The Illusionist

By Cortney Manning

Fae-burst had been banned in Anglia for over a decade, but Spencer knew for a fact he’d seen magic onstage tonight.

He peered around the shadowy backstage room. Illusionist dens like this were common in Anglia’s seediest districts, but only sleight of hand was allowed onstage. Fae-burst with its addictive qualities was strictly forbidden.

Spencer cringed at the raucous cries of the audience pounding his ears. The vanity of Hatcher, this den’s lead performer, was legendary. The man bowed repeatedly, prepping for an encore, and Spencer figured he should have plenty of time to investigate Hatcher’s quarters.

As an undercover agent of the Magic Containment Office, Spencer had visited many similar dens in search of illegal use of Fae-burst. This one looked innocent enough, but Spencer wasn’t fooled by appearances. He rifled through opened trick boxes and tugged dingy curtains.

“What are you doing?”

Spencer spun toward the sharp voice. A lass marched closer, her golden costume shimmering in the dim light.

“Ah, Miss Vivian, is it?” Spencer would recognize Hatcher’s assistant anywhere. The woman struck an impressive pose with her angular features and warrior’s stature. Besides, it was Vivian who’d pulled Spencer onstage tonight, perhaps unwittingly giving him the perfect opportunity to snoop around backstage.

“I asked you a question, Mr.—?”

“Spencer.”

She stepped nearer, her sequins glinting. “Why are you back here?”

Spencer avoided her stare. “You… led me here, after Hatcher made me disappear.”

“And I showed you how to return to the audience.” She gestured toward the door. “Why are you still here?”

Spencer peered into her piercing brown eyes and straightened his posture. “Honestly, I’m not a simple volunteer from the audience. I’m from the Magic Containment Office.”

Her brown eyes widened then grew hard. “Your office has been hounding us for weeks, demanding samples of our blood to test.” She crossed her arms. “The answer’s still no.”

Spencer leaned against a cabinet, trying to evince a nonchalant air. “Yet I can’t simply leave. You know as well as I there’s magic in your act. The question is: is it you or Hatcher using Fae-burst?”

Vivian’s jaw tightened. “How dare you. You know how Fae-burst is made.”

Spencer nodded. “With Fae blood.”

“Taken willingly or not,” Vivian finished. “The few Fae who live in Anglia are mistreated enough. I’d never use Fae-burst.”

Her breath was heavy and her cheeks red, but Spencer knew liars could fake sincerity. “When Hatcher botched his trick, I still disappeared. Even I couldn’t see my own hand, and I felt magic tingling across my skin.”

Vivian stood stoic, so Spencer pressed on. “Given the reek of alcohol on Hatcher, it’s no surprise the use of Fae-burst was necessary. As you said, our office has investigated this den for months. If it’s not you, then tell me, is it Hatcher?”

She chewed her lip, clearly weighing her options. “I’m no friend of Hatcher’s, but I have family to provide for. I can’t risk my job to snitch on Hatcher. Still… I can’t deny he’s sloppy. A skilled illusionist shouldn’t need to risk magic.”

“Yet, somehow, I became invisible and reappeared.” Spencer stepped closer. “I don’t believe your partner did that in his state.” She fiddled with the fringe of her skirt. “Vivian, I can’t force you to give a sample of your blood, but I can return every night, watching. You covered for Hatcher tonight. Do you think he won’t blunder again?”

Her chin jerked upward, and her lips parted and closed several times before she finally replied. “When I brought you onstage and told you not to move, you said you never break a promise. And you didn’t. You stayed there even as you felt the magic and disappeared.” Her hands fisted firmly at her hips. “I’m willing to let you test my blood on one condition.”

Spencer leaned closer. “What?”

“No matter what you learn from this test, if it’s negative for Fae-burst, then you’ll keep the results quiet. You won’t act on them.”

Spencer didn’t understand her angle, but he still nodded. “You have my word.”

He pulled out the kit from his satchel and pricked her extended finger with the needle. The blood dripped onto his chemical cloth like a ruby. He inhaled, waiting for the color to change—blue for untainted human blood or green for Fae-burst.

Hers turned gold.

Shock flooded through Spencer as his gaze flitted from the blood to her face.

“Not all magic is illegal,” Vivian murmured, “but neither are all races welcomed here in Anglia.”

“You’re—”

“Half-Fae, on my mother’s side,” she finished. “Yes, I turned you invisible to cover Hatcher’s mistake. I need this job. But I… I won’t deny Hatcher might occasionally utilize Fae-burst himself.”

“Vivian!” Hatcher’s voice boomed into the room. Apparently, the show had ended.

“I need to go.” Vivian spun around.

“Wait!” Spencer called as the door slammed open and Hatcher stumbled in.

“You’re trying to eclipse my act again!” Hatcher’s words slurred. “My uncle hired you to make me look good, not to filch my show.”

Vivian stood, her frame tense but steady. “You’re the one dragging yourself down, not me.”

Hatcher swung his fist into Vivian’s sequined shoulder, knocking her back several feet. Spencer rushed forward, but a golden Fae-light gleamed in Vivian’s brown eyes. If anyone was in danger now, it wasn’t her.

“Wait, sir!” Spencer stepped between them. “Your fist is bleeding. Here. Take my handkerchief.”

Before Hatcher could react, Spencer swiped the cloth over his fingers. Hatcher shoved the fabric aside, but Spencer caught it midair as Hatcher lunged at Vivian.

“I’ll teach you a lesson—ah!”

His arms and legs pedaled as he levitated in the air. Golden light illuminated his face, contorted in anger. “Witch! I always knew you had Fae blood.”

“Yes, I’m half-Fae,” Vivian snarled, “and you’ll never touch me again.”

“She’s right.” Spencer lifted his now-green handkerchief into Hatcher’s line of vision. “You’ll be too busy in prison.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cortney Manning resides in Missouri but has always loved traveling the world. She holds a master’s degree in Victorian Literature from the University of Glasgow and has a not-so-secret love of fantasy as well. Her writing can be found on her website and in the Rooglewood Press anthology, Five Poisoned Apples. In her free time, Cortney enjoys walking, drawing, and afternoon tea.

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