Misfortune Teller

Chapter 2-2

Since she shifts her own and Fluffster’s attention so admirably, I dive into my pockets to make sure I have the props required.

I have a deck of cards in one pocket (who doesn’t, right?) and random utility items in the other one, including a small lighter I just pretended not to have. I breathe a sigh of relief when my fingers brush over flash paper—something I also carry in most of my pockets. This assures I’ll be able to add nice pizzazz to my effect, so I say, “Please also bunch a paper towel into a small ball for me.”

Flash paper is nitrocellulose—an explosive that somehow became a magician’s prop. When lit, it makes an extremely bright flame, like the combined flashes of a zillion phone cameras. And, when the stuff is bunched into a ball, it looks a lot like a wrinkled paper towel.

Ariel does as she’s told. In the meantime, I prepare what I need without Fluffster or Ariel being the wiser.

“Here you go,” she says and hands me the ball of paper.

I take the paper towel and pretend to make it into a tighter ball—but in reality, I put it on top of the crumpled flash paper. I then pretend to bunch the paper further, and it’s the easiest thing in the world to palm the original paper towel and be left with the flash paper ball visible.

Neither Fluffster nor Ariel notice the switch, which makes me feel better about all the hours of my life I’ve spent practicing this move.

“Keep your eyes on the paper,” I tell them, mainly because I enjoy rubbing in my deceit like that, but also because psychologically, it tells them I want them to make sure the paper doesn’t get switched. This way, they’ll later swear the paper couldn’t have been switched thanks to them “always keeping eyes on it.” Also, it helps with the next part because as they stare at my hand, they miss the moment when I palm the deck of cards in my pocket.

“Actually, Fluffster, can you move back a little?” I ask, in part as misdirection and in part because I’m really concerned the flare might ignite his gorgeous fur.

As he scurries back, I move the paper into the hand that’s secretly palming the deck. Neither participant can see the deck from their point of view. I then use my now-empty left hand to grab the lighter from Ariel’s hand.

They don’t question me moving the paper. Fluffster’s motion distracted them, and I also used a principle in magic known as “in transit action.” The paper ball went into the hand I needed as though to make room for the lighter. I mean, would I grab a lighter with my left hand, like a barbarian?

I inwardly smile.

The first part of the trick hasn’t started as far as Fluffster and Ariel think, but in terms of methodology, it’s already over.

“Look very closely.” I light the lighter. “I’m going to turn this paper towel into a deck of cards.”

I touch the lighter to the ball of flash paper, and the explosive substance ignites—blinding Ariel and Fluffster exactly as I re-grip the deck of cards in my outstretched hand.

My own headache reignites thanks to the ultra-bright light, but I disregard the pain as a worthy sacrifice for my art.

“Wow,” Ariel exclaims.

“How?” Fluffster asks in my mind.

To them, it looked like in a literal flash, a paper towel ball turned into a deck of cards.

“I’m not done,” I say and launch into my own version of the famous Ambitious Card routine—an effect where a card appears at the top of the deck after being put in the middle, under progressively more impossible conditions. Most of the phases I show them are from magic books, but I end with a finale that I invented.

Ariel squeals in glee as the card jumps to the top despite the deck going back into the card box and being held inside Ariel’s hands.

“You’re so much better than that guy on YouTube,” Fluffster says, his rodent nose crinkling.

“You watch YouTube?” I stare at him, dumbfounded. I still retain enough wits to extend my hand to Ariel—who puts the deck back into it.

Since everyone thinks the trick is over, I use their lack of attention to swap the deck for the bunched-up paper towel that I hid all this time. Then I say, “Oh, one last thing. I should give you back your paper ball.”

I reveal that the deck of cards “turned back” into the paper towel, and Ariel examines it in disbelief before putting it in her pocket like a treasure.

“Fluffster loves to watch YouTube,” Felix says as he reenters the room. He looks at me with that very annoying expression he has when he thinks he knows how I did something. Often, he does indeed know, so I’m glad he missed the majority of my performance. “I rigged up a computer for him in my room,” he continues. “If you could get a PhD in cat videos, he would be Doctor Fluffster by now.”

“Isn’t it scary for you to watch cats?” Ariel asks. “In a rodent’s body and all.”

“No,” Fluffster says, presumably in all our heads. “I like cats. Well, most cats—not that neighbor’s one. Maybe I was a cat before?”

Now that I’m not performing magic, my sense of time returns, and I realize I’m going to be so late that I won’t have time for the research Nero demanded—and I don’t want to start our Mentor-Mentee relationship on such a sour note. “I’ve got to run,” I say, heading for the door.

“I set up the lunch with my parents,” Felix says as I pass him. “I’ll text you the deets.”

“Sounds good,” I say from the doorway. “Later, everyone.”

In the hallway, I risk a glance at my phone and wish I didn’t.

Not only am I late, but I have messages from Nero. He added a few more stocks to his early-morning demand.

If I don’t get to the office right now, I’m screwed.

I’m rushing to the elevator when a familiar voice rings out from the farther end of the hallway.

“Sasha,” Rose says gleefully. “I’m so glad I bumped into you.”

I turn to look as she approaches.

A recycling bag in one hand and cat in the other, Rose looks to be having one of her good, spry days. This happens sporadically, as though Rose goes and takes a swim in the alien rejuvenation pool from The Cocoon movie Mom loves so much.

I’m not at all surprised when I spot Rose’s Mandate aura. Her being one of the Cognizant is the only thing that could at least partially explain her relationship with the modelesque Vlad, who, thanks to his vampirism, looks to be her grandson.

