Magician Reborn (Book 2)

by Paul Sobol

  “Hmm, think we’re a little under-dressed for this place?” Xander asked looking down at the old jeans and t-shirt he had thought to wear.

  “If it makes you feel better go into the toilets and change, you’ll also need to look a lot older to fool those security guards.”

  Once the door to the toilet stall was closed, Xander quickly drew on a little mana and fashioned his disguise. With the head complete he worked on his clothing, and as he walked through the lobby nobody paid any attention to an elderly gentleman in an elegant black and white pinstripe suit. He considered a tuxedo but it may have been overkill for this establishment, so Xander chose something less classy but still nice.

  Looking around for his partner, Xander was surprised by a light touch on the shoulder, and looking back was at first confused. A stunningly beautiful woman, in a medium length white dress that clung suggestively to her hips, twined her arm around his, as though they were a couple. Speechless, it took some time before Xander could say anything. “Of all the disguises, why choose that one?” He couldn’t stop staring at her shining golden hair, perfect almond-shaped eyes, and a line-free face that said she was probably young enough to be his grand-daughter.

  “Every rich old man needs a young companion; we’ll fit right in here. And besides, it’s like asking why so many male World of Warcraft players choose female characters?”

  “I’m sure there’s an underlying psychological reason,” said Xander, “so please don’t give me reason to question your sanity. You know what happens to crazy magicians.”

  “Don’t forget to create a license,” said Simon in a suddenly feminine Russian accent. He…she…pulled out a piece of paper from a small bejewelled clutch-purse, and flipping the card over it instantly changed to a drivers licence.

  Taking out an old video membership card from his wallet, Xander cast the illusion spell to make it look like a legitimate driver’s license, complete with his new face and date of birth. Confident their newly created identification’s would pass close inspection, they casually walked towards the security guards and gaming area.

  A tall African-American man in a suit and tie held out his hand. With the fake I.D. in hand, he checked it for authenticity and after a moment handed it back to Xander. The other guard did not even bother looking at Simon’s license before letting him/her past onto the casino floor, an appreciative smile on his face.

  “Too easy,” said Xander, once out of earshot of the guards.

  “You need to go a little deeper,” said Simon in his newly acquired voice, “you still sound like a teenager. Also, my name will be Simone.”

  “You’ve done this before,” Xander accused his friend light-heartedly, his voice now a rumbling baritone.

  Looking as though she belonged on his arm, Simone played the companion role effortlessly, refusing to reply to the last statement. For several minutes they wandered aimlessly around the casino gaming area, taking note of all the different games available, until eventually stopping at a blackjack table.

  Reaching into his wallet, Xander supressed a sigh when all he found was tattered ten dollar note. The betting minimum was twenty-five.

  “Here, allow me.” Simone pulled out several hundred dollar bills from her purse and handed them to Xander. The illusion was perfect, he couldn’t tell if they were real or not, but knew his friend didn’t carry around this much money.

  The dealer barely hesitated in swapping the cash for a small pile of chips. The first rounds proved disastrous, with Xander losing half his chips, but an occasional win here and there kept his hopes up. Simon, realising his friend was going to lose everything too quickly, mentally sent a covert thought. The next hand, when Xander should have stayed on seventeen, he suddenly called for another card.

  “Twenty-one,” the dealer said, placing a four of clubs before the old gentleman who seemed genuinely surprised. Over the next half dozen hands the wins continued, with Xander upping the ante to a hundred dollars per bet.

  With close to a thousand dollars’ worth of chips neatly stacked before him, Xander decided to change games. For over several hours they won and lost money between roulette, poker and a rather confusing game of baccarat, but with the lights dimmed and no visible clocks it was impossible to tell what time of day it was. The other physical obstacle to overcome was the free alcohol plied to all gamblers. Waitresses flittered like butterflies between tables, offering an assortment of beverages free of charge, obviously for the sole purpose of lubricating a gambler’s wallet.

  Before long, Xander felt light headed as the alcohol took effect on his recovering system, and although the room was gently swaying he was completely unconcerned. He felt happy, sharing this time with his best friend; in fact, he felt a peculiar camaraderie with everyone around the table. Chips seemed to melt away between his fingers as his new-found generosity kicked into overdrive, with more money placed in the waitresses’ tip jar than on the gaming tables.

  Despite enjoying himself, Simon knew things had gone too far. Leaning down, he whispered into Xander’s ear, but the half-drunk fool paid little attention, and throwing caution to the wind bet his entire stack of chips on the roulette table. Most of them spilled onto black thirteen, the croupier then called for last bets. Simon supressed a groan of annoyance. The odds of winning were slim, but as the little white ball spun and bounced around the wheel black thirteen seemed to get closer and closer.

  Without realising he was holding his breath, Simon forced himself to breathe normally, and yet his heart was still beating fast and he felt an overwhelming urge to look away. But all eyes were glued on that white ball, and with a final bounce it landed on black thirteen. For several tense heartbeats everyone at the table half-expected the ball to jump out, tauntingly denying Xander the win, but when it remained steadfast on thirteen a loud celebratory cheer went up.

