Magic Mansion (26 page)

He looked up. Jia had four rings linked already.

Slotted!
Again, he found the correct type of ring immediately, but needed to try multiple times to grasp it.
 

“So, linking rings are your big thing,” Jia said, “huh?”

Why was she talking?
 

“Are you scared I’m going to use my ancient Chinese secret on you?”

Did she know Ricardo was talking to the rings, and she was deliberately trying to throw him off? He grabbed at a solid ring several times, then looked up to see if she was still ahead of him. She was—now by two rings.
 

“I’m not even very fond of the trick,” Jia said. “It’s kind of obvious, when you think about it—but it is tradition. Have you seen my act?”

“Yes.” Ricardo pawed desperately at a ring, then linked them as quickly as possible. “It was great.”

“Thanks. You know why it’s so popular?”

Ricardo linked another ring, and then looked up, expecting to see Jia ahead now by three. Instead, he saw why she was linking
circles
around him. She had hung her ring-chain from the crook of her elbow, and was using two hands to pick up the ring, one to push down one side of the ring so the other side popped up, and then the other hand to actually grab it. “Because you’re good?”

“Because I’m the only female Chinese conjurer on the whole circuit. That’s why.”

Ricardo popped a slotted ring up on one side and grabbed hold of it in a single try. Much better. He began linking as quickly as Jia.

“The first week-long engagement I ever landed, you know what the promoter said to me?” Jia slammed two rings together with a chime. “That maybe I should turn up my accent a little.” She grabbed another and shoved it onto her chain. “I don’t
have
an accent.” Another ring. “And I’m sure as hell not going to put one on like Margaret Cho when she’s making fun of her mother on Comedy Central.”

Ricardo’s chain was now trailing along behind him. He added a ring. “So…you want to be known as a
good
magician. Not just a Chinese magician.”

“You don’t get it—I’ll always be a Chinese magician. At least here, in America. That’s all I will ever be.” Jia linked another ring. “If I went to China, I’d probably be known as the American magician.”

Ricardo’s concentration slipped, and he felt his chain grow lighter. He looked, and three rings at the end of the chain had slipped the slot and fallen off. Should he grab the three rings together and add them back on? He didn’t know. The rules hadn’t specified whether he could pick up more than one ring at a time or not. And after Bev getting disqualified with the one-in-a-thousand twelve-inch wand in her hand, he wasn’t about to tempt fate. He just needed to work faster and keep his focus.

“Maybe I grew up in Oakland and maybe I don’t have an accent,” Jia said, “but I’m still proud of my heritage. So I don’t do a Chinese conjurer act just because I’m Chinese.”

I can’t lose another ring.
Please, please, please stick together.
Ricardo sent the thought urgently as he linked another ring, and the timer ticked down to the last ten seconds.

Jia’s rings chimed. “Because if I don’t do the act and do it with dignity, with pride, someone else is going to come along and exploit themselves for the novelty. I need to be so good that no one would even bother trying to imitate me.”

Apple Blossom Vanish had stuck with Ricardo for days afterward. And, if he were to be completely honest with himself, he’d even felt somewhat envious that Jia (who was ten years younger than him) had such an elaborate set and gorgeous costumes. But he’d never once questioned that she deserved them. Because she really was that good.

“And that,” Jia said, as the last seconds slipped away, “is why I need to win.”

The buzzer sounded. Ricardo tried to see how long Jia’s chain of linking rings stretched, but it was impossible to discern which were linked, and which weren’t, among all the other rings on the floor.

“Magicians,” Monty said, “You may take off your mittens. It’s time to see how you scored. Holding only the last ring in your chain, you will step away from the linking area. When the final ring clears the other unlinked rings, you’ll be told to stop. Ricardo the Magnificent?”

Ricardo nodded. His knees felt shaky and his wounded tongue tasted like raw liver. But when he pulled off the stupid mittens and touched the bare metal, he felt a tingle. A connection. A joy.

“Step forward.”

Please hold together.

Though he had the advantage of being able to talk to the rings, Ricardo walked slowly, deliberately, aware that with every step, he faced the possibility of one of the rings snagging on the pile, and a slot turning and aligning with its neighboring ring, and a big hunk of his chain dropping right off.

