old man. You mustn’t keep your public waiting. Come out, come out, wherever you are.…”
“I’m right here, Grayson,” Redondo’s voice called out, filling the room.
Joey’s head whipped around as a spotlight switched on, illuminating Redondo. He was standing onstage with his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes fixed firmly on Manchester. Heartened, Joey crept back to the window and peeked over the sill. Redondo was dressed in his usual outfit, a black tuxedo with a white vest, a dress shirt, and a bow tie. However, for the first time that Joey could recall, Redondo’s bow tie was tied up in place, not hanging loose around his neck. His rumpled tuxedo had been neatly pressed, his dress shirt and vest were as crisp and clean as a fresh layer of snow. His hair, slick with pomade, looked practically bulletproof. He looked confident and ready. Seeing Redondo like this gave Joey a tiny spark of hope. Was it possible the old man had a plan to save Leanora and Shazad without giving up the wand? Or was he just looking to die with dignity?
“Back onstage at last. How does it feel? Not too large a turnout for your big comeback, though. You don’t have much of a following anymore, do you?”
“I’m not here for applause.”
“No, you’re here to die. You look different, by the way. Did you change your hair?” Manchester asked. “I’m kidding. It’s nice to see you dressed up for the occasion. I take it as a compliment. I’d say they can bury you in that suit, but there isn’t going to be anything left to bury after I’m finished with you.”
Redondo’s lips flattened out in a tight smile. “I understand you’re trying to be menacing, but you might want to give it a rest. If nothing else, it will save us time. Or don’t you realize death threats have very little effect on the terminally ill?”
“Fair enough,” Manchester said, walking down the aisle toward the stage. “But it’s not just you dying tonight, Redondo. It’s your entire brand of magic. The last vestiges of the Order of the Majestic, a group you failed both personally and profoundly.”
“You forgot publicly,” Redondo said, unaffected.
“Heh.” Manchester chuckled. “At least you have a sense of humor about it.”
“Did you bring the children?”
Manchester joined Redondo onstage and circled him like a lion sizing up its prey. “Did you bring the wand?” he asked, evading Redondo’s question.
Redondo pressed his hands together and slowly drew them apart. Houdini’s wand materialized between his palms, glowing with magical energy. “I’m the master of the wand. I’m never without it.” Manchester’s eyes lit up, but Redondo clapped his hands, and the wand disappeared from sight. “I want to see Leanora and Shazad. Now.”
Manchester put on a patronizing smile. “Never let it be said that I denied a dying man his last wish.” He took off his hat, reached his arm deep inside, and pulled out… a sword. “No, that’s not it.” He reached back in and pulled out another sword. And another. “That’s not it, either. I know they’re in here somewhere.” Digging his arm all the way up to the shoulder, he felt around inside until he found something, but it wasn’t Leanora or Shazad. It was a fiery, blazing torch. “Make yourself useful, would you? Hold that,” he told Redondo, trying to pass him the torch.
Redondo crossed his arms and turned away, unamused.
“Must you be so petty?” Manchester asked, shaking a stand for the torch out of the hat. “I’m only thinking about fire safety. The theater is flammable, in case you’ve forgotten,” he added in a self-righteous voice. Once the torch was safely holstered, Manchester continued rummaging around in the hat for Leanora and Shazad. Smoke started pouring out of the hat once more. Redondo’s cough kicked in, raspy as ever. “I’m sorry about the smoke. I know it aggravates your condition. Consider it a necessary evil.”
“Not unlike yourself,” Redondo said, hacking up a lung.
Manchester snickered. “Same old Redondo. You see everything in black-and-white. No room for gray. I’m not evil. I just refuse to live my life ruled by fear, forever asking permission. But I’m not interested in a philosophical discussion about the nature of magic. Our transaction here tonight closes off all future debate. Until our business is concluded, we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”
When the smoke dissipated, there was a large crate in the center of the stage. It looked very much like the one Manchester had supposedly died in twenty years ago. Manchester sauntered over to it and opened the door. Leanora and Shazad fell out and collapsed to the floor. Redondo rushed over to check on them as they lay there, clutching their arms and shivering.
“There we are. Happy now?” asked Manchester.
“I’ll tell you what would make me happy…,” Redondo said in a gravelly voice.
“Manners, please. I can always put them back where I found them.”
Redondo scowled and turned his attention back to the children. “Leanora? Shazad? Are you all right? Has he harmed you in any way?”
“C-c-cold…,” Leanora said through chattering teeth. “So cold.” Shazad, who had been stuck in the hat longer, was lying on his side, clutching his knees to his chest. Watching the scene play out, Joey gripped the office windowsill hard enough to leave fingerprints in the wood finish.
