Prologue
Sawing someone in half isn’t as easy as it sounds.
It goes without saying the blade has to be sharp. Razor sharp, with an edge so keen it can slice through a peanut butter sandwich and never touch the jelly.
And since most people don’t volunteer to be cut cleanly in two, you need a subject who is incredibly understanding or likes you a lot. Possibly your mother. Or someone who owes you money.
But the hardest part – the most important part – is knowing how to put people back together again so they can smile and do jumping jacks and eat spicy garlic noodles.
That’s where the magic comes in.
In your whole life you might stumble across a few individuals for whom magic is a way of life. They’re the ones who can saw a person in half without blinking. The most brilliant ones saw a dozen people in half before breakfast, it’s that easy for them.
But how do they do it?
You can watch them closely and spend hours trying to guess how they fooled you (no doubt with trick boxes and fancy mirrors, because you’re exceedingly bright and hard to fool).
You can practice the trick yourself at home with worms (this is not recommended for the squeamish).
Or, if you are very brave, you can go ahead and believe that magic is real.
Most people don’t believe, of course. That would be crazy.
But they would be wrong.
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Chapter 1
“This one?” Jen carefully turned her body, holding up a dusty magic trick pulled from the muddle of boxes at the top of the shelf. She felt the wooden ladder swaying dangerously as she pressed her shins against the supports. It’s always best not to get fancy with your footwork on the next-to-last rung of a 12-foot ladder.
The two teens far below shook their blond heads in unison and pointed further down.
She rolled her eyes, grabbed the next package over and carefully made her way back to earth, one thin rung at a time. With her long black hair hanging in her face she knew from experience to take it slow – being tall meant it just took longer for all of you to bounce painfully off the floor when you fell.
“You’ll like this trick, it’s always popular,” she finally said at the bottom, catching her breath as she walked them back past rows of tall shelves full of magic tricks toward the cash register. “Stay close.”
Everyone thinks magic shops are ever so tidy and proper, like magic – every trick neatly in its place, categorized and alphabetized to amaze and astound you. But what people forget is that magic tricks are anything but tidy, consisting almost entirely of blatant lies, secret cabinets, more lies, hidden pockets and paper that looks like paper but disappears in fire and smoke. Good magic shops are the same – they hide wonders around every corner, if you don’t mind a hint of adventure and are fortunate to have a flare gun on your person to signal when you need help.
The Magic Emporium was exactly that kind of magic shop, its vintage ceramic tiled aisles so crowded with tricks and silly gimmicks that navigating your way through the maze required a guide and a few nifty samba moves. The shop had the added bonus of smelling like corned beef on warm days – a leftover from when it had been a delicatessen in the 1920s.
“So, how does it work?” asked the older of the boys, digging deep in his jeans pocket for crumpled up dollar bills. They were almost identical, except the younger one had several more layers of grime behind his ears.
Jen gave him a perfectly practiced smile. It was practiced and perfect, with just the right amount of teeth, because she heard the same question every single day at the store, one that her grandmother had coached her how to answer. In her mind she could still see her tiny white-haired Gigi twirling in delight through the store, pointing at different tricks that were favorites. It made everything that much harder now.
“Remember, a real magician NEVER reveals his secrets,” Jen replied automatically, adding emphasis in just the right place. Then she paused, carefully sizing up the two boys. It was something she was especially good at. After only a quick glance at their fingers, hair and their expensive basketball shoes, it was obvious neither of them would ever be magicians. Truth be told, they’d be lucky to open the package at the right end.
She sighed and grabbed the box. “Look, it’s really not that hard. Watch.”
With practiced hands she quickly opened the plastic container and scattered the three small steel hoops onto the smooth wooden counter.
“First, you grab them like this.” She gripped the hoops lightly, her long fingers easily cradling the three pieces.
“Second, bang them on something hard so everyone sees they’re solid.”
The boys nodded appreciatively as she tapped the hoops on the surface loudly.
Jen stared at them intently. “Okay – this is the important part.” She paused to make sure she had their complete attention, that was the key. She knew it was actually the key to any trick – and a whole bunch of everyday life – but that was a secret you didn’t share with just anyone. “Look into the eyes of your audience. Make them believe that what they’re about to see is real. And then…” Her words hung in the air a second…
With a flash of her fingers and a clatter of metal all three hoops were suddenly connected.
“Cool!” declared the boys together.
Jen carefully placed the linked hoops into the box and slid it into a brown paper sack. She took the handful of wadded up bills. “Just keep practicing and you’ll make it look easy. Thanks for coming in, see you soon!”
As soon as the boys slammed the shop’s glass door, Jen slumped her shoulders and dropped her head to the counter.
“You’re not too bad,” called a voice from the next room. There was a long pause. “For a girl who hates magic.”
Jen groaned. “Shut up, Elliott!”
She stood and looked around the marvelous jumbled mess of the tiny shop.
He was right. God, she hated magic.