Please
hold together.

“Stop,” Monty said, and Ricardo froze. He looked back over his shoulder—carefully, moving only his head—and saw his chain of linking rings extended several yards back before it ended just at the edge of the remaining unlinked rings. “Jia Lee? Step forward.”

Taking her cue from Ricardo, Jia stepped out of the ring pile with excruciating slowness and grace. She might not have had any choice but to embrace her roots and play the role of “Chinese conjurer,” but seeing her there in her black halter dress and Geisha-inspired makeup, Ricardo had to admit: she damn well played the hand she’d been dealt for all she was worth. And if she ever wanted to retire from magic…she’d make a kick-ass Bond villain.

Closer, she stepped. One pace. And another. And just as Ricardo realized, numbly, that she might keep on walking—she drew abreast of him, and Monty said, “Stop.”

“Okay, kids,” Iain called out, “stand still. We’ll have the official counters in and out before you know it.”

Ricardo listened to his pulse pounding in his ears as the chains were counted and then double-checked. If they were being that careful…the score must be close. Horribly close.

After approximately forever, Iain called out, “Got your numbers, Monty? Okay, go ahead.”

“Jia Lee. In three minutes, you’ve managed to link thirty-eight rings. Unfortunately, four of those rings slipped off the end of your chain as you walked out of the linking area, which leaves you with thirty-four. Will that be enough to clinch this part of the challenge for the Red Team?

“Ricardo the Magnificent, you lost a few rings early on in the challenge. Did you manage to keep enough together to beat Jia’s score?

“The tally is in. Ricardo, your final score is…thirty-six rings. Gold Team has won the linking ring phase of the Four Props Challenge!”

Ricardo was aware, numbly, of cameras scrambling and his teammates cheering as he rejoined his team. He wanted to be happy. But mostly he was so overwhelmed, he just wanted to vomit.

___

“You know you got to win this one,” Kevin told John, “if you want to stay on the show.”

John sat on the red sofa, back straight, legs crossed. He kept his eyes on the assistants clearing the rings, and didn’t respond. After Kevin’s middle-of-the-night accusation following the Wand Pond, whether he realized John had heard it or not, it seemed silly to reward him with anything more than the most minimal civility. It felt liberating, in a way, to be able to stop pretending he thought Kevin was anything more than an odious little punk.

“’Cuz if Red Team loses this challenge,” Kevin went on, “and the home audience gotta vote someone off it, and I’m immune ’cuz I won my round…who you think they gonna pick? One of them foxy babes? Or you?”

John kept looking straight ahead.
If there’s anything that makes a heckler crazy,
Casey used to say,
it’s when you don’t even notice they exist.
While John wasn’t exactly shocked that a member of his own team had turned on him, he was a bit surprised it had happened so soon.

Crew swept the rings away, then the burliest grips brought out a table-shaped item draped in cloth. A pair of chairs were placed on each side of it, facing one another, as if they were setting up a tea party for John and Muriel rather than a challenge. Once the props were in place, Monty read, “Last but not least, we have the magic silks portion of the Four Prop Challenge. Gold Team, you selected Muriel Broom to perform. What was your reasoning behind that?”

“Isn’t it obvious, Monty?” Muriel smiled and patted down her peasant blouse. Tiny bells jingled from her bracelets as she shook out her flouncy skirt. “I’m the one who’s best at accessorizing.”

“Very good, Muriel. And joining you in this challenge is the last randomly-selected Red Team member, Professor Topaz. Magicians, have a look at what’s in store for you this final round.”

Grips whisked off the covering and revealed a table constructed of plexi. Its top was a deep box, filled entirely with colored scarves. John craned his neck to see the upper surface of the tabletop. It was opaque, with two holes cut through it, one on each end.

“Magicians have long been known for producing silk scarves from a number of unlikely places,” Monty said. “The fabric is durable enough to make parachutes from, yet it’s whisper-thin, and can easily be packed into a ball, palmed and concealed. Tonight you won’t be concealing a silk, though. This challenge is about finding one.

“This specially-constructed table holds over three thousand squares of silk—and while the contents are visible to both your teammates and the cameras, you’ll only be able to touch the silks, not see them.”

