Star Harbor Nights

At one o'clock exactly, as Perfect was taking a break from inventing to dust the living room, there came a single, soft knock on the door. If she hadn't been told to expect a guest at exactly that time, she would have missed it.

She cast a quick glance around the living room to make sure it was clean and free of clutter. Of course, it was. She never used the main floor of her home for anything. It was merely training instilled upon her by her mother. Satisfied, she went to the door, stood on her toes to look through the peephole while wishing she had finished her closed circuit security system, and saw... nothing.

"Of course, I must have imagined it," she told herself aloud. Perfect had a habit of talking to herself when there were no other people or stuffed animals around. She turned to head back towards the living room, then spun on her heel abruptly to go through the dining room to the kitchen instead. "Because he was just so insistent that it would be at one exactly. Though, I usually don't imagine things I don't mean to, and... eek!"

The very unheroic exclamation was her perfectly understandable reaction to finding a strange man seated with an air of total relaxation in her dining room. He was strange in the sense that she had never met him, and in the sense that he was among the very last people she expected to find in her home. She recognized the slim, smiling figure with the exotic good looks wearing the black tailcoat, silk tophat, and white gloves: Charade, Master of Illusion.

"Coffee?" he asked, gesturing towards the two steaming mugs on the table. "It's my mother's recipe. A little bit similar to Turkish... but not very."

"How... how..."

"The answer to both questions is very simple: I simply hid myself away when the building was constructed and waited for this moment," the magician said with a wink. "And if you don't ask me how I do anything else, Miss Jones, I won't have to lie about anything else."

"You're Ray's friend from the carnival, then," Perfect said, pulling out a chair.

"Correct," Charade said.

"You know, some people would say it's not a good idea to startle a trained martial artist in her home."

"Some people would say it's not a good idea to have oneself cocooned in gauze, suspended upside down over a giant bear trap, and lit on fire, but c'est la vie," Charade said. "In any case, I believe I have some information for you."

"About the rune-letters from the church fire," Perfect said. She picked up the coffee mug and took a cautious sip. She wasn't much for coffee, ordinarily, but found to her surprise that Charade's mother's blend was as sweet as it was dark, and very strong without any trace of bitterness.

"Yes," Charade said. "The mysterious vanishing letters. Ray contacted me when he realized he must have recognized them from all the times he spent peeking at my mother's chest growing up."

"What?"

"Oh, excuse me, that came out all wrong," Charade said. "You see, my mother had a trunk in her room wherein she kept some of her more interesting props. It had some rather interesting mystical symbols carved in big block letters in the front of it. Though she kept the trunk hidden in the back of her trailer, Ray certainly got a good look at it when he used to peek through the windows to get a glimpse of her chest. I've reproduced the writing for you here"

He reached into an inner pocket in his jacket and pulled out a thin roll of cream colored parchment, which he unfurled on the table to reveal a series of letters in bold black penstrokes.

Perfect shook her head.

"No," she said. "That can't be it."

"Why ever not?"

"I may not remember what the words on the wall looked like right now," Perfect said, "but I know I'd know them if I saw them. They were too distinct to forget completely."

"That presupposes the memory exists somewhere in your brain, buried or blocked... I find it's best not to underestimate the force that some people call magic," Charade said. "It's my understanding that even digital images of the letters were somehow erased when the spell was triggered."

"So how are we ever supposed to know if we've found them?"

"When you look at these letters, what do you think?" Charade asked. "What's your professional amateur opinion?"

"Well, it's certainly very distinctive looking," Perfect said. "Not Hebrew, but something similar, possibly older... um... actually, now that I think about it... kind of what I thought looking at the other phrase."

"I think we have a winner," Charade said, smiling knowingly.

"So what can you tell me about it?"

"The phrase is Aramaic," he explained. "Written in a very old form of the language, little known outside a select circle of Middle Eastern magicians. You might not recognize it when you see it written in the original script, but any child would recognize the words when spoken aloud: abara k'davra. Literally, it means..."

"'I will create as I speak.'," Perfect said. "What I saw wasn't creating anything, unless you count the fire."

"I doubt very much that this was the intention behind the words, especially given the peculiar effect on your memory," Charade said. "Then we have Ray's initial impression that he'd seen something similar to the words, not necessarily the words themselves."

"He could have been confusing it with another Aramaic phrase," Perfect said.

"I doubt he'd know Aramaic from Klingon. However," Charade said. He rolled the scroll back up and then unfurled it again, and the words were slightly different. "If you change just one symbol, you get the related incantation..."

"'Avada k'davra'," Perfect guessed. "'I will unmake as I speak'."

"You recognize it?" Charade asked, surprised.

"Not the letters, but the phrase... well, I read a lot."

"Yes, it's a slightly more obscure turn of phrase... only recently popularized as 'the killing curse' by a children's author," Charade said. "Authorities differ as to which was the original incantation and which is the corruption of it, but both are incredibly ancient, among the oldest surviving mystical phrases known."