Manchester used his hat as a fan to wave away the rest of the smoke. “They’ll be fine,” he reassured Redondo. “You might have to give them a minute, but they’ll be back on their feet in no time. You, on the other hand, are out of time. I held up my end of the bargain, Redondo. It’s time for you to hold up yours.”
“Yes.” Redondo stood up, appearing satisfied that Leanora and Shazad were all right, or at least that they would be in time. “The wand, then,” he said. Producing it once more from between his palms, he held it up but didn’t hand it over. “You remember that it only obeys one master.”
“As long as that person lives,” Manchester replied with a smarmy darkness. “I realize your days are already numbered, but patience has never been my strong suit.” He rested his hand on the lid of the crate and drummed his fingers. “Remember our closing number? Back when we worked together, you used to put me in a box just like this one, drive swords through it, and set it on fire. I couldn’t wait to get out of it. Tonight it’s your turn in the box. If not…” Manchester picked up the swords by their hilts and positioned them in the air above Leanora and Shazad. The swords dangled there as if hung by invisible strings. They were heavy, gruesome blades cast from black iron, with sharp, jagged edges. The kind of weapons an orc might swing at a knight in shining armor.
“These aren’t the blades we used to use in our act,” Redondo observed, inspecting their choppy, serrated edges.
“They’re the fabled Swords of Damocles,” Manchester said proudly. “Just a little something I picked up in my travels. They’ll hang over these children’s heads until I decide they shouldn’t.” Manchester gave a nod, and the swords dropped an inch closer to Leanora and Shazad. They yelped and scuttled away, but the swords followed them wherever they went. “Then again, you could say the choice is yours.” He nodded to the crate, implying that Redondo should get in before he g
ot tired of waiting.
“I see.” Redondo stroked his mustache. “It’s time, then.”
Desperate to help, Joey searched Redondo’s office for something he could use against Manchester. He grabbed the index of magical items off the desk and started reading pages at random, hoping something useful would jump out at him. Surely Redondo had something worthwhile in his office, but even if he did, what were the odds that Joey would be able to find it and master it in the next few minutes? And then surprise Manchester with it? He wanted to spring out of the trapdoor and take Manchester by surprise, but even if he managed to strike a blow, what was to stop the swords from falling on Leanora and Shazad and chopping them to bits? He couldn’t risk that, could he? He was the reason they were in this mess. If they were to die because he tried to be a hero and did something reckless, he couldn’t live with that. But what if Redondo died because he did nothing? And Leanora and Shazad died too? They weren’t exactly safe where they were at the moment. He didn’t come here just to be another norm in the audience. Looking around the room once more, Joey’s eyes fell on a short length of rope and a tiny blue bottle sitting on a shelf behind Redondo’s desk. An idea started to form.
A few short seconds later, Joey took Redondo’s cane with the silver raven handle from its place in the umbrella stand. His hand shook as he reached up toward the attic door in the ceiling and hooked the shiny bird through the steel ring in its center. This is it, Joey told himself. I’m going in.
Only he wasn’t.
The door wouldn’t open. Stealth was a priority, so Joey had pulled down gently at first, but then he tried harder—and harder—going as far as to pick up his legs and hang down on the cane like a piece of playground equipment. But the door wouldn’t budge. Foiled, Joey returned to the window, unable to do anything but watch.
Redondo was staring up at the window to his office. Joey wondered if he had felt him trying to open the attic door. The theater was a part of him after all. Then again, it could just be that he saw the open office window with a light on inside and noticed things were not as he had left them. Redondo looked like he was about to give the wand to Manchester but had stopped halfway through the motion. Manchester had his hand out, impatient to receive it. “I’m waiting…,” he droned.
Redondo seemed to snap back into the moment. “Of course,” he said, but he didn’t hand the wand over just yet. “It occurs to me that if I do what you say, I’ll be dead and will have no way of knowing if you let these two go or not. Am I supposed to just trust you on this?”
“You can trust me to kill them if you don’t do as you’re told,” Manchester snapped, dropping the swords another half inch.
“That part I believe,” Redondo said. “But the rest… You’re asking me for a lot of faith.”
“What can I say?” Manchester flashed a guilty smile. “It’s a chance either way, but one you have to take. The only thing that will save these two from the sword is you sacrificing yourself and passing that wand to a worthy heir.”
“Too late,” Shazad said, sitting up onstage. “H-he’s… already d-done that.”
“Quiet, you,” Manchester sneered. “I didn’t give you permission to speak.”
“I know how you feel. I d-didn’t want to believe it either,” Shazad said, still shivering. “You’re not the only one who w-wanted the wand. When I think about how much time I spent studying… How hard I t-trained?” Shazad shook his head. “My parents are going to be so disappointed when I tell them I didn’t win it. You’ll probably have even more explaining to do.”