  Dumbfounded, Simon could only stare at the roulette wheel as it lazily slowed down, confirming without a doubt the winning number. Xander, barely gripping onto consciousness, shouted for a round of champagne for the entire table. Although alcohol was free everyone gathered around cheered in appreciation at the gesture. Waitresses soon returned with a dozen flute glasses and two bottles of Dom Perignon which were quickly consumed by the other gamblers at the table.

  Finished counting out stacks of chips, the croupier pushed the considerably large pile before Xander. Too intoxicated to know how much was there he grabbed a handful and showered the waitresses with the round plastic disks. Shocked at the wanton display of generosity, Simon took matters into his own hands. His friend had clearly degenerated beyond any self-control, and such frivolity would only draw unwanted attention. But before he could intervene, a middle-aged man in an expensive Armani suit approached the table, security guards following in lockstep.

  Sensing their time at the Bellagio was soon to come to an abrupt end, Simon hastily prepared to wipe everyone’s memory of the two magician’s presence. They would simply disappear, as though never having stepped foot in the casino in the first place. The only problem would be the cameras – his power did not extend to digital recordings, so at least they could make a hasty escape unrecognised by anyone present. But then something impossible happened.

  “Congratulations with your recent win,” began the suited man. “My name is Domenic Vincenzo, the manager of operations here at the grand Bellagio, and I would like to extend our hospitality to you and your partner. With our compliments, we would like for you to stay as our guests in one of our best suites.”

  Pre-empting Xander’s intoxicated reply, Simon spoke up first. “Thank you, Mr Vincenzo. Your hotel is certainly magnificent, and we would be overjoyed to stay.” Grabbing hold of Xander, Simon barely managed to get him to walk in a straight line towards the elevators. Behind them the manager finished directing the croupier to collect the winnings and place them into the safe.

  Together, the small group made their way to a central bank of lifts, but rather than press one of the thirty numbers the manager
inserted a special key card into a cleverly concealed scanner. The lift rapidly bypassed every floor and soon came to a halt. The twin doors slid apart noiselessly to reveal an exquisitely lavish room; thick red carpet underfoot, gilded candelabra lamps space evenly on the walls, the soft light reflected on polished marble wall panels that reached impossibly towards the lofty ceiling. In the background soothing violin music played, and the air smelled of freshly cut flowers.

  “Please, follow me to your room,” Mr Vincenzo said, stepping out of the elevator. Nearing the far wall, at least Simon assumed it was a wall; the manager used his key card again to reveal large double doors. They were the same coloured marble and wood trim featured around the rest of the room, but clearly more than mere decoration. Stepping beyond into the suite, Mr Vincenzo motioned for the two to enter.

  The room beyond was like nothing Simon had ever seen before. Marble, gold and crystal glittered everywhere he looked. Plush lounge chairs formed a square in the middle of the open space, and off to one side on the wall hung a flat-screen television so big it probably took a dozen men to lift. Following their host around the suite, he pointed out all the special features and amenities at their disposal, including a minibar that was actually walk-in.

  “Also,” the manager continued, “should you desire entertainment please give the concierge or myself a call. The numbers are on the phone. We can organise tickets to shows, or reserve a table at any restaurant of your choice.”

  “Food sounds good.” Xander managed to say without slurring the words together.

  “The Bellagio offers some of the finest dining experiences in the world. Traditional Hong Kong Cantonese at Jasmine. French cuisine with contemporary influences at Le Cirque and Picasso. Or if you prefer something more local, there is the Prime Steakhouse situated on the lakeside.”

  Pausing for a moment, not really bothering to consider their options, Simon and Xander simultaneously spoke up. “Steakhouse.”

  “Excellent choice,” said Vincenzo without hesitation, as though an elderly man with a young Russian companion dined at the steakhouse every night. “I shall make the booking for tonight. Seven o’clock. Shall I send someone up to help choose evening attire for you both?”

  “Thank you,” said Simon, “but that will not be necessary. We intend to do some shopping quite soon.”

  “I understand. We are also able to extend a line of credit at any of our fine stores, just mention the room number.” With that, the hotel manager did a smart about-face and exited the room, obviously with more pressing matters to attend to.

  As the door closed and the elevator could be heard opening, Simon finally relaxed. “Finally! I was close to forcing him to leave.”

  “I want to lie down for a while.” Xander meandered through the suite until reaching the bedroom, where he unceremoniously flopped onto the over-sized bed. Before Simon could even suggest he remove his clothes, Xander was fast asleep. Heading into the minibar, the magician found several bottles of imported water, and taking two he placed one beside his sleeping friend.

  With time to kill, Simon relaxed on one of the couches and reached for the TV remote. Flicking between the hundred different channels on offer he eventually gave up on anything good and settled for an old block-buster that was half way through.

  “That…was…awesome,” said Xander in his old-man disguise. A hearty sigh of contentment followed, and with his best friend they surveyed the latest conquered battlefield.

  “I didn’t think we could have done it,” said Simon in his fake Russian accent. “At least not by ourselves.”

