“Jesus Christ. How’d you do that?”
“I just told you. I’m psychic. You can call me Peter.”
Roe’s face changed from a nonbeliever to a believer in no time flat. He turned the pad around on his lap, and sketched while he spoke. “My grandmother was psychic. She used to tell me what the rest of my family was thinking when I was a little kid. My parents thought she was nuts, but I knew better. How long have you had the gift?”
Peter chose his words carefully, not wanting to tell Roe any more about himself than he’d already told Garrison. “We’re all born with psychic ability. Some of us realize it early, while others never do. I realized mine when I was a kid. I’ve been honing it ever since.”
“You’re saying that everyone can read minds?” Roe asked, not looking up.
“To a certain degree. It’s one of the ways people communicated before language was invented. Then people started talking, and stopped using their psychic powers. As a result, their abilities began to wane.”
“But yours didn’t.”
“I’m a little different. Both of my parents were psychics, and they passed it on to me. Mine is stronger than most people’s.”
Roe nodded as he drew. Peter had told him just enough to make him a believer, but not enough to turn him into a threat. He stole another glimpse into Roe’s head. Tonight over dinner, Roe would tell his date that he’d met someone who could read minds, and she’d smile and laugh, and it would be forgotten by the time dessert was served.
Perfect.
Finished, Rose spun his pad around. Dr. Death no longer looked like an everyman. His nostrils were now flared, and his eyes had taken on a predator’s glint, and become narrow and suspicious. The corners of his mouth were turned down in a frown. Seething out of every pore on his body was a palpable rage. The madman was lurking right below the surface.
“That’s a winner,” Peter said.
Roe acted pleased. He gathered up his pencils, and Peter walked him to the door. They shook hands, and the artist flashed a smile. “Your secret’s safe with me,” he said.
Peter tried to put Dr. Death out of his mind, and concentrate on how he was going to make a theater full of kids happy.
“Hey, Peter, can you talk?” a voice asked. It was Liza, speaking to him through the inner-canal earpiece that let his staff secretly communicate with him during the show.
“Sure can,” he said. “How’s it looking out there?”
“Looking good. The kids are in their seats. I don’t mean to freak you out, but I’m a little nervous. What if that thing from last night comes back? What should we do?”
“It’s called a shadow person, and I’ve already taken care of it,” Peter said.
“You have? How?”
“Shadow people are like ghosts, and prefer darkness. If the shadow person appears during my show, I’ll give Snoop a signal to turn on the house lights, and flood the stage. That should make it go away.”
“What if it doesn’t? What if it takes you to the other side again?”
“Then you’ll have to finish the show. Still remember how to do Miser’s Dream?”
“Come on. I’m being serious.”
“I’ve taken other precautions. I went through a box containing my father’s things this morning. Sure enough, he had a five-pointed star, similar to the one that belonged to my mother. My father’s is hanging around my neck, along with a string of garlic.”
“You have a string of garlic hanging around your neck?”
“Yeah. It really smells.”
“Quit farting around. I got frightened half to death last night. You’re not helping.”
Liza was stressed. He wished he could have been in the same room with her, and not having this conversation with his collar. “I texted my psychic friends, and told them I was having problems. They’re going to get together and try to help.”
“Help how?”
“Lester Rowe will gaze into his crystal ball, Max will read his tea leaves, and Milly and Holly will mix magic potions into a vase of water. They’ll talk to the spirits, and see if they can get to the bottom of what’s going on.”
“Is this another joke? I’m not laughing.”
“No joke. It’s what my friends do. Come on, don’t be mad. It works.”
“All I want to know is that I’m safe. I don’t feel that way right now.”
He swallowed the formidable lump in his throat. “Please don’t be afraid.”
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t be.”
“I can stop this thing, if I have to.”
“You can? How?”
The answer was complicated. Lurking inside him was a person far different from the man Liza knew. He liked to think of it as his alter ego, but in fact it was a demon that he’d been born with, courtesy of his parents’ peculiar genetic makeup. He could summon that demon if he chose, but there was a price to pay if he did.
“I have to go through a change,” he said. “The source of my psychic power is buried deep within me. If I really need to I can summon it to deal with this thing. But there are consequences.”
“Such as?”
“I can scare people, and I don’t want to do that.”
“But you’ll go back to being yourself eventually.”
Peter hesitated. He’d summoned the demon only as a last resort, and each time it had stayed around longer than he would have liked. Maybe one day the demon would not go back. That was the other reason he kept it suppressed, only he was not going to tell Liza that.
“Of course. Now please stop worrying.”
“I can’t help it. I’m sorry.”
A buzzer rang backstage, signaling that the show was about to start. He headed for the door when her voice stopped him in his tracks.
“How will you stop it?” Liza asked. “Pistols at twenty paces?”
“With my hands. I’ll grab it and shake it until it stops moving. Then it will fade away, and the threat will be gone. Okay?”
“You’ll kill it?” Her voice had taken on a chill.
“This thing isn’t alive. Its soul left this earth, and only a small portion remains in the form you saw last night. If I get my hands on it, I can shake that small piece out of it, and it will go join the rest of its spirit. I know it sounds weird, but that’s how it works.”
“So you’re not killing it?”
“You can’t kill something that’s already dead. But I can make it go away.”
“That makes me feel a lot better.”
The fear had left her voice. For now, she was good with things. He supposed that was the best he could hope for.
He walked down a narrow hall and up a staircase that led to the back of the stage. He could hear the faint voices of children, chattering away. He didn’t have to read their minds to know what each of them was thinking. They wanted to see some magic, and be transported to the world of make-believe.
He was not about to disappoint them.
12
Most magicians hated working for kids. They were little monsters, unruly and disruptive, and became distracted at the drop of a hat. In the world of magic, there was nothing lower than doing a kid show.
Peter felt differently about performing for children. Maybe it was because he’d never stopped being a kid himself.
Children of a certain age still believed in magic. The tricks they loved could be found on the shelves of any well-stocked magic shop, and would make a kid scream with delight if properly done. Pull a rabbit out of a hat, or a flapping dove from a scarf; make a pitcher of milk disappear in a newspaper; cause a silver ball to float mysteriously beneath a foulard; pluck fans of cards out of nothing, make billiard balls appear at your fingertips. Do these things right, and kids beg to see more. Their happiness will become your happiness, and it will last a long time.