Prelude to Magic: The Prequel to Moonlight and Illusions (2 page)

“Are you ready, Stephen?”

“One last trick then homeward bound. The coach will
be waiting in the morning to head north.” He leaned over and gave
her a brief kiss, full on her lush lips. She tasted of tea and
honey.

“Now, Señor?” The stagehand came up on his
right.

“Now,” he agreed and bent to pick up a twelve-inch
square box, covered with a blue velvet cloth.

Pulleys squeaked and ropes creaked as the curtain
slowly opened on the set he had specially constructed for the
governor’s show. In the center of the stage was a small
drapery-lined square alcove enclosed on three sides, its outlines
slightly blurred by the dim light and smoky air.

As Stephen carried the box forward, keeping his gait
smooth and his gaze on the audience, the guitar player switched to
a series of chords sending a chill up his spine. He placed the
covered box on the round top of a small, three-legged table.

With a flourish, he pulled off the velvet cloth to
reveal a beautiful box sculpted of highly polished dark maple.
Turning a small brass knob, he then opened the hinged door in the
front.

The crowd grew quiet at the sight before them as the
music faded away.

Inside the box was a man’s head. The eyes were
closed. On its head was a white turban.

Moving to the side of the alcove, Stephen raised his
hand palm up, extending his fingers toward the box. “Open your
eyes, Omega!” His voice bounced off the ceiling with a strange
echoing quality in the momentary hush preceding the collective
gasp.

Omega’s dark eyes opened. The head moved back and
forth.

“Give the wonderful people of Mexico City a smile,
please,” Stephen requested.

Obediently the corners of its mouth lifted and the
head nodded. A ripple of incredulity ran through the crowd.

“Omega,” the entertainer commanded. “Please recite
after me. When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary
for one people to dissolve the political bonds…”

The disembodied head repeated the magician’s
recitation of the first paragraph of the U.S. Declaration of
Independence with little inflection in its voice. When the last
syllable drifted away, Stephen waited.

Silence.

He couldn’t see his audience, so there was little he
could do to detect their feelings. Did they like the new trick? His
heart pounded as the silence stretched. Omega had finished and
closed its eyes again. Still the silence reigned as if the people
were gone. Then two people clapped hesitantly.

“Thank you, Omega!” Stephen bowed toward the box.
Stepping forward, he closed the door, tapped three times on the top
then opened the door again. In place of the turbaned head was a
visible pile of ashes.

Gasps of surprise and muttered words in their native
tongue met his ears, pleasing him.

“Thank you for your attention,
señors
and
señoritas
. This concludes tonight’s show. We hope you have
enjoyed our presentation of magic and mystery. Have a safe journey
home to your hacienda.” This time he gave a full bow to the
audience, allowing his cape to billow out dramatically.

As he straightened, a commotion broke out to his
right. Someone…no several people thundered up the wooden steps
leading to the stage. Stephen swiveled to greet them with a smile.
Anyone joining him on stage was highly unusual, but he kept
calm.

Two members of the Mexican army in full uniform with
guns drawn ran up and grabbed each of his arms in vise-like grips
before he could move.

“Señor Stephen Elliott,” the Governor of Mexico
City, his honored guest, stood in front of a stunned Stephen. “You
are under arrest! Usted está debajo de detención!”

“On what charge, sir?” his brother, Michael, shouted
from the floor, while confusion and shock tied his own tongue.

An angry string of indecipherable Spanish was spit
into Stephen’s face before the governor turned toward the crowd. “I
charge Mr. Stephen Elliott, also known as The Illusionist, with
sorcery. Black witchcraft!”

* * *

The stone wall was cool, damp, and moldy, but he was
too tired to care. Leaning back against the cell wall, Stephen
tried again to figure out where he had gone wrong. He had been told
the governor of Mexico City ordered his arrest. They had rushed him
out of the building, into an enclosed cart, and jostled him over
rough roads until the horses came to a stop.

