Ch. 20
On Stony Ground
“The College Inn”, said Nachton in a slow and dismissive. “Those kids care nothing for elegance or real talent. They only like one kind of show.”
“What do you mean ‘those kids’? You aren’t much older yourself”, replied the Giant who wasn’t in the best of moods either.
“I’m older than my years George, a lot older.”
Nachton hated doing college shows. None of his best magic played well. They booed and jeered everything except the one trick he loathed, the one that made a tiny corner of his mind feel…evil.
“Don’t worry so much Willard. After tonight and Tennessee State next week then it’s back home for a month at the Castle.”
Willard turned his peculiar yellow eyes toward the Giant and spoke softly, “I’ve played the castle before. It’s not all that exciting to me.”
“Will, that doesn’t count. Don’t forget, I was there when you auditioned for the youth group. After that you went on the road with DePraeco and haven’t been back in LA since. I would know if that bum (pardon me) had come back. He still owes me big time for the year I spent with him.”
George expected Nachton’s flash of annoyance at his insult. Most magicians held respect if not reverence for their first teacher. Willard would be no different. But he also knew first hand that DePraeco was a lying, cheating slave driver who would have been chucked out of the Castle and the Association if he hadn’t been so damned good at magic.
“Don’t get all pissy with me Will. You know as well as I do that he didn’t deserve to have an apprentice. More than one good amateur has quit because that jerk ran them into the ground. I would have if he hadn’t abandoned me first. Seventeen years old without a red cent in my pocket…in Budapest! The things I did to get home.”
“What exactly did you do George?”
The Giant’s head whipped around to stare at the younger man lying on the dressing room couch. For an instant he could have sworn it was DePraeco’s voice, that same cultured, better-than-thou tone and snide lash, taking pleasure in another’s pain.
George shook his head, blinked and then sighed, “Let’s not talk about the dead right now. Let him rest in whatever peace God thinks he deserves.”
A knock broke the tension and Willard reached over to turn the knob. Outside the door was a suited man with bulging muscles and no neck whom they recognized as the bouncer. Loud country music drifted in forcing them to yell.
She said, "Son, I've enjoyed my life, and loved in many places
“Hey guys, you’re on in two minutes. Which one of you is first?”
“He is”, said Willard. “I lost the coin flip.”
Most performers agree that the mood of an audience can make or break a show. If the fans are excited then it spurs the artist on. If they are distracted, bored or too drunk to care then anything from hecklers to fights may break out. A college show, in a bar, after karaoke is not the kind of audience either Willard or George wanted to face. Going first meant finishing before things really got out of hand.
For a taste of your whiskey I'll give you somethin’ nice"
George put down his bottle of Jolt Cola, said a quiet prayer and headed out the door, stooping to clear the frame.
“Hey G! Knock ‘em dead.” Willard called.
“If one more wasted under-aged coed asks me how big my wand is I’ll knock someone dead”, he growled and moved off down the narrow hall. George was a devoted husband with a kind supportive wife.
Alone in the room, Willard tried to review his act but couldn’t concentrate. He was so very very tired. All the magic he had learned during several lives was slipping away. Ever since that trip to DC he hadn’t felt right. This time the stone had not performed properly and the minuscule part of Willard Hoffmann still inside him would not be overcome. He knew of only one way to drown that annoying voice in his head.
Willard reached for the bottle of grenadine and poured a healthy measure into a tall glass. This he topped with Bailey’s Irish Cream and then a double shot of cherry brandy. The layers of liquor settled without mixing and Willard Leonardo Eugene Harry Hudini Laurant DePraeco Hoffmann downed it without a flinch.
“Crowd’s hot tonight”, George whispered to Nachton 20 minutes later as they passed at the edge of the stage. The Giant started pulling tens and twenties from several very tender parts of his body. “I’d skip card tricks (ow) and go right for the (uh) mind control.”
Once under the lights Nachton was again in his element. “This is where I belong”, he thought and eased into the routine. He performed a few simple sleight-of-hand moves that brought scattered applause. The floating beer mug illusion always went over well. This group liked it so much they called for it twice more and he obliged. Then a series of quick card tricks followed and the room was stony silence. He should have listened to the Giant. Finally it was time for his best magic.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, for my final act I will perform an amazing feat of mental projection. I shall need four volunteers who believe themselves to be exceptionally strong-willed for I shall attempt to take-over their minds. Who’ll come on stage and test their will against mine?”
There were no lack of candidates and Nachton picked some winners. The first was a stuffy old English professor who prided himself on an ironclad rigid adherence to the school’s honor code. The second was Spike Houlihan, captain of the football team. He was intense to the extreme and very focused. Third came Alicia Del Mont, a girl so afraid of social rejection that she became completely invisible to others. Most people liked Alicia in the way a stray puppy is welcomed for just a few minutes but nobody wants to keep them forever. Last was a tall young man with dark hair from the back of the room who was staring quite intently at Nachton’s headdress and the golden jewel he bore there. The magician felt an odd familiarity with the boy and wanted to look closer into Simon’s eyes.
A sly grin played at the corners of Nachton’s face as his victims stepped on stage. He did so very much enjoy the power if this particular trick. The magician arranged them so everyone could see and turning dramatically to the crowd, introduced them by name.
“Behold! Four individuals, each having their own will. They think, act, breathe and live in their own unique way. But wait…in mere moments they will become my wraiths, my slaves, my zombies if you will. I will command and they shall obey.”
Nachton spun back toward Professor L. Winston Harper in his three piece tweed suit. He whispered briefly to the old man before seizing him at the temples and touching his amulet to Harper’s forehead. His pupils dilated, the muscles around his face drooped and for all anyone could tell he was asleep on his feet with eyes wide open. The next two helpers experienced the same reaction.
No comments:
Post a Comment