“You have my word.”
“Here’s what’s going to happen. The train will pull into the terminal, and the shadow person will stay on the roof until the passengers have departed and the platform is quiet. Then it will get off and creep up the stairs to the exit, and hang by the door. Once it sees an opening in the terminal, it will bolt toward an exit. That’s when you have a chance to catch it.”
“How? With a butterfly net?”
“Turn on the lights inside the terminal to their brightest wattage. It will freeze the thing in its tracks.”
“It’s that simple?”
“Yes. Whatever you do, make sure you don’t touch it.”
“How am I going to move it?”
“You don’t. Unless you want to cause great harm to yourself and your team.”
“What? And leave it there for everyone to see? Are you nuts?”
The taxi had reached its destination, and the driver raised the flag on the meter.
“Call me if you catch it,” Peter said, “and I’ll tell you what to do.”
Max had made a living doing magic for half a decade. Unlike most stage performers, who lugged around lots of bulky props, his act fit into a small suitcase. The Egg Bag, Linking Rings, Floating Ball, Rising Cards, and an occasional mind-reading stunt made up his repertoire. In his hands, each trick was a masterpiece of deception tempered by delicious patter and funny stories. Max the Magnificent, One of the Better Cheaper Acts.
These days, Max limited his act by performing close-up tricks that fit into his pockets. On Mondays he could be found entertaining the lunch crowd at a Bleecker Street landmark called the Peculier Pub that featured hundreds of imported beers and ales and a menu of traditional British fare. The pub had a low tin ceiling, which magnified the sound of the diners and folks lining the bar, and Max often had to shout to be heard.
The room was mobbed, and Peter sifted his way to the back, where he found his teacher doing a card trick for a group of businessmen having lunch at a table. The deck was not cooperating, and Max kept getting the wrong card, much to the men’s’ delight.
Max pulled an ace of hearts from beneath his collar. “Is this your selected card?”
“Nope,” said a businessman drinking beer.
“Rats! How about this one?” From behind his knee, Max made the king of hearts magically appear, and waited expectantly.
“Wrong again.” The businessman snorted derisively.
“Godfrey Daniels! Give me one more chance. I’ll give you a prize if I don’t succeed.”
“What kind of prize?” the businessman asked.
“A very valuable one, worth lots of money.”
“You’re on.”
The businessman tapped his knife against a water glass. A hush fell over the pub, with all eyes glued to the old magician with shoulder-length white hair and frayed tuxedo. Max cuffed his sleeves and displayed his empty palms. His hands were soft and supple. When his fingers danced, it was with the lightness of butterfly wings. A playing card materialized out of thin air.
“Wow,” someone at the bar gasped.
“Name your card,” Max said triumphantly.
“It was the nine of spades,” the businessman declared.
Max spun the card around to reveal the three of diamonds.
A groan went through the tavern.
“You lose,” the businessman roared. “Pay up!”
Max acted disgusted with himself. Reaching into his pocket, he removed the businessman’s wallet, and presented it to him. Next followed the man’s wristwatch, car keys, cigarette lighter, and reading glasses. The businessman grabbed helplessly at his empty pockets while the pub roared with laughter. It was a staple of many tricks to turn failure into triumph. No one did it better than Max, and sustained applause followed.
Max hadn’t lost his touch. The great ones never did. As Peter approached him, he sensed an otherworldly presence in the room. Had the shadow person beaten him here?
“Why, hello, Peter, how are you?” Max asked. “Enjoy the show?”
“It was great. You killed them. I need to get you out of here.”
“But I’m just getting warmed up.”
Peter looked around to make sure no one was listening, then brought his mouth up to Max’s ear. “There’s a shadow person in the room. You’re not safe.”
“No, there’s not. Sit down and have some lunch. The corned beef is very good.”
“I felt it, Max. Come outside with me.”
Peter pulled his teacher toward the front door. Max waved to the crowd on his way out.
“Be back in sixty,” he called out.
The feeling of an evil spirit disappeared the moment Peter stepped onto the sidewalk outside the pub. Max grinned at him the way an older man smiles at a child.
“See? I told you it wasn’t a shadow person,” his teacher said.
“But I felt something strange in there.”
“And so did I. A feeling of anxiety, yes?”
“That’s right. Do you know what it was?”
“I most certainly do. It’s called electromagnetic hypersensitivity. Ghost hunters often mistake electromagnetic hypersensitivity for ghosts, when it fact it comes from refrigerators.”
“I got spooked by a refrigerator?”
“Afraid so. The owner lets me set up my show in the kitchen. I noticed that a refrigerator had been moved so it backed up onto a wall of the pub. As the refrigerator’s cooling settings cycled on, the electromagnetic field it emitted passed through the wall. That’s what you felt.”
Peter lowered his eyes in embarrassment. “Sorry.”
“You know what they say. There’s a paddle for everyone’s behind, and yours just got paddled. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish my show.”
“Hold on. I have a present for you.”
Peter presented a small jewelry box to his teacher. Max opened it, and examined the five-pointed star. As a rule, psychics did not interfere with the lives of other psychics, or offer them help or counsel. On those rare times that a psychic did reach out, it was for a good cause, and the offer was rarely refused. Without a word, Max slipped the necklace on, and tucked it under his shirt. He nodded appreciatively.
“Thank you, Peter.”
“You’re welcome, Max.”
“I see other gifts in your bag. Who are they for?”
“One of my assistants, and the rest of the Friday night group.”
“Will you be presenting one to Holly?”
“Yes, she’s on the list. Why do you ask?”
Max’s eyes narrowed and he dropped his voice. “Someone was going to have to tell you, so I suppose it should be me. Holly has been scrying on you. She admitted it to me and the rest of the group the other night. I told her to stop, and she got quite upset with me. She thinks the present predicament you’re in with the shadow people gives her the right to play voyeur cam with your life. It’s not right, and I wanted you to know.”
“That doesn’t sound like Holly. What’s come over her?”
“I’m afraid she’s changed, and not for the better. Her crush on you is out of control. The poor girl is head over heels in love.”
Peter rocked back on his heels. He’d known Holly since she was five. He’d babysat her as a teenager, and watched her grow up. How could he have missed this?
“I also sense that Holly thinks you’re in love with her,” Max went on. “Are you?”
“In love with Holly? I have feelings for her, but not like that.”
“Are you?”
“Max, come on. Be serious. This is Holly we’re talking about.”
“Are you?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re avoiding the question.”
The door to the pub swung open and a comely red-headed waitress stuck her head out. “Hey, Max, your adoring fans await you. Are you going to finish your show?”
“Of course I’m going to finish my show,” Max said.