Without any windows or light inside the prisoner’s
wagon, the ride lasted an eternity. Upon arriving at the prison,
they dragged him out as soldiers yammered at him in a language he
couldn’t understand. Now he sat in a tiny cell on a dank cot. A
rusting bucket stood in the corner, barely visible, but its
contents were abundantly noticeable to his nose. The light from the
flickering tallow candle in the corridor could not penetrate the
darkness surrounding him.

A string of mumbled Spanish words came from the man
in the cell to his right. The only other sounds were dripping water
somewhere and an odd scratching noise.

He fingered a hole in the knee of his trousers.
Someone had ripped off his cape in the melee, nearly choking him
before the button holding it had torn off. Pushing a hand through
his hair, Stephen grimaced when he touched the sore spot on the top
of his head. His fingertips felt wetness there. Must be blood.
There had to be other small injuries and bruises on his body after
the rough treatment he had unjustly received.

He had nothing to do but wait. Crossing his arms
over his chest. Stephen closed his eyes then immediately opened
them again as something small moved across his foot. He shuddered.
A rat!

As time marched on and no one appeared to release
him, Stephen gave in to his bone deep weariness, worrying about the
welfare of his wife and child, as he drifted to sleep without any
awareness of doing so.

Light finally penetrated Stephen’s eyelids, jolting
him from a fitful sleep. Confusion clouded his thoughts.
Where
was this place? Another inn?
It took him a few minutes before
he remembered what country he was in and why he was alone in a
stinking hovel. Despondency seeped into his soul and lodged in his
throat. He swallowed to release the tightness, but his mouth was
dry as the Mexican soil.

A brilliant shaft of moonlight fell across the
filthy cot, hitting him full in the face through the barred window.
The moon hung in the sky, round and yellow, out there where people
were free. Out there where Ruby and Calvin were, and he was
not.

His young son had given him a bit of rock candy from
the local market for safe keeping. They had planned to eat dinner
after the performance, but that, of course, had not happened.
Groping in his pocket, he found Cal’s chunk of candy and another
hard object. Drawing out the items, Stephen popped the sweet into
his mouth. The sugar hit his tongue, and he sucked gratefully. A
simple candy had never tasted so good.

Opening his hand, he studied the other solid object;
the ancient Mayan charm the old woman had given him. The odd little
face of the
Companion
Spirit
looked back at him, its
smooth side catching the moonlight. The tiny wizened lady had also
named it the
Way
. What sort of a name was that?

“What are you, little stone…the way to find a
Companion
Spirit
? I already have my life-long
companion…my Ruby. Can you bring me good luck, little charm, and
help me get back to her?”

The stone face just sat there looking cheerful, but
blank. Stephen sighed. Getting thrown into jail for trying to amaze
and entertain people didn’t seem fair. The events of the night must
be taking a toll on him; he was talking to a glowing stone.

Wait a minute…the stone is brighter.
As he
stared at it, the light grew even more luminous. The intensity
changed from yellow to white. The brilliance of it seared his eyes.
He shielded them with his free hand.

Then the charm grew warmer. It pulsated in his palm
until the heat and blinding light made the thing impossible to
hold. The moon! The old woman had told him, no moon!

Stephen threw the stone across the room, but the
Companion Spirit
did not land outside the moonbeam’s reach.
The light intensified. White light filled the tiny cell and
penetrated his head. A stunning pain radiated through his body, and
he collapsed.

* * *

“Señor Elliott. Wake up. El Señor usted tiene una
visitante.”

Stephen forced his eyes open. A pounding headache
split his skull as if he had been imbibing the night before. The
guard gave him a strange look then turned heel and left.

“Are you all right?” Michael stood on the other side
of the cell door. Groaning, Stephen staggered to his feet and
lurched to the bars, holding on for support.

“I’ve been better. How are Ruby and Calvin?”

His brother put a hand over his. The human touch
helped steady Stephen.

“Upset, but all right. I wanted to see you first,
before I brought her in, to make sure you hadn’t been badly
mistreated. Have you?” Michael’s blue eyes raked him up and
down.

“They were not exactly welcoming. Do you know what
happened? Why did they accuse me of sorcery? Can you get me
released?”

“Slow down, Stephen. Is that dried blood in your
hair?”