"A spell of unmaking," Perfect said. "That would certainly fit... the church was definitely unmade, as were my memories and my digital photos."

"The rumors among the unseen world say that not even a trace of the spell remains to be divined," Charade said. "And you know the investigators will have turned to psychics after failing to find any conventional means by which the fire had been kindled. There's been no announcements, of course. The authorities don't mind admitting they used extraordinary means to catch a criminal, but when results are lacking..."

"I've come to that conclusion, too," Perfect said, draining the last sip of her coffee. She hadn't realized how quickly it had gone. "Um, is there any more of this?"

"Look in your cup," Charade said.

"Oh!" she cried, surprised at the sudden weight in her hands. "Thank you. Um... can I ask you something?"

"As long as it's not about how I did that."

"When you said 'the force that some people call magic', what did you mean by that?"

"Hmm, well, yes, that is a good question," Charade said. "Let me answer it with another one: before today, how likely would you have said it was that somebody could have knocked on your front door, then somehow found a point of ingress into the building, got out two of your coffee mugs, filled them, and seated himself comfortably in your dining room in the time it took you to look through a peephole and walk a handful of paces?"

"I'd have said it was impossible."

"And I'd say it was magic," Charade said. "But the wizards and such of this world would disagree and call it mere trickery. If I were a wizard, of course, I could have created a dimensional aperture or some such thing in order to get inside, then conjured the coffee from some hitherto uncharted realm of elemental caffeine, and then raised an invisible spirit to produce the knock. The end result might have appeared to be the same, but to my mind, the person who employs such measures is more of a trickster than I, who come by my illusions honestly."

"That's an interesting point," Perfect said. "I wasn't sure I believed in the wizard sort of magic until I met Ray, but ever since I've wondered if the best stage magicians didn't make use of it in their acts."

"Oh, some do, to be sure," Charade said. "And I don't exactly begrudge them, because in the end, we're entertainers and the only thing that matters is the audience leaves completely satisfied and desperately hungry for more. It would be a bit hypocritical of me to cast stones, as I do use my own small inborn gifts to supplement my traditional illusions

"So, you know Ray from his carnival days?" Perfect asked.

"Oh, yes, my acquaintance with Raymond goes way back," Charade said. "Ray's father Frank traveled with my family's carnival as a sword-swallower and fire-eater, going back to when he was himself just a child. He became semi-retired after his marriage, but after the death of his wife, he came back to the life and brought his son with him."

"How old was Ray then?" Perfect asked. Ray spoke of his past very rarely, and never in detail. He'd never talked about his mother, and only mentioned his father in passing.

"Oh, six or seven, I think," Charade said after a moment's thought. "It's hard for me to say for certain, as I wasn't much older myself at the time."

"What was Ray like as a boy?"

"Almost exactly like he is as a man, in my experience," Charade said, somewhat wistfully. "He was something of a prodigy when it came to circus arts, though. Everything came easily to him, and he was interested in everything... sort of like the Phantom of the Opera, if you've ever read the original LeRoux novel."

"I have," Perfect said.

"Of course, though, our Ray is much more handsome than Erik, le mort vivant... and it was hard for any performer to feel threatened by him, as he lacked the discipline to truly master anything," Charade said. "That galled his father a bit... Frank Vallenzio was born a perfectionist."

"What kind of man is Ray's father?" Perfect asked.

"Well, there's a story that I feel sums him up pretty well. See, we  had a performer who billed himself Allonzo the Human Vending Machine," Charade said. "He was a professional regurgitator..."

"Professional... regurgitator?"

"He would swallow various objects and then, ah, bring them back up. One of Allonzo's trademarks was to swallow a scrambled Rubik's cube and then regurgitate it solved," Charade said. "I trust I don't have to explain the secret of that particular trick to you."

"He swallowed the solved one beforehand," Perfect said. "It would take a lot of, uh, skill to bring up the right one, though."

"Yes, and don't underestimate the amount of skill involved, nor how useful it can be... regurgitating objects is a fundamental escape technique, among other things," Charade said. "But, in any event, one day Allonzo was being particularly mouthy about the merits of regurgitators versus sword-swallowers, and said something to the effect that since his training allowed him to do anything that Frank could do, they didn't really need him. Frank just laughed and asked what Allonzo could do that he couldn't, and Allonzo performed the cube trick on the spot."

"So what happened?"

"Well, Frank wiped the cube off on his shirt, shuffled the colors, and swallowed it," Charade said. "Of course, it was a pointless exercise, because he hadn't been prepared for it. So Allonzo asked him, 'What next, smart guy?'"

"What did Frank do then?"

"He looked him straight in the eye and said, 'Come back in eight hours.'," Charade said.

It took Perfect a moment to register the implications, then she laughed.