In every household there’s usually one activity that rules the ebb and flow of the family calendar – long road trips and game-time exhilaration of soccer club, maybe, or playing second clarinet in the marching band for crisp autumn football games. For Jen’s family, that thing had been magic. Not the fairy tale kind of magic with mysterious wizards and long wands you wave wildly, everyone knew that didn’t exist except in movies. No, this kind of magic had to do with card tricks and disappearing rabbits and making people float (but not really) – the magic that wowed audiences at children’s birthday parties and the occasional fancy auditorium with velvet seats.
It would seem a sure-fire topic to throw out in casual conversation – “Well, my family is actually in the magic business…” But reality, like most things in life, is much less thrilling. Especially when you have to spend summers working at your grandmother’s magic shop instead of going to swim with your friends at the pool. Or have your father force you to practice tricks at night so you can spend long weekends sweating in hot gyms, just to show judges at a regional junior magic competition you haven’t quite perfected making a red sponge ball disappear.
In truth, Jen had only seen one genuine disappearing act. It happened when she was 8, after her father – an extremely average amateur magician who believed he was just one spectacular performance away from landing his own Vegas show – decided his magic career was much more important than a wife and daughter who were holding him back. And “POOF”! – he was out of their lives.
She was now 15, and it didn’t take mystical vision to see any interest Jen might have had in magic was completely gone. She helped her grandmother by working at the magic shop on weekends and after school, but she was focused on performing a much more death-defying trick – surviving her sophomore year of high school.
Alcohol, friends trying drugs, dating, the ever-changing current of cliques and loyalties that come with the daily chaos of a raucous, overcrowded school on Chicago’s North Side – it was enough to make anyone want a magic wand to make it vanish. Unfortunately, when you know all the tricks and secret pockets a magician uses to mislead his audience, you understand there’s no real magic. Everyone is just trying to fool everyone else.
Most of them, at least.
“Hey, I found this brilliant rope trick. Will you show me?” Jen’s best friend Elliott walked from the back room, his mop of red hair looking fashionably wild but with a subtle hint of intention. Jen knew he spent an hour every morning – and a serious amount of gel – to get just the right flip.
She grabbed her school camera from the counter and snapped a few photos of her freckled friend. “I’m not sure. I hate magic, remember?” She pulled her long hair back and tried to look mad.
“Don’t even try that with me, monkey.” He smiled reassuringly and tilted his head to strike a glam pose for her. They had become fast friends in second-grade art class, where his penchant for wearing bright colors and eating large handfuls of papier-mache paste had marked him for greatness even then. Elliott’s motto for life was simple: be prepared – for fashion. He never left the house without a tailored jacket, and at last count he had 21 pairs of leather loafers.
“You okay? Your grandmother only just died, being at the shop can’t be easy.”
Jen set the camera on the counter. She’d been discussing photo assignments with the school newspaper staff in sixth hour when her mother showed up. Her mother never had afternoons off. Her Gigi had suffered a heart attack while having lunch with her friends. And with that simple news, a big part of Jen’s world died.
She knew this ridiculous shop as well as she knew her own face – the red water pipes overhead painted with beautiful white Chinese script characters that her Gigi told customers were “mystical” words of power but were actually instructions for her washing machine; the lopsided letters hanging above each aisle, letters that only went to “E” because the shop was so tiny. Jen shook her head – she couldn’t help but care about this place, if only because it meant so much to Gigi. But she also had to care about it now because of the money.
“If you can make our gas and electric bills magically disappear, I’ll be happy to leave and grab a vanilla latte with you,” she explained, ripping open the cardboard package that held the two thin pieces of rope. “Until then, we have to find a way to keep the shop open so Mom and I can stay out of the poor house. It’s all about the essentials.”
Elliott smoothed the front of his expensive blue polo shirt knowingly. He understood about essentials – wearing the latest fashion was of utmost importance in school circles where certain young men judged each other on the cut of their jacket and the brand of leather belt they wore.
“Point taken.” He gestured at the two pieces of rope lying on the counter. “Now show me those witchy skills I love so much. Your mouth says ‘I hate magic’ but those cute fingers say something else entirely.”
Jen couldn’t help but laugh. She loved that he was sassy and brash, so different than how she felt about herself. But even though they were opposites, he knew her like no one else and understood the deep devastation she felt at Gigi’s death. With a sigh, she gave in to his distraction.
“LADIES and GENTLEMEN,” she intoned in her best theatrical voice. “I draw your attention to the two pieces of rope before us. Once a SINGLE strand of magical rope, they have been sliced CLEANLY in two by the mighty Scimitar of Samarkand. There is NO possible way they can ever be joined again!” She arched her dark eyebrows fiercely. “Or IS there?”
Elliott giggled. “I hate it when you do that.” He wiggled one carefully trimmed eyebrow back at her.
Jen forced herself to ignore him, not wanting to ruin her concentration. She looked at her slender hands, each one holding a piece of thin rope. They were curiously steady considering everything that had happened the last few weeks.
“And NOW I say the magic word…Abracadabra!” She didn’t even have to look down at the rope. The two pieces had become one again.
As if by magic.