Memory's Door (A Well Spring Novel) (14 page)

“You were amazing.” He pointed at each of the people who had helped choose the card. “Well done. If you’d chosen any other color, any other suit, the lower or middle cards or any other high card, well”—he motioned toward a brown leather bag with green bills
overflowing from it—“I fear the others among you wouldn’t be as kind with their donations as I’m hoping they will now be.” He picked up the bag—the money still sticking over the edges—and passed it through the crowd.

As the bag circulated, the magician squatted and stared at the ground as if trying to figure out what to do next. When he sprang back to his feet, he grinned at the sky, then turned to Marcus. His slate-gray eyes seemed to bore into Marcus’s brain and shout, “I told you we’d meet again today, of course I couldn’t have it any other way.” He spun in a slow circle on his heel, eyes closed, thumbs hooked over the front of his jeans.

When he opened them, he addressed the crowd but his gaze locked onto Marcus. “We’re about to do an experiment. Not a magic trick, not some manipulation of your senses to force you to choose in the way I want you to, but a true experiment that might or might not work. Simply put, I’m going to read your mind.” He nodded at the crowd as if he’d just offered all of them a winning lottery ticket they couldn’t refuse.

“But before we begin I should warn you this experiment will change at least one of your lives in a significant way.” He bowed his head and opened his palms. “So if you suspect it might be you and are wondering what to do . . . if you’d like to remain in the cocoon you call your life, I suggest you leave now and give no chance to stir up strife.”

The sensation that the magician was talking specifically about him surged through Marcus’s brain like a rogue ocean wave, but he shrugged it off. Apparently not everyone could do so as about a quarter of the crowd shuffled away.

After the sound of their echoing steps off the red bricks of the square faded, the man lifted his head and sighed with seeming contentment. “Ah yes. The faithful remain.” He rubbed his hands together. “Good, I think we’re ready.”

The street magician glanced at each of the remaining people as if evaluating pieces of machinery. When he’d finished he looked
up and to his left, then blinked three times at half speed. Then he turned and smiled at Marcus. “Would you like to help?”

“With what?”

“The experiment of course.” He sauntered toward Marcus and stopped with three feet between them. “Are you ready to get on this pony and take a little jaunt together?”

“You’re going to read my mind?”

“Yes. But without anything being written down as so many of my brethren must do and without asking you a single question. As I already said, this experiment is real. No smoke, no mirrors, no cheap trick thrill.”

He glanced at the rest of the crowd, an expectant look on their faces.

“No thanks.”

“No worries.” He turned to Marcus’s left. “Then let’s do something else. Would anyone like to help me prove the existence of alternate realities and explain why a woman would wear the same outfit to her job at a bakery two days in a row?”

Marcus blinked. “What did you say?”

The magician spun back to him. “I don’t believe your hearing failed you.” He beckoned with his fingers. “Now, can I try to read your mind? I promise to be ever so kind.”

“How do you know about that?”

“Do you want to help?”

“How did you know?”

He leaned toward Marcus and spoke in a stage whisper. “Are you sure we should have that conversation right now in front of students who will likely report on the details of what we talk about to others at this university, or should we arrange for a more appropriate time to chat?”

Marcus didn’t answer. He wanted to grab the magician around the neck and shove him up against a wall until he told Marcus what he knew about Kat. All this guy needed was a gold coin to flip to convince him it was Zennon.

After a few minutes of pretending he was finding something in the battered leather briefcase at his feet, the magician asked once more, “Will you help?” His eyes said the only acceptable answer was yes. Marcus nodded.

“Splendid.” He turned to the crowd and opened his arms wide. “Let us begin.” He paced three steps to the right and then three back to the left, stroking his chin as if he were playing a vaudeville stage back in the 1920s.

“Please think of a photograph you own. Any will do. Concentrate on it. Form a picture of it in your head. Now attach an emotion to the picture. Anger, fear, happiness, regret—anything you like.” He stopped pacing and stared at Marcus. “Ready?”

“Sure.”

“You’re thinking of a photograph of the Enchantments. Your arm is around a good friend and the emotion you’re feeling is . . . regret.”

Marcus stepped out from the crowd and turned to face them. “Show’s over. My new friend and I are going to have a chat. Right now.”

“Was he right?” a young man asked.

“Yes, he was right.” Marcus stared at the magician and motioned him toward Drumheller Fountain at the south end of campus.

Marcus stood next to the fountain, arms crossed, his gaze drilling the magician. “What’s your name?”

“Simon.”

“Last name?”

Simon waved his hand. “Simon is enough.”

“Fine. I suppose I don’t have to tell you mine then.”

“No, you don’t. I picked that up while reading your mind.” The man grinned.

“I don’t believe that.”

“You’re right, it was much easier to find it online in the U-Dub faculty directory.”

Marcus glanced to his left and right. No one near. Good. “Are you Zennon? Or some other demon?”

“No. Who is Zennon?”

“I think you know full well who Zennon is.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but I swear on the stars beyond the stars beyond the many layered realms of alternate realities that I am not him.” Simon took a coin out of his pocket and rolled it over his fingers. “He uses a gold coin. As you can plainly see, mine is silver.”

“Are you an angel?”

“No.” Simon sat on the edge of the fountain and patted the beveled concrete. Marcus stayed standing.

“Then what are you?”

