supported the handkerchief rather than collapsing—made a mystic pass, whipped away the cloth, to reveal a house of cards transformed into an actual dollhouse. This naturally prompted an explosion of applause, which became more thunderous when he tossed the cloth over it once more, did another mystical pass, and transformed it back into a house of cards.
The manager, after congratulating the self-billed Merlin Junior on his brilliance, informed him that he couldn’t come back. That having such a youngster working his place just opened up too many problems. Merlin Junior nodded, said he understood, and then showed up the next evening and did exactly the same thing. Not exactly: This time he had an entirely new act that was even more dazzling than the previous. Word about him began to spread and, by the end of the week, when people were showing up and asking whether Junior was going to be working that night because he was who they had come to see, the manager was visibly sweating and pulling at his lower lip (one of his most typical nervous habits). Relief flooded through him when Merlin Junior strode in to great applause, and when Junior and the manager locked eyes, the latter knew that he had to bow to the inevitable.
The only line he drew was that Merlin Junior could not sit at the bar. “We got people watching this place,” he told the youngster. “The instant your butt hits a barstool, I lose my liquor license, and this place goes belly-up. So that’s off-limits. Understood? I’m not kidding: It’s really out-of-bounds. Got it?”
“Got it,” Merlin Junior said calmly, and there seemed to be a world of amusement in his eyes. The manager was pleased to see, as weeks went by, that Junior stuck to their agreement, never risking the Magic Shack’s liquor license. He paid Merlin Junior a nominal sum for every appearance, plus free food and all the nonalcoholic beverages he desired. Every so often he would sit down with Junior and, asking casual questions, would try to get him to open up about his past. Junior never took the bait. Never discussed his parents, never revealed anything about himself. Eventually, the manager stopped asking.
This particular night, Merlin Junior took his customary seat near the back of the Magic Shack. There were a few small tables in the rear of the bar area: Not actually at the bar and therefore not out-of-bounds. It was at these tables that Merlin usually seated himself after he performed, since they were in the shadows and nobody noticed him there. He offered a tired smile up to the waitress as she placed a glass of water in front of him. “Thanks, Flo,” he said.
“You killed tonight, honey,” Flo told him.
“I’ve killed in the past, but not tonight.”
She laughed at that and patted him affectionately on the shoulder. “You’re something else, honey,” she told him, and headed over toward other customers.
“You have no idea,” said Merlin. He extended his index finger, touched the surface of the water, and smiled as it transformed into wine. He took a sip and sighed deeply.
He heard the young woman before he saw her, the chair scraping across the floor, being pulled from a nearby table (since he only had the one chair at his). Looking up across the table, Merlin blinked owlishly at the young woman who was now seated opposite him.
She was a stunner, he had to admit that much to himself. It had been quite some time since Merlin had looked at any woman in that appraising sort of fashion. He’d had far more important things on his mind, and besides…he looked like an eight-year-old, for God’s sake. Nevertheless, he took in her long blond hair, her eyes that were a curious mixture of blue-green. Unlike so many Los Angeles women who looked like walking skeletons, this one’s face was actually full, with a healthy red glow to the cheeks. Her lips were wide, her nose small and delicate. She was wearing a blue dress that tied behind her neck.
“Devil with the blue
The manager, after congratulating the self-billed Merlin Junior on his brilliance, informed him that he couldn’t come back. That having such a youngster working his place just opened up too many problems. Merlin Junior nodded, said he understood, and then showed up the next evening and did exactly the same thing. Not exactly: This time he had an entirely new act that was even more dazzling than the previous. Word about him began to spread and, by the end of the week, when people were showing up and asking whether Junior was going to be working that night because he was who they had come to see, the manager was visibly sweating and pulling at his lower lip (one of his most typical nervous habits). Relief flooded through him when Merlin Junior strode in to great applause, and when Junior and the manager locked eyes, the latter knew that he had to bow to the inevitable.
The only line he drew was that Merlin Junior could not sit at the bar. “We got people watching this place,” he told the youngster. “The instant your butt hits a barstool, I lose my liquor license, and this place goes belly-up. So that’s off-limits. Understood? I’m not kidding: It’s really out-of-bounds. Got it?”
“Got it,” Merlin Junior said calmly, and there seemed to be a world of amusement in his eyes. The manager was pleased to see, as weeks went by, that Junior stuck to their agreement, never risking the Magic Shack’s liquor license. He paid Merlin Junior a nominal sum for every appearance, plus free food and all the nonalcoholic beverages he desired. Every so often he would sit down with Junior and, asking casual questions, would try to get him to open up about his past. Junior never took the bait. Never discussed his parents, never revealed anything about himself. Eventually, the manager stopped asking.
This particular night, Merlin Junior took his customary seat near the back of the Magic Shack. There were a few small tables in the rear of the bar area: Not actually at the bar and therefore not out-of-bounds. It was at these tables that Merlin usually seated himself after he performed, since they were in the shadows and nobody noticed him there. He offered a tired smile up to the waitress as she placed a glass of water in front of him. “Thanks, Flo,” he said.
“You killed tonight, honey,” Flo told him.
“I’ve killed in the past, but not tonight.”
She laughed at that and patted him affectionately on the shoulder. “You’re something else, honey,” she told him, and headed over toward other customers.
“You have no idea,” said Merlin. He extended his index finger, touched the surface of the water, and smiled as it transformed into wine. He took a sip and sighed deeply.
He heard the young woman before he saw her, the chair scraping across the floor, being pulled from a nearby table (since he only had the one chair at his). Looking up across the table, Merlin blinked owlishly at the young woman who was now seated opposite him.
She was a stunner, he had to admit that much to himself. It had been quite some time since Merlin had looked at any woman in that appraising sort of fashion. He’d had far more important things on his mind, and besides…he looked like an eight-year-old, for God’s sake. Nevertheless, he took in her long blond hair, her eyes that were a curious mixture of blue-green. Unlike so many Los Angeles women who looked like walking skeletons, this one’s face was actually full, with a healthy red glow to the cheeks. Her lips were wide, her nose small and delicate. She was wearing a blue dress that tied behind her neck.
“Devil with the blue
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