“Get a jib shot of the black tabletop,” Iain directed, and the jib camera rolled in and swooped over the table, while a few handhelds circled it.

Once the cameras backed up, Monty added, “Here’s how it works, magicians. You’ll place one hand into the box and draw out a silk. You must remain seated at all times, and you may only pull out one silk at a time. If two or more silks stick together and you pull out more than one square, you will earn points in the amount of the total number of silks in your hand. In other words, two silks, two points, and so on. You will continue drawing silks for three minutes. At the end of that time, whichever magician has the
least
amount of points—the lowest score—will be the winner.”

Iain said, “Let’s get a shot of the magicians behind the table, looking down at it.”

John and Muriel stepped over to the table. John nodded at Muriel. She smiled at him, eyebrows high, as if she’d just asked him a question and was waiting for the answer. Although…maybe that was just the way her eyebrows looked.

With John and Muriel in position, Monty continued. “This might lead you to play slow and careful. After all, if you don’t draw as many silks, you won’t have as many chances of incurring a penalty. However, there are several white silks scattered throughout the table. If one of you pulls a white silk, and
only
a white silk, you will be the immediate winner of this portion of the challenge, regardless of how many points you’ve racked up. In addition, you’ll win a week-long stay valued at five thousand dollars in a luxurious terrace suite at the Las Vegas MGM Grand, and a special guest appearance in the show of the legendary David Copperfield.”

“Well, that’d be fun,” Muriel said, “wouldn’t it? Maybe they’ll give us a comp to the buffet line, too.”

“Hold on, Monty,” Iain said. “The light’s bouncing off that table and creating a glare. We’ll need to change the angle.”

Several grips and a technician came out to reposition the table—apparently it was quite heavy—while John turned over Kevin’s warning in his mind. He would need to win this challenge. Not for the week at the MGM Grand or the phenomenal opportunity of appearing in the show, but to stay in Magic Mansion for one more challenge. Because if that bully Kevin stayed focused on John…maybe he’d leave Ricardo alone.

If John won, it meant Muriel would not, and John wasn’t thrilled about that…though since it was a competition, one of them would need to lose. He turned to her, and she to him (eyebrows raised) and he offered his hand, saying, “Good luck, Muriel.”

She smiled and reached toward him…and when her hand touched John’s, her True magic jolted him like an electrical current. She pulled him down to her level, and his body obeyed like it had no will of his own. He bent his head so she could whisper in his ear, and she leaned into him and said, “Don’t let that dumb gym rat intimidate you, John. Loosen up and enjoy the ride. You didn’t even
notice
that cute twink’s ass in those stretch pants—and him all hot for you. I’m going to be seriously disappointed if you don’t hit that.”

As if a breaker had flipped, the Truth, suddenly, was gone. It drained from Muriel’s hand like water. “Casey?” John whispered.

Muriel blinked. “Is that what I said? Casey? Heh, whatever that’s supposed to mean. Anyway, good luck.” She pumped his hand up and down a couple of times, then released it. “You’ve got to take me with a grain of salt, Professor. I dropped
a lot
of acid in my day.”

John was seated at the table, Muriel across from him. He could see through the hole, which was barely bigger than the diameter of his arm. Red, green, black, gold, blue. No white. Digging around in the silks without pulling any out was a viable strategy if he didn’t want to risk getting points off. But, as with life, caution would have its own risks. If John acted by choosing
not
to act, Muriel could very well pull a white silk and win everything: the trip, the show, and the entire Four Props Challenge for the Gold.

John shifted his gaze and saw the Gold Team watching him over Muriel’s shoulder. Ricardo’s eyes widened when John met his gaze. Nothing ventured, nothing gained—and perhaps he had Casey’s blessing to actually pursue something beyond a furtive tryst with Ricardo, or perhaps Muriel had just been reading John with her talent and channeling it into the sort of message John thought he would want to hear.

Whichever the case, with the alluring weight of Ricardo’s gaze on him, John resolved that it was, indeed, time to really try.

“Rolling,” Iain said. A buzzer sounded, and Monty called out, “Go!”

John pulled a silk. Red. And blue…damn.

Monty announced, “Red Team starts with two—and remember, in this challenge, the magician with the fewest points will be the winner.”