Simon leaned back and laughed. “Are you always this direct?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I meant it when I said we would become friends. Or I should say, I hope we become friends. So let’s ease into things before we talk about diamond rings. Get to know each other a bit first. Chat about the mundane things of the world, then let the deeper things naturally unfurl.” He leaned forward and looked at Marcus from under his eyebrows. “For example, wouldn’t you like to ask me about the invisible deck trick?”

“I’d prefer to be enlightened on how you knew about the Enchantments photo.”

Simon wiggled his fingers. “The deck first.”

“Fine.” If he had to play Simon’s game for a spell, he would. “Were the people in the crowd plants? Did you tell them what card to finish with?”

“In other words, did I cheat in order to accomplish my stunning feat?”

“Yes.”

“I did not.”

“Then how could you anticipate they would pick the jack of diamonds?”

“I didn’t.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It doesn’t matter what card they choose. It will always be the one reversed in the deck.”

“So how did you accomplish the trick?”

“As my son said when he was young, ‘maaa-gitch.’” Simon frowned and spoke more to himself than Marcus. “I think I had a son. I did, didn’t I? I mean a real one.”

“Simon, are you quite well?”

The magician whipped his head up and scratched his salt-and-pepper goatee. “Sorry, can’t keep it all straight most of the time. I definitely had a real son.” He smiled as if he’d figured out the meaning of quantum mechanics but then his face turned dark. “But he died when he was very young. Years later my wife died too and that’s when—” Simon stopped and waved his hand as if to bat the thought away. “No, no, I won’t be able to explain the trick.” He looked apologetic and bowed his head. “I’m unable to break the magician’s code. But it’s only a trick—not real magic.”

“It’s one of the best I’ve seen.” Granted, Marcus hadn’t seen a lot of street magic, but if it was true, that the crowd could have picked any card, the trick seemed impossible.

Simon shook his head and chuckled.

“Is there something intrinsically humorous about my comment?”

“Many versed magicians look down on that trick because it’s so common and so simple to do.” He smiled and rubbed his thumbs together. “Overused they’d call it. Beneath them. It relies on a gimmick—trick cards. Not pure sleight of hand, they say.”

“Regardless, the crowd was enamored. If they hadn’t observed the trick previously—”

“Exactly.” Simon snapped his fingers. “What is common for some is a miracle for others. It’s all a matter of perspective.”

“As was my perspective with the bakery incident or the photo of the Enchantments.”

“Precisely. You’re as bright as advertised.” Simon rolled his
silver coin around his fingers again and it vanished on the second pass. “This switching. Common for you, common for me.”

“Not so common for me.”

“Or for most of mankind. But it should be for you. You wrote the book. And trust me, they will become more common for you. Of that I’m sure.” He frowned. “Almost sure. Close to sure, you know? Can’t ever tell for certain. When you’ve lived in over four hundred different realities, you can’t be certain about anything.”

“Four hundred realities?”

Simon gave a quick nod. “Maybe a few more than that. Lost count.”

Marcus stared at Simon and asked the Spirit what he was. Human didn’t come into his mind. But nothing else did either. A few seconds later the magician clapped his hands and handed Marcus a business card. All it contained was
Simon
and a cell phone number.

“Well now, that was an excellent first session together, don’t you think? In our second session let’s be sure to talk about the Wolf, okay?”

Heat rose to Marcus’s face. “How do you know about the Wolf?”

“In time, Mr. Amber, in time.” Simon picked up his leather bag and strolled off.

Whoever Simon was, he would obviously have a role in this play. Marcus glanced at his watch. In a little over twenty-four hours he’d be with the other Warriors. The time couldn’t come soon enough.

As he walked toward the garage that held his car, he pulled up his calendar. Tomorrow night: Warriors. Saturday night: Calen over for dinner. What would that be like? Marcus let out a soft moan. He felt like Jesus was telling him it would be far from an ordinary family gathering.

SEVENTEEN

R
EECE SAT AT HIS FIRE PIT ON
F
RIDAY EVENING AT SEVEN
waiting for the others to arrive, knowing he would need to be exactly what Doug said he would need to be in the coming days: stronger than he imagined, able to hear the Spirit with ears that listened well, and fully engaged in their coming battle with the Wolf. He couldn’t see. So what.

The Spirit had told him the confrontation with the Wolf would be far from what he expected. And that he needed to be ready for that. Wonderful. He had no idea what the battle would be like but he was supposed to anticipate what it would be like?

The sound of footsteps broke Reece out of his mulling. Had to be Doug. Amazing how he’d learned to identify people by the way their feet fell on grass or floors or ground.

“How is my fire, Doug? Did I build a good one?”

“Yes, can’t you feel the heat?”

“Just checking.” Reece held out his hands and let the flames warm them. “If we send them in tonight, it will be brutal.”

“It will be brutal any night. They need to go through this,” Doug said, his voice soft.

“I don’t want to do it.”

“Neither do I.”

When Dana arrived the others were already seated around the fire pit in Reece’s backyard. She hated being late, but for some reason the emergencies at the station didn’t care that she had other commitments on her calendar.

As soon as she sat next to the professor, Reece invited them all to describe what had been happening during the past week. First Marcus told what had happened at the bakery where Kat worked, about the Enchantments photo, and about the strange magician, Simon, he’d met in Red Square at the U-Dub.