  Xander stifled a burp and quickly covered his mouth with a crisp folded napkin. For the better part of the night the two magicians had wined and dined their way through several courses of the finest food Vegas has to offer the uber-rich. The final straw was an excruciatingly decadent chocolate mousse, so light and fluffy; it was like eating captured mist. But of course the real damage had been the thirty-six ounce steaks, cooked to perfection, and finished with a rich red wine demi-glace.

  Strewn around the table were the remnants of the small feast – dessert dishes, half-finished bread rolls, an empty bottle of Mouton Rothschild, spilled salt and pepper shakers, cutlery that neither could remember to use for the proper course, and all of this disarrayed across a once-white table cloth now resembling a Jackson Pollock painting. If the waiting staff said anything it was how generous the couple were with tips.

  “I could get used to this,” said Xander, draining the last wine from his crystal glass.

  With the bill taken care of, and neither in any hurry to retire for the night, they strolled along the Strip and enjoyed the spectacles Vegas had to offer. Caesar’s Palace was several hundred feet of marble statues and Romanesque architecture. Intricately sculpted fountains of rearing horses frozen in tableau, pulling life-life marble statutes of Poseidon and sea nymphs which blew water out of pan flutes.

  But the real show was in front of Treasure Island where, amid hundreds of flocking tourists, Simon and Xander watched pirates fight their way onto a large replica ship. Accompanied with explosions and pyrotechnics the battle was soon over as the ‘enemy’ – a dozen scantily-clad Sirens – overwhelmed the motley pirate crew with their enchanting song.

  The underlying lesson of the misadventure was mostly lost upon the audience who still applauded and cheered at the show, but the two young magicians knew better. Sure there might not be many things better than being taken captive by luscious sexual women of the sea, whose sole intent was to lure and entice men to their eternal embrace, but the price to be paid, was death. Sirens were little better than life-stealing succubus, but at least you’ll die with a smile on your face.

  With the faux battle over the crowd began to disperse, most heading down the Strip in search of more free entertainment, but a few re-entered the casino in search of the ever-elusive jackpot.

  “What do you want to do now?” Simon asked, looking at his watch. “It’s not even nine.”

  “We could find a club or two, lose the disguises and pick up some girls,” replied Xander, although the look from Simon said he didn’t think it was a good idea. “Right…underage…laying low. We could catch a late show, perhaps Chris Angel or Penn and Teller. How freaked out would they be if real magic suddenly happened on stage.”

  “As amusing as that sounds, I don’t think we should. We’re just out of the Academy and already you want to misuse our powers. If we get caught, they won’t treat us like kids.”

  “You worry too much,” said Xander as he began walking back towards the Bellagio.

  “And of course you don’t worry enough,” retorted Simon, obviously feeling a little exasperated. As he caught up with his friend, who was moving a little too fast for someone disguised as an old man, he added, “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re surrounded by magicians.”

  This stopped Xander in his tracks. “What?”

  “They’re everywhere, in every casino. Most are disguised as security, but a few are also dealers or waitresses. They are cloaked with powerful enchantments, but magic doesn’t hinder a psychic’s ability very much. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Well so far things have turned out great,” said Xander hotly. “If you want to return to the safe-house go ahead. I’ll be in my hotel suite, having the time of my life.”

  Simon didn’t know if his friend truly meant what he said. They’ve had fights before, but not like this. Something seemed different, and he realised it wasn’t Xander…it was the city. He’d heard about Vegas Fever, but dismissed it as an excuse for people to behave outlandishly for a few days, before returning to the drudgery of real life. Xander was just caught up with the glitz and glamour of false promises the city had to offer a young man. And for that Simon could not condemn his friend’s behaviour. “I’ll see you in an hour or so. I’m going to the safe-house to see if there’s any instructions left for us. Remember, you’re meant to be recovering, not partying, and eventually we’ll have to leave
here.”

  With his temper back under control, Xander allowed his friend to go, promising at the last moment not to get out of control. As they parted company Simon had the distinct impression the young magician was about to get into deep water, but he was a psychic, not a clairvoyant, and dismissed the feeling as just that.

  Excited shouts filled the air as Simon approached the roulette table. Between the dozen or so skimpy-dressed women he could just make out the diminutive aged figure Xander used as his disguise while gambling. The fact his friend was gambling alone filled Simon’s stomach with concrete, and fighting the sudden rising nausea pushed his way through the crowd.

  Over outraged voices from several women Simon had to push aside he heard the croupier spin the wheel again and asked for last bets. He just made it to Xander’s side when his friend pushed a large stack of chips across the table to cover the number thirty. Astonished, Simon quickly counted the chips and realised there was over ten thousand dollars. Bowing down to Xander’s height he whispered furiously into his friend’s ear. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Gambling of course. They gave me a line of credit,” said Xander without removing his attention from the spinning red and black wheel.

  “That’s so you don’t realise how much you’ll eventually lose. How long have you been playing?”

  Xander took a few moments to reply, finding it almost impossible to divide his attention between the game and Simon. “An hour, I think. About as long as you’ve been gone.”

  “That was almost three hours ago!” Simon exclaimed incredulously, pushing his watch in front of Xander’s face. Both hands were just past twelve, revealing it was indeed past midnight.