"Frank was never one to admit defeat easily," Charade said. "That's why, when all else failed, he decided to have his wayward and willfull son learn the art of escape from my father. He figured if that didn't instill a sense of patience and discipline in the boy, nothing would."

"Um, no reflection on your father," Perfect said, giggling a little, "but from what I know of Ray, I'd say nothing would."

"I'd say you're right, but it really is no reflection on my father," Charade said. "He had many other duties as leader of our little troupe, and at the time he was also giving private lessons to someone else, so he passed the responsibility on to me. I have to admit, as much as I enjoyed our time together I wasn't a particularly diligent teacher. I think his father became suspicious of us when the 'escape lessons' somehow improved Ray's sword-swallowing skills. He'd always had such a touchy gag reflex before."

Again, it took Perfect a few moments to realize the implications of what Charade was saying. This time, she didn't laugh.

"I, uh, never realized Ray was bisexual," Perfect said. She couldn't picture him with another man, especially in a receptive position... though she wasn't sure how hard she was trying. She knew in an abstract sort of way that the world was full of very masculine gay men, but somehow Ray seemed too masculine to her to be anything but straight.

"Oh, he isn't," Charade said. "Ray is unabashedly and unquestionably heterosexual, though one might say he's most attracted to sex itself and isn't picky about how he gets it."

"What's the difference?"

"There's a world of difference between being excited by the prospect of sex to the point of being willing to have another man, and being excited by another man to the point of being willing to have sex," Charade said. "With me, it's the latter case. With Ray, it was always the former... much to my chagrin."

"That almost makes sense, in a looking glass sort of way," Perfect said.

"You look... troubled," Charade said. "I'm sorry, I hope I haven't dispelled any illusions."

"I never guessed Ray's teenage years were so... active," Perfect said. "He only ever talked about one other woman."

"Oh, that's just his way," Charade said. "To him, there's only ever been one woman that mattered, and there probably only ever will be. Everything else is just a fun time to him."

"I... see."

"Anyway, his father didn't stop the lessons, probably because he didn't want to make his suspicions about his son be known... but he started buying Ray women," Charade said. "Oh, you look shocked... but Frank wasn't the first man to pay a woman to 'make a man' out of a teenage son. We kept up our 'lessons', but that's when the fairytale was over for me. Of course, it turned out that Frank could have saved his money... I later found out Ray'd been screwing my whore of a sister for only a week less than he'd been fooling around with me. In the end, it seemed as though he'd had his way with all of us. I was--as near as I can figure--the first person who ever had him, but I was also the first in a long line of hearts he broke. I... oh, are you alright?"

"I think feel sick," Perfect said.

"Oh, I hope I haven't soured your opinion of him," Charade said. "Ray's sexual ethics may be a bit suspect, but he's perfectly decent in every other respect. Anyway, I suspect you've got very little to fear from him. He's always shown a preference for bigger, bustier girls... a taller, sturdier frame... something more full-figured and womanly. I'm not saying he wouldn't be interested in you if the opportunity arose, but he wouldn't go out of his way unless there were no other prospects available."

"Well, this has been very illuminating," Perfect said, getting to her feet.

"Have I said something to offend you?" Charade asked. "I hope you don't take what I just said as a personal judgment on you. Though I'm not in a position to judge a woman's attractiveness except on purely aesthetic grounds..."

"No, no," Perfect said. Her voice sounded hollow and far away inside her own head. "I think you told me exactly what I needed to hear."

"Ah, very good, then," Charade said, rising from the chair. "Really, though, I hope you don't judge our Ray too harshly by my words... it's been a long time since either of us were teenagers and I do believe it's possible that he's matured slightly."

"Should I see you to the door, or just look away for a second?" Perfect asked.

"Oh, either's fine with me, but if you don't have a preference I'll use the door," Charade said. "I've got a performance tonight at the Astro Center and I don't want to overdo it."

"Understandable," Perfect said, leading him out to the front hall. "Thank you again for the information."

"About the letters, or our mutual acquaintance?"

"Both, really," Perfect said. "I'm very glad you told me..."

She let the sentence hang. She neither looked nor sounded particularly glad.

"Well, it was my pleasure," Charade said. "And, if you should have the time for a little entertainment, I'll leave your name at the ticket office. I'll make it plus-one, in case you'd like to bring that special someone."

Perfect said nothing. Her face was impassive, but her eyes held an unaccustomed sheen.

"Well, good afternoon, then," the magician said, tipping his hat to her before heading out the door.

A short black limo was idling in front of the twin townhouses. Charade climbed into the back seat and nodded in recognition of the driver's greeting, then raised the privacy partition and slumped back into the seat. A melodic twinkling sounded. He produced a cell phone from somewhere within the smooth unlined contours of his tailcoat and flipped it open.

"Yes, it's done," he hissed into the phone. "But this is the last time... the next time you want a character assassin, you can damn well do it yourself."