Feline eyes stare into mine, and I’m relieved to find that Rose’s cat Lucifur doesn’t have the same aura as the rest of us.

If this creature were supernatural, I’d be extremely concerned.

The cat realizes I’m staring back, and (though this could be my imagination) gives me an imperious nod. Her eyes seem to say, “Ah, if it isn’t the peasant who saved our majestic life when the enemies of the crown conspired to make us swallow that loathsome key. We shall grant you a boon, peasant. We will let you keep your pathetic life. Bask in this honor. Now get out of our sight.”

I lose the staring contest with the cat, and to cover it up, I say, “Let me help.” Coming up to Rose, I grab the recycling bag and take it to the garbage disposal shaft.

“Vlad already told me about your status, but I had to see it for myself.” Rose nods appreciatively toward my Mandate aura when I face her again. “How could I not realize you were a Cognizant?”

I study her carefully. With her heavy but stylishly applied makeup, she looks at least twenty years younger than the eighty-plus I always suspected her to be—but then again, being a Cognizant, she may be exponentially older.

“So, Vlad isn’t your nephew,” I say, curiosity almost making me forget how late I am for work.

“No, he isn’t,” Rose says, and I catch a hint of a blush through the makeup. “I apologize for that lie. I’m not even sure why I said it. Perhaps because our relationship is so tied with my power that I—”

“And what power is that?” I ask, my curiosity stoked further.

“The power of a witch, of course,” she says, her chin lifting. “I would’ve thought that part would be obvious.”

“Not to me. You’re the first witch I’ve met.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Rose says and strokes Lucifur behind the ear—to the creature’s purring delight. “Some of us can be… less than nice.”

I can’t help looking at Rose’s frail stature and wondering what she means by that. Is she hinting that witches are evil or dangerous in some way? Not wanting to offend her, I steer the conversation to what I’m most curious about. “So how did you and Vlad meet?”

A small smile appears on Rose’s face. “It was back in France,” she says, her gaze taking on a distant look. “Right before that dreadful Revolution—”

“Wait,” I say. “What do you mean ‘back in France?’ Are you originally French?”

“I thought you knew,” Rose says and glances down at her stylish outfit, as though for confirmation.

“You have no accent,” I say and realize that with the last name of Martin, Rose could indeed be from France.

“Of course I don’t,” she says proudly. “I’ve lived in the United States since the Civil War. But if you have any doubt…” She proceeds to say something in what sounds like fluent French.

My hangover reasserts itself, making the hallway spin. “So, when you say you met around the French Revolution, you’re talking about the one with Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette, Robespierre, and Napoleon?”

“Yes,” Rose says. “And the Civil War was the one with Abraham Lincoln, who was such a nice—”

A door across the hall opens, and one of our neighbors comes out. He has no Mandate aura, and he looks to be around Rose’s age—except I now know that isn’t the case. He could easily be Rose’s great-great-great-grandson.

Rose wrinkles her nose almost imperceptibly, the way she always does when this neighbor tries to flirt with her. Now that I know what I know—that she has a hot boyfriend (or maybe husband?)—I can’t blame her for her lack of interest in the older man.

“Hi, Rose,” he says and smiles—a tactical mishap, given the stained teeth.

“Hello, Mr. Duffertnizer,” Rose says, her voice even cooler than usual.

Lucifur hisses viciously at the guy, bringing to mind territorial lions on nature shows. Mr. Duffertnizer—who must’ve seen those same nature shows—submissively takes a step back toward his apartment.

“We’ll have to continue this conversation later, Rose,” I say. “If I don’t get to work soon, Nero will—”

“Say no more,” Rose says, her expression reminiscent of Mona Lisa. “I best feed Luci before she gets all cranky.”

Both Mr. Duffertnizer and I look at the small fluff of nerves in Rose’s hands and wonder what this cat would be like when actually cranky. However, he bravely remains in place, and I hear him try to engage Rose in conversation again as I enter the elevator.

Exiting the building, I grab the first taxi that comes my way and start reading up on the stocks Nero asked me to research.

At 10:45 a.m., I unpeel my eyes from my work monitor. In the ten out of fifteen remaining minutes before my deadline, I write up my recommendation in an email to Nero. However, my finger stops before pressing “Send.”

This isn’t my best work. Because my time was limited, I had to cut a lot of corners, and the resulting analysis is more instinctual than backed by data.

If I’m honest with myself, this recommendation is little better than an educated guess.

“Most of the financial sector runs on hunches,” I tell myself and click the send button decisively.

Then I stare at my inbox, expecting Nero to instantly reply with some kind of admonishment about my lack of research rigor.

When no instant reply shows up, I distract myself by checking voicemail.

Two of the voicemails turn out to be from my dad, and my guilt over doing a crappy analysis blends into a more familiar shame—that of being a questionable daughter. Including these two messages, I’ve probably ignored over a dozen voicemails from Dad at this point.

Not that he doesn’t deserve it. Like a horrible cliché, he cheated on Mom with his secretary, which led to the break in my adoptive family. I don’t know if my strong reaction to their divorce was normal or if it was made worse by my biological parents abandoning me.

Whatever the reason, I couldn’t face Dad for years.

After a while, I did forgive him enough to reconnect. Until his screw-up, he’d been a good dad, and even after the divorce, he’d paid all our bills up until I moved out of Mom’s place—though his shark lawyer had ensured he didn’t have to. However, more recently, he’s left Mom to fend completely for herself, and I’m again mad at him for that. It might be irrational, but it feels like he’s abandoned our family yet again.