“What are you babbling about?” Manchester asked, annoyed. “The wand’s right there. He has it.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Shazad said, rubbing his arms to warm up. “It’s got a new m-master now. You were there. You should know.”
“You’re talking about the mirror world,” Redondo realized. “Young Kopecky.” He stole another glance up at the office window.
“Him?” Manchester said, suppressing the urge to laugh. “You’re not serious.”
“He actually d-did it,” Leanora said, coming around. “Joey used the wand—against you,” she told Manchester. “That’s why you fought for him,” she added, turning to Shazad.
Shazad nodded. “There was no place left to hide. It was t-time to fight.”
Joey couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The room was spinning. He cast about inside Redondo’s office, safe for the moment, wondering what to think. Could it be true? Was the wand already his, or was Shazad just trying to buy time and the others were playing along? He didn’t know what to believe. Joey tried to remember if he had seen Redondo use the wand again after the fight in the mirror world. He hadn’t.
“It doesn’t matter,” Manchester spat. “Even if you’re right, the boy’s nothing. He’s a norm, a loose end easily tied up. I know just where to find him. You kicked him out, remember? He’s probably at home, hiding under his bedsheets crying.”
“I expect he’s hiding somewhere,” Redondo agreed. “But not the way you think. You didn’t see him for what he was, Grayson. Neither did I, not at first. He was hiding in plain sight, like all the best magic. A hidden gem.”
Redondo glanced quickly at the window one last time.
Did he just wink at me? Joey wondered.
“You know, I used to have this special deck of cards,” Redondo continued. “When I was a young man—not much older than these two, in fact—a woman I had never met before used them to tell my fortune. She told me I would inspire a new age of magical wonder. Even let me keep the deck. It was my first magical relic.”
“Is there a point to this story, or is it just dementia setting in?” Manchester asked.
Joey turned around and looked at the cards on the desk. Redondo was trying to tell him something.
“No more stalling!” Manchester barked, and he moved the blades dangerously close to Leanora’s and Shazad’s throats. “Do the right thing and get in the crate. Now.”
“I will, but first…” Redondo paused, and something subtle in his expression shifted. He had a gleam in his eye. “Grayson, I want to thank you.”
“You want to thank me?” Manchester asked, confused.
“I do. For helping me figure out what my last great trick will be. Who knows? You might get something out of it after all.”
“I’ll get something out of it all right. The wand.”
“Yes, the wand.” Redondo took the wand back out and held it up. “You know I always intended to destroy this rather than let you and yours get your hands on it. You changed all that.”
“Obviously.”
“I don’t mean this.” Redondo motioned to Leanora and Shazad, held hostage by magical weaponry. “I mean sending Joey to find me. You made me realize something important. Something I missed.”
“What’s that?”
Redondo smiled. “It’s not about me. All your scheming… All you’ve done is lead me to a grand epiphany. I don’t need to come up with some magnificent illusion that inspires the world to believe in magic again. That isn’t my responsibility. My responsibility is to a much smaller group of people.”
“The people you’re responsible for are sitting here with swords at their throats.” Manchester waved a hand, and the blades pressed into Leanora’s and Shazad’s necks, drawing blood. It was just a drop from each of them, but the message was clear. Manchester was through talking. “Your move, old man.”
“Right you are, Grayson,” Redondo said. “On with the show!”
He strode past Manchester into the crate and spun around to face Leanora and Shazad. “Good luck, children. Don’t worry. You’re in good hands.” He touched two fingers to his hairline, bowing his head slightly in a gesture that was one-part salute and one-part farewell. From there things happened quickly. The crate sealed itself up without any help from anyone. The swords flew away from Leanora and Shazad and sprang to life as flames leaped from the torches to the blades. They swirled through the air, surrounding the crate with a flam
ing vortex, just as they had done twenty years ago. History went on to repeat itself as the fiery cyclone converged on the crate and its unfortunate occupant. Flaming swords ran through the wooden box, reducing it to a pile of blazing sticks. Joey should have been horrified, but the spark of confidence he’d seen in Redondo as he entered the crate had lifted his spirits. He was onto something. Joey didn’t know what it was, but from the sound of it, Redondo knew what he had to do to beat Manchester! If one’s eyes could be trusted, the blaze was a funeral pyre for Redondo, but Joey refused to believe what he saw. Redondo wasn’t dead. It was a trick. It had to be.
Joey rushed across the room to Redondo’s desk and the magic deck of cards. Recognizing what Redondo had intended for him to do, Joey turned over the topmost card. The image on the other side made his spirit soar. It was a large red bird with its wings spread wide, flying out of a fiery conflagration: the Phoenix. New hope rising from the ashes… Joey pocketed the cards and returned to the window.
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