Demonic Magician

The greatest showman on the continent!

At least, that’s what the flyers said. For several years I had held a firm grasp on fake-it-till-you-make it, and I had wrung out every last drop that I had the strength to. It wasn’t so much of a lie - I mean, of course you had to suspend some disbelief anyway, seeing as it was a magic show. What was a little fluff around the edges?

Before the print run, I had already had the argument with my manager about whether it should be continent or globe. Although, at this stage, I couldn’t remember which of us was for or against which option.

I gave my final bow for the night. The bright lights overhead had been melting me for the last half an hour, and I was sure to find my purple suit permanently affixed to me once I managed to shy away to the dressing room. A show expertly performed, just as rehearsed. The applause of the crowd was heartwarming, and even if I couldn’t see their individual faces due to the near blinding illumination beating down on the stage, their blobby appreciation for my act was enough dopamine to carry me home.

My cut of the ticket price certainly helped, but wasn't exactly my main motivation. The figures just vanished - as if by magic - into an intagible space to be used when needed.

As the lights dimmed and the various stagehands scurried across to collect the spent equipment, the curtains began to separate me from the two worlds. The permanent smile across my face faded and lethargy sunk in as the shade blocked me from view of the roving throng.

“Great show, boss,” one of the assistants nodded to me as he passed. I recognized him - his thick mustache and flat cap had been backstage at most of my current tour events.

“Greatest one on the continent, Larry.” I returned the smile despite my heart not being in it. It was a mediocre show, in the grand scheme of things. How I had managed to turn amusing family and friends into a career of fame, I still was unsure. The people needed entertainment, and it made me feel complete, so who was I to judge?

I slid my way off the side of the stage, trying to find the corridor that led to my quiet resting place. Nods and faux assurances to all that passed. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate them or the work - it was just the facade that came with the job tended to wear me down quicker than I liked these days.

Of course, that was the whole thing - anyone with the knowhow and enough practice could pull off most of what I could do - it was just the spectacle of it that made the difference. Let the people turn off their brains and be dazzled by the sparkles so they wouldn’t be wondering if I had just moved the ball to my pocket or in a hidden compartment.

Dark gray corridors filled my vision as I found my way through the depths of the building. No need for pomp and pageantry back here - the plain brickwork and barely safety-standard wiring would be for those with eyes already behind the curtain. Racks of costumes and large containers filled with props and who knew what else lined the sides of the passageways to my salvation.

My doorway loomed ahead of me - yet the day was not over. One last obstacle lay in my path. A portly man of dark skin and graying goatee stood next to his daughter, a young girl with a long ponytail and nerves in her bright eyes.

They saw me approach - although how could they not? Dressed in a shimmering purple suit with matching top hat, I was halfway sure I could be spotted from space if the clouds were clear. My dour expression beneath messy brown hair turned to a radiant smile before they even clocked it.

“Ah! Maximilian, I hope you don’t mind, but - ah, Reggie said it would be fine for us to ask for an autograph?”

The slight nerves in his request comforted me. When a fan felt they were putting you out, they were usually much more sympathetic. The ones that acted as though you owed them your time and energy were the worst.

“Of course!” I beamed at them both with arms raised. “Always fantastic to meet a fan.” Reggie was my manager, and was usually pretty good at keeping the hordes away from me - these two would have passed his basic test to determine if they were worthy taking up my time. At least, in his mind.

“Anna here has been following you since the early days.” The man nudged the girl forward. “She’s quite the budding magician herself.”

“Oh, really?” I tilted my head as she produced a top hat of her own for me to sign. She seemed more nervous than her father, and shy. Pretty normal reaction to meeting your hero - as dubious as that title may be.

I slipped a silver marker from my back pocket and twirled it between my fingers. The hat was a simple thing - black with a white ribbon encircling it. One with a false layer to hide things under when held out, and some wear around the edges from loving use. I popped the cap from the pen and wrote on the inside of the hat - my signature long enough to scrawl the full diameter of the inside. It amused me as it made it look like some manner of runes or an odd spell. Magic by another name.

With a smile, I handed it back to her. “Anna, was it? Do you have a new hat that you are using already?”

She shook her head. “No, I really like this one.”

“Ah!” I gave her a brief bow. A favored item was always more precious, and I felt slightly guilty to have marred it with my own name even if at their request. “Here - I think the shop is still open.” I ruffled around in my inside jacket and withdrew a gift card. Perhaps the least magical thing on my person - but it did allow the wielder to acquire some of my overpriced junk. Well, not all of it was junk, but merchandise was purely a Reggie thing.

“Thank you, Max,” she grinned, clutching at it.

“We really appreciate it,” her father extended his hand, which I shook.

“The pleasure is all mine.” My smiling-muscles were starting to cramp, despite how much earnest emotion I put into them.

