“Fine,” he said grudgingly. “I’ll try not to be a dick the next time I see him.”
“Well, it’s not an apology, but I guess it will do.”
Oh sure, shesaidit wasn’t an apology, but Lucky was pretty sure sheexpectedan apology, and as of yet, he’d managed to avoid any sort of moment in which he couldmakean apology. He’d spent the last month dodging neatly out of the room whenever Scout walked in, and he was particularly proud of his ability to hear Scout’s voice—which had a deep timbre, even if he often sounded guileless and whimsical—from half a block away.
But he couldn’t get out of this.
“Come on!” Scout called across the lunch goers in the crowd. “Let’s get our local barista to come help me. I mean, a helping hand, a free cup of coffee, all of it’s good, right?”
He got some laughs there with his patter, and Helen cleared her throat.
“Really?” he asked, knowing it was due.
“Was there everreallyan apology?” she said, turning his word back on him.
He sighed, which was the only answer she really needed.
“Go,” she chided. “I don’t want to see you until the evening rush!” And with a gentle shove on his arm that precluded any questions about why she would send him on a three-hour break, Lucky found himself trotting across the square to the applause of the good-natured crowd.
“So,” Scout said as Lucky clambered up the stairs to the concrete walkway that led into the magic shop. It doubled as a stage, and Scout was adept at running up and down the four or five stairs for emphasis during his tricks. It was something he’d added to the show that Marcus was probably a little creaky to perform. “Would you care to introduce yourself to the crowd?”
Scout smiled at him with a predatory gleam in his eye, and Lucky knew his avoidance had not gone unremarked upon.
“I’m Lucky,” he said, knowing the Philly in his voice was showing. “I pour your coffee over at Helen’s place.” He gave The Magic of Books a nod, and Helen raised her mug of tea in salute.
There was a heartier round of applause, because everybody knew Helen’s place, and Scout—the Great Gestalt—gave a grand gesture of welcome.
“So, Lucky, you know what I want you to do, right?” Scout raised an eyebrow, and if Luckyhadn’tknown Scout was hoping he’d confirm the absence of wires or other paraphernalia to make the table look like it was floating, the eyebrow would have done it.
Lucky rolled his eyes and walked over to the little table… and frowned. He knew what Marcus’s rigged table looked like: a light aluminum table with a black velveteen tablecloth over it. The tablecloth had silver piping around the edges that held a stiff silver wire in it. The wire held tension like an umbrella frame, so with a pass of the hand, the edge of the tablecloth buckled up instead of hanging down, and the frame was so light that a bare finger under one of the points of tablecloth wire could support the table itself.
Voilà. Floating table.
Lucky wasn’t sure if that’s how other people did it. He was sure every magician’s equipment held very specific secrets—but that’s howMarcushad done it.
Except this was a different table.
Curious, Lucky waved his arms over the sturdy hand-planed and sanded wooden table. He picked it up, hefting it, and noted that while it still had a tablecloth, the cloth was a simple cotton square with a sun/moon/stars print over it and edged in gold. Pretty, yes, but not “magic.”
Suddenly conscious that he still had a crowd, Lucky looked out at them and grinned, lifting the table showily to prove there was nothing to see. Just an ordinary table, folks. No magic at all.
The crowd nodded appreciatively, and Lucky set the table down and gestured for the Great Gestalt to proceed.
For his part, Scout flipped his black leather cloak off his shoulders and clapped his hands together, taking a deep breath.
He held his hand out, fingers up, like a man doing his best to hold the forces of the universe, and commanded the table to rise.
Nothing happened.
Scout raised his eyebrow theatrically and turned a gimlet eye to Lucky, who couldn’t help it. He grinned and held his hands out, helpless, playing to the crowd, who laughed.
Scowling, Scout clapped his hands and rubbed them together, then held his hand out, fingers up, andcommandedthe table to rise.
A sudden chill ran up Lucky’s spine, and he felt a ruffle of wind in his hair, and the table rocked back and forth, although it had sat perfectly level when Lucky had shown it to the crowd.
Scout—without words—held his hands out and made the “gimme-gimme” gesture to the amused audience, who responded with an enthusiastic round of cheering.
One more time, Scout clapped his hands together and rubbed them, and this time, he held thembothout to the table, one eyebrow raised, as he glared magic at the ordinary object andwilledit to float.
