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Authors: Laura Resnick
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together by a heavy chain with a sturdy padlock.
“All right, Dr. Zadok,” I said as I examined the lock, “I’m stumped. Any suggestions?”
“Stand back.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Open it.”
Wondering what he intended, I backed away. “Can you pick locks?”
“Not exactly.”
He took several deep breaths with his eyes closed, as if preparing for meditation, then assumed a prayerful posture with his head bowed, palms pressed together and fingertips brushing his lips. He muttered something I couldn’t understand, then opened his eyes and stared fiercely at the lock. Moving his hands, he made a sharp turning motion with his wrists.
The padlock snapped open as if someone had inserted a key and turned it. I stopped breathing.
Max spread his arms in a graceful waving motion. The chain slithered like a snake, unraveling itself to fall away from the doors and lie on the ground. Max pulled his arms toward himself, and the doors opened outward, welcoming us.
My blood chilled and my eyes watered. Max took my arm.
“You’re shaking,” he said in surprise.
“Wh-wh-wh-”
“Where do they keep the crystal cage?”
“Prop room.” My legs wobbled as I led the way.
The door was locked, of course. Max opened it with a wave of his hand. I thought I was going to be sick. Blank-minded with shock, I followed him into the room.
“This is it?” he asked, examining the cage.
I nodded mutely, staring at him.
“There doesn’t seem to be anything unusual about it. Still, there could be a protective anti-divinative shield around it. I have heard of such things.”
I sat down quite suddenly. The floor was cold.
Max breathed, muttered and gestured some more. Nothing happened. He looked embarrassed. “Fire is my weakest element,” he confessed. “I’ll try again.”
He did. This time, the glass sides of the cage seemed to melt and curl in on themselves. By the time he was done, the prop was a charred tragedy of twisted glass and metal.
“Oh, that was rather good.” He sounded pleased. “Shall we go?”
“Wait.” My voice was weak. “Max, who are you?”
CHAPTER
4
T here are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our philosophy, Shakespeare tells us…and I know better than to argue with a playwright.
This observation about the strangeness of the cosmos is offered by Hamlet to his friend Horatio, who has trouble believing that the ghost of Hamlet’s father is haunting Elsinore. Now I understood exactly how Horatio must have felt upon seeing the specter with his own eyes.
I gibbered incoherently as we walked to Max’s place, which he decided should be our next stop. To say I was shocked by what I had seen would be rather like saying that World War Two was violent. I was incoherent (but highly verbal) with stunned disbelief. I kept blinking my eyes as hard as possible, then looking at Max to see if he was still there,strolling beside me. Several times, I stopped on the sidewalk and vigorously shook my head at odd angles, as if this would clear it—or else cause evidence of sudden madness to fall out of my ears.
Max murmured something about people staring, then added, “Of course, they may just be staring because you’ve got those glittery birds on your head.”
Apart from that comment, he was silent while we walked and I mumbled. So I finally said to him, with a sense of outrage I couldn’t explain, “Why don’t you say something?”
“I’ve learned through experience that it’s best to let this period of unpleasant surprise pass into acceptance before trying to converse rationally.”
“You’ve learned? Through experience? Unpleasant surprise?” My tone was shrill, but I was in no condition to control it. “This happens often? ”
“In fact, no. I try not to involve mundanes in my work—”
“Mundanes? Mundanes? ”
“—for this very reason.”
“ What reason? What? What!”
“A certain agitation overwhelms most people upon being exposed to the
“All right, Dr. Zadok,” I said as I examined the lock, “I’m stumped. Any suggestions?”
“Stand back.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Open it.”
Wondering what he intended, I backed away. “Can you pick locks?”
“Not exactly.”
He took several deep breaths with his eyes closed, as if preparing for meditation, then assumed a prayerful posture with his head bowed, palms pressed together and fingertips brushing his lips. He muttered something I couldn’t understand, then opened his eyes and stared fiercely at the lock. Moving his hands, he made a sharp turning motion with his wrists.
The padlock snapped open as if someone had inserted a key and turned it. I stopped breathing.
Max spread his arms in a graceful waving motion. The chain slithered like a snake, unraveling itself to fall away from the doors and lie on the ground. Max pulled his arms toward himself, and the doors opened outward, welcoming us.
My blood chilled and my eyes watered. Max took my arm.
“You’re shaking,” he said in surprise.
“Wh-wh-wh-”
“Where do they keep the crystal cage?”
“Prop room.” My legs wobbled as I led the way.
The door was locked, of course. Max opened it with a wave of his hand. I thought I was going to be sick. Blank-minded with shock, I followed him into the room.
“This is it?” he asked, examining the cage.
I nodded mutely, staring at him.
“There doesn’t seem to be anything unusual about it. Still, there could be a protective anti-divinative shield around it. I have heard of such things.”
I sat down quite suddenly. The floor was cold.
Max breathed, muttered and gestured some more. Nothing happened. He looked embarrassed. “Fire is my weakest element,” he confessed. “I’ll try again.”
He did. This time, the glass sides of the cage seemed to melt and curl in on themselves. By the time he was done, the prop was a charred tragedy of twisted glass and metal.
“Oh, that was rather good.” He sounded pleased. “Shall we go?”
“Wait.” My voice was weak. “Max, who are you?”
CHAPTER
4
T here are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our philosophy, Shakespeare tells us…and I know better than to argue with a playwright.
This observation about the strangeness of the cosmos is offered by Hamlet to his friend Horatio, who has trouble believing that the ghost of Hamlet’s father is haunting Elsinore. Now I understood exactly how Horatio must have felt upon seeing the specter with his own eyes.
I gibbered incoherently as we walked to Max’s place, which he decided should be our next stop. To say I was shocked by what I had seen would be rather like saying that World War Two was violent. I was incoherent (but highly verbal) with stunned disbelief. I kept blinking my eyes as hard as possible, then looking at Max to see if he was still there,strolling beside me. Several times, I stopped on the sidewalk and vigorously shook my head at odd angles, as if this would clear it—or else cause evidence of sudden madness to fall out of my ears.
Max murmured something about people staring, then added, “Of course, they may just be staring because you’ve got those glittery birds on your head.”
Apart from that comment, he was silent while we walked and I mumbled. So I finally said to him, with a sense of outrage I couldn’t explain, “Why don’t you say something?”
“I’ve learned through experience that it’s best to let this period of unpleasant surprise pass into acceptance before trying to converse rationally.”
“You’ve learned? Through experience? Unpleasant surprise?” My tone was shrill, but I was in no condition to control it. “This happens often? ”
“In fact, no. I try not to involve mundanes in my work—”
“Mundanes? Mundanes? ”
“—for this very reason.”
“ What reason? What? What!”
“A certain agitation overwhelms most people upon being exposed to the
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