“Before we let you go - I’m sure you’re tired,” he continued, “is there any advice you can give to Anna?”

I paused and clucked my tongue. Truly, quite an open-ended question that had a multitude of answers depending on how jaded or truly helpful I wanted to be. Internally, I sighed.

“As cliche as it is, I have often found the best advice,” I raised a finger in the air, “whether in life or in magic, is that the show must go on. Whatever setbacks or mistakes you make, you have to keep your chin up and take it in stride.”

And avoid getting into show-business. Probably don’t get into a career that revolves around dazzling people with sleight of hand and sparkly lights, only to have your soul drained away. “Oh,” I added, “and keep smiling.”

She did smile at me. Her father nodded his thanks again, and then they left. I stood and watched them go and turn the corner down the hallway, before my face sunk and I deflated once more.

The door relented to body weight as I slunk against it, and the dimly lit room beyond welcomed me with cool but stale air. My temporary place of solitude for this leg of the tour. One show every night for a week, and then I’d be off to some other nameless city that had a slightly different flavor from the last. Not that I’d ever know, between the blinding stage lights and darkened corridors. It was almost as though they just changed the outside world, but I played the same arena every day.

Light flickered around the room as I hit the switch on a lamp, closing the door behind me with the intent of keeping the rest of the world at bay. Jacket off - straight onto a hanger. Slacks off next. As dazzling as the suit was, it was not made for lounging. And that is what the rest of my schedule had me booked in for.

Without ceremony, I sank into the leather chair that faced away from the wall mirror. I preferred my introspection without the judgement of my reflection. I wasn’t vain - although it was hard to fake so much grandeur without admiring the scent of it. Staring at my own tired face was definitely a line in the sand I had yet to cross. My career hadn’t waned that far.

The leather cooled my bare legs as I tried to shove the echoes of the night’s noises from my head. A dull replay of all the cheers, minor explosions, and flashes of light danced amongst my tired brain. It left me feeling withdrawn. Perhaps a part of the dopamine and adrenaline wearing off. Did I adore it and crave it? To some degree, sure. It’s what kept me constantly performing.

I was an entertainer. Always had been. A bit of a trickster, smart with the tongue, and quick with my hands. I could have turned to pick-pocketing, or stand-up comedy, although I truly had neither the stomach nor charisma for either. I could put on a show where people just had to watch and follow along - give me the occasional gasp or applause… but actively interacting…

With a sigh, I rubbed at my face. Two more nights in this city. Four more cities - and then down for the season. Then it’d be practicing new things, research and development of new tech and routines. A few months of practice, and then back at it again. Some merch deals or occasional one-offs to keep the pot filled up. For the most part, I just had to smile and nod, do my little tricks.

Reggie was… affable enough. Had the scent of business firmly sussed out and liked to keep me lining his pockets. Not particularly unfair on the distribution of wealth, I couldn’t label him as predatory. Shrewd, yes, and quite the taskmaster when it came to it. But he kept the wheels rolling when sometimes I’d want to hit the brakes.

“The show must go on,” I murmured to myself, repeating the mantra he’d always tell me. What they all told me.

And it did. I grinned from ear to ear and greeted every blurred face that cared to give me the time of day like I was their biggest fan. Behind the curtains I was solitary. No real friends, little family, and no close relationships. I was friends with the road. The show was my family. Magic was my lover. All things Reggie had drilled into me right from the start, and I had lapped it up - wanting a taste of the full experience.

Now, five years on, had he been wrong? I was easily in the top twenty well-known magicians in the world… which was no easy feat despite how ridiculous that now sounded in my head. Is this what I had wanted? That was a more interesting question, closer to the point - the sharp edge of reality.

The chair groaned as I sunk further, and my eyes lazily moved to the poster on the wall. It wasn’t a current one - probably from last year's tour. I had no clue why they thought I’d want my dressing room plastered with my own advertisements. Maybe so that I could look upon them in moments such as this, and have some confidence in what I had achieved.

My mouth had become parched, and I wasn’t keen on letting my brain share a similar fate ruminating about my life. I stood from the chair with a grunt, knocking off a deck of cards from the arm. My intention was to stand and have a reaffirming internal monologue about what a great magician and showman I was, and the handful of cards ejected from the small rectangle box put a dampener on that notion.

I kneeled and pawed them together. It was my favorite deck - one I usually practised with in my dressing room, but didn’t use on stage. By now, this one was a little worn and I'd need a fresh deck soon enough. There had always been something about this specific design that brought me comfort. A white rabbit was depicted on the box art and card backs, atop an etched purple and white pattern.

Back into the sleeve, they went. I stood again, but something caught my eye.

Over by the door, on the floor, looking as if it had been pushed under the slight gap.

An aged piece of paper, the color of sand, folded neatly.