Read Online Real Magic by Stuart Jaffe - Free Book Online
Authors: Stuart Jaffe
Tags: Time travel, card tricks
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word or action, he'd be paralyzed. He'd never be able to find the door and get home. He had to focus on what he could control and let the universe handle the rest.
Vincent watched closely as Duncan performed the pass. He kept a steady poker face and said, "One more time, please." Duncan obliged. "Okay," Vincent said. "Drink up. Time to go."
"I haven't finished eating."
"Hurry up then."
"Why? Where are we going?"
Vincent smiled. "We're going to steal a car."
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Duncan hadn't acted this recklessly since his high school days. At first, he had agreed because he needed an ally and Vincent seemed like a good one to have. But he liked Vincent, too. He liked how Vincent fit so perfectly in this time period, and how that perfect fit helped him fit in, too. He liked Vincent's carefree bravado. And he liked that as they careened down the old back roads, kicking dirt and stones behind them, he wanted to smile.
Here he was, lost in 1934, yet he smiled.
And sang.
He stood on the runner, held onto the car door with one hand, and sang out to the sleeping world with a flask in his other hand. When he belted out the first lines of the chorus to Tom Petty's "Free Fallin'", Vincent gave him the oddest look. Duncan laughed and quickly mumbled his way into the only thing he could think of that definitely existed at the time â "The Star Spangled Banner." With all the July Fourth celebrations, the choice made plenty of sense.
Vincent swerved off the road, back on, off the other side, and back on again. Though the Ford they had lifted couldn't have been going more than forty-five miles-per-hour, it felt like ninety while hanging from the runner. When a squirrel darted into the road and Vincent over-reacted, the car moved fast enough to slam into a tree and send Duncan hurtling through the air.
He tumbled in the dirt and tall grass, coming to rest under a pine tree. The fragrant pine needles were soft to lie on as long as they didn't poke him in the side, and Duncan considered closing his eyes for a while. He burped and tasted alcohol, and his eyelids lowered. But then he remembered they had just crashed and Vincent might be hurt.
Wobbling his drunken way toward the car, he saw smoke drifting from the long, narrow hood. Vincent sat in the driver's seat, his head against the steering wheel, blood trickling down the side of his face. He looked up, dazed and smiling.
"I think I had an oopsy," he said.
Duncan fell backwards laughing.
Vincent stumbled out of the car. "It's not my fault somebody put a tree in the way." He glanced around until he found the road. "Come on. We gotta walk back."
"Okay, okay," Duncan said, snorting out another laugh.
As they headed back, Duncan noticed a faint light poking out from the dark trees. "What's that?"
Vincent belched. "Some nutcase still lives out there. Won't come join the rest of society. He'll probably die out there, too. His house is all wood except for the foundation and he smokes like locomotive."
"You know him?"
"Never met him. Just telling you what I heard."
"Wait a second." Duncan stopped and looked around. He tried to picture where they stood in relation to the town. "Oh, wow." That hermit's house had to be the burned out ruins he and Pancake would hang around while they got drunk as teens.
"What's up?" Vincent asked.
Duncan laughed. "Nothing. Just got a weird feeling is all."
"That, my friend, is because you're drunk."
They walked on, and an hour later they had sobered enough to stay mostly on the road while walking, no longer dropping into fits of laughter for no reason at all. At one point, Duncan put his arm around Vincent. "We did good tonight. I bet the two of us could clean up a lot more money working together from the start."
"We could at that. But we can't do anything for a while. We've got to lay low on the poker cheats because of that big guy, Freddie."
"I ain't afraid of him."
"It's his boss you should be afraid of â Nelson Walter. Owns The Walter
Vincent watched closely as Duncan performed the pass. He kept a steady poker face and said, "One more time, please." Duncan obliged. "Okay," Vincent said. "Drink up. Time to go."
"I haven't finished eating."
"Hurry up then."
"Why? Where are we going?"
Vincent smiled. "We're going to steal a car."
Â
Â
Duncan hadn't acted this recklessly since his high school days. At first, he had agreed because he needed an ally and Vincent seemed like a good one to have. But he liked Vincent, too. He liked how Vincent fit so perfectly in this time period, and how that perfect fit helped him fit in, too. He liked Vincent's carefree bravado. And he liked that as they careened down the old back roads, kicking dirt and stones behind them, he wanted to smile.
Here he was, lost in 1934, yet he smiled.
And sang.
He stood on the runner, held onto the car door with one hand, and sang out to the sleeping world with a flask in his other hand. When he belted out the first lines of the chorus to Tom Petty's "Free Fallin'", Vincent gave him the oddest look. Duncan laughed and quickly mumbled his way into the only thing he could think of that definitely existed at the time â "The Star Spangled Banner." With all the July Fourth celebrations, the choice made plenty of sense.
Vincent swerved off the road, back on, off the other side, and back on again. Though the Ford they had lifted couldn't have been going more than forty-five miles-per-hour, it felt like ninety while hanging from the runner. When a squirrel darted into the road and Vincent over-reacted, the car moved fast enough to slam into a tree and send Duncan hurtling through the air.
He tumbled in the dirt and tall grass, coming to rest under a pine tree. The fragrant pine needles were soft to lie on as long as they didn't poke him in the side, and Duncan considered closing his eyes for a while. He burped and tasted alcohol, and his eyelids lowered. But then he remembered they had just crashed and Vincent might be hurt.
Wobbling his drunken way toward the car, he saw smoke drifting from the long, narrow hood. Vincent sat in the driver's seat, his head against the steering wheel, blood trickling down the side of his face. He looked up, dazed and smiling.
"I think I had an oopsy," he said.
Duncan fell backwards laughing.
Vincent stumbled out of the car. "It's not my fault somebody put a tree in the way." He glanced around until he found the road. "Come on. We gotta walk back."
"Okay, okay," Duncan said, snorting out another laugh.
As they headed back, Duncan noticed a faint light poking out from the dark trees. "What's that?"
Vincent belched. "Some nutcase still lives out there. Won't come join the rest of society. He'll probably die out there, too. His house is all wood except for the foundation and he smokes like locomotive."
"You know him?"
"Never met him. Just telling you what I heard."
"Wait a second." Duncan stopped and looked around. He tried to picture where they stood in relation to the town. "Oh, wow." That hermit's house had to be the burned out ruins he and Pancake would hang around while they got drunk as teens.
"What's up?" Vincent asked.
Duncan laughed. "Nothing. Just got a weird feeling is all."
"That, my friend, is because you're drunk."
They walked on, and an hour later they had sobered enough to stay mostly on the road while walking, no longer dropping into fits of laughter for no reason at all. At one point, Duncan put his arm around Vincent. "We did good tonight. I bet the two of us could clean up a lot more money working together from the start."
"We could at that. But we can't do anything for a while. We've got to lay low on the poker cheats because of that big guy, Freddie."
"I ain't afraid of him."
"It's his boss you should be afraid of â Nelson Walter. Owns The Walter
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