Reflexively, Stephen touched the top of his head and
remembered. “It doesn’t matter. Tell me what you know.”

“Omega was the problem. The governor thinks you had
a real disembodied head in the cabinet. Apparently they believe
strongly in witchcraft and the black arts here.”

“But didn’t you show them the mirrors covering
Carlos’ body, and the hole where he put his head?”

Michael had been downcast before and now he was even
sadder. “The crowd got out of hand and smashed the Omega cabinet,
table, and mirrors before I could show them.” He reached through
the bars and put both hands on Stephen’s shoulders…something worse
was coming. “They went backstage and destroyed everything. The
crowd launched a full-scale riot. I had to get Ruby and Calvin out
of there. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to stop them. Everything is
ruined.”

Gone? Everything is gone?
Stephen leaned his
head against the cold bars. “Thank you, Michael. Thank you for
protecting my family.” He sighed. “All right. It doesn’t matter if
everything is demolished. We have enough money to buy more props.
When can I get out?”

He raised his head to study Michael’s face and
didn’t like what he saw there.

“There’s another problem. Without the cabinet to
show Governor Diaz how the trick works, I wanted to get Carlos to
explain his role.”

“But?”

“Well, Carlos ran off when the crowd got angry and I
haven’t been able to find him. But I will. I promise I’ll get you
out.”

“Didn’t you and Ruby explain the trick?”

Michael’s expression became rueful. “I tried, but I
don’t speak Spanish. I don’t know what he thought I was saying, but
he only appeared angrier.”

Stephen’s head spun. Each heartbeat pressed against
the back of his eyes. He rubbed his temples.

“Headache?”

When he nodded, Michael appeared sympathetic. “Your
clothes are torn, too. They roughed you up, didn’t they?” Then his
expression changed. “Did something else happen last night? When I
asked for you, the guards reacted as if I was asking to see the
devil himself. Pure fear was on their faces, I say.”

“I had an odd dream.” Stephen plunged his hand into
his pants pocket. The Mayan charm was inside. He couldn’t remember
retrieving it after he’d thrown it. Without thinking he pulled it
out.

“You dreamt about a stone?” Michael asked.

“Certainly unusual, but true. The stone glowed.”

Michael plucked the little stone from his hand just
as Stephen was about to put it away before something else happened.
Immediately a rush of red-hot rage surged through his entire body
with a surprising intensity. He had to clench his teeth and force
himself to be still when all he wanted to do was snatch the charm
back.
It is mine! Mine!
The child-like demand repeated
itself inside his head, and he fairly trembled with an
incomprehensible need for the thing.

Apparently oblivious to Stephen’s mood swing, his
brother shrugged and dropped the Mayan artifact back into his
outstretched palm. Immediately the anger dissipated and Stephen’s
heartbeat resumed a normal rhythm. He rubbed a hand over his face
trying to fathom the metamorphosis and carefully returned the
Companion Spirit
to its resting place in his pocket.

“Will you be all right to see Ru—”

“Stephen!” A door banged open and the rustle of
skirts interrupted Michael’s question.

Ruby’s arms reached through the bars, and he went
into her welcoming embrace thankfully. If ever he needed the loving
touch of his wife, he needed her now. His world had been turned
upside down in the space of a few hours. What had been the best
experience of his life was now the worst.

“My darling! I have been frantic to see you.” She
repeated Michael’s earlier action and scanned him up and down.
“They’ve hurt you! The barbarians! They’ve accused you of evil and
done evil upon you.”

Abruptly she swung around to his brother. “Would you
mind very much going out to stay with Calvin? He’s waiting in the
front room. I would not allow him to come back, and I couldn’t wait
any longer to see Stephen.”

“Of course, Ruby.”

Before Michael had even reached the door, Ruby had
stretched out her hand and pulled Stephen’s right hand through the
bars. For a moment, she held it against her face then tenderly
kissed his scraped knuckles.

“How I’ve worried about you, husband,” she said
quietly.

He only nodded, his emotions so raw and powerful
speech became impossible. The wild anger from moments ago had been
replaced by a profound sadness, which gripped him by the throat and
chest, making them constrict.