Magic Mansion by Jordan Price (best fiction books to read .txt) 📕

in there every time they needed a power strip or a roll of gaffing tape.

Iain came in last, murmuring to each of the cameramen. He conferred briefly with Monty, then seated himself behind the boom operator, where he crossed his legs and began chewing on his thumbnail. He did not, Ricardo noticed, say hello. He only said, “Action.”

“Hello, magicians!” Monty said brightly.

Both groups cautiously said hello. Ricardo felt the camera sweeping him, and he hoped he’d hit the right note with his greeting. Too subdued, and he might come off as bored. Even arrogant. Too enthusiastic and he’d seem like a loser.

Maybe he shouldn’t have gone for the exfoliant after all. He’d need his thick skin if he hoped to stand up to the continual scrutiny of the camera.

“I trust you’re all rested and rejuvenated?”

Sue managed to smile and act like she was. Even if she was grinding her teeth to keep the ache in her thighs at bay.

Once the magicians all made their sounds of affirmation, Monty said, “Then you’ll be eager to hear about your next challenge.”

Not really. What Ricardo was eager to do was ditch the show and go back to the spa with John. Or go anywhere with John, for that matter. But he supposed every challenge he endured put him one step closer to an off-camera meeting with the Professor.

“In this challenge, you’ll be working as a team. But…” he looked from one group to the other, and the cameras panned over everyone’s fretful expressions, “you’ll be doing it one teammate short. Because two of you…have been eliminated.”

Eliminated?

Two?

Ricardo felt physically ill. No one said anything about one elimination, let alone two. And Monty hadn’t said they were going to be eliminated, either. He said they had been.

What if the spa were some kind of test?

What if Ricardo was supposed to do the deep tissue massage and leave the seaweed wrap for one of his teammates? Just a second ago he’d been fantasizing about leaving Magic Mansion behind and cruising off into the sunset with John. But now that his possible cut from the team was imminent, he realized he didn’t want to leave at all. Not really.

Because Ricardo was a competitor. And, damn it, he wanted to play.

He swallowed hard.

Maybe (he hadn’t allowed himself to even think it) what he really wanted was…to win.

Across the room, Kevin Kazan planted his feet wide and crossed his arms in a thuggish stance. His stiff black baseball cap sat high on his head at an angle that made Ricardo itch to straighten it out, and his neck was so thick with oversized necklaces that the Red Team medal just looked like part of his jewelry collection. When he saw Ricardo sizing him up, his eyes narrowed, and he tipped his chin up as if to say, You want a piece of me?

Ricardo swallowed again, and considered the revelation he’d just had.

He wanted to win.

Yes, he did.

He looked Kevin Kazan right in the eye, and he smiled.

“Last night,” Monty said, “in the fishtanks, your physical limits were tested. Some of you competed successfully. And some of you…did not.”

He paused while the cameras roved past the magicians, attempting to capture whatever dismay was lurking behind their polished smiles or sneers.

“Would the magicians who stayed behind at the mansion today please step forward?”

Iain said, “Stand on the tape mark,” which would be edited out.

Faye strutted up to the tape in her silver high heels and thrust out her chest. Charity took her place between Faye and Chip, who greeted Oscar, and even shook his puppet-hand. Beside Chip, Ken shifted uneasily and cracked his huge knuckles, pulling each finger so hard it looked as if he might rip it right out of its socket.

With a nod from Iain, Monty said, “Magicians must be able to endure a certain amount of bodily discomfort, whether that means holding their breath, or keeping calm inside a confined space. Amazing Faye, you held your breath for less than a minute. Not only that, you didn’t mega-charge your tank with fish, or even turbo-charge it with water.” He gazed at Faye pityingly, and said, “You didn’t even try.”

Ouch. It was a scripted admonishment, no doubt. But still. Ricardo would have died inside to have someone tell him he hadn’t even tried.

“Charity,” Monty said, “you suffer from claustrophobia, a most unfortunate phobia for a magician. Sadly, that condition has cost you.”

Charity looked down at the floor. But Oscar’s mouth was moving, as if the puppet was whispering in her ear. And right next to it, Chip looked rather puzzled.

Monty turned to the men. “Chip, while it’s true that the King packed on some extra weight in his later years, your faithfulness to his legacy has done you no good. You held your breath for an unhealthy fifty-nine seconds.”

Chip did some Elvis-like posing while the cameras focused on him, tugging on his forelock, planting his foot so his bell-bottomed trousers flared noticeably. But even as he tried to take advantage of his moment in the unwanted spotlight, his attention was drawn away from the camera yet again by Oscar.

Monty went on as if he didn’t notice. “Ken Barron, you’re an escape artist by trade. And while everyone has an off-night once in a while, yours picked a pretty bad time to show up.”

“This is bullshit.”

This time, Chip wasn’t the only one to be distracted. There was no mistaking that creepy falsetto. And it wasn’t Charity they were looking at, either. It was Oscar.

“We weren’t told about no elimination round. This ain’t fair.”

Faye blushed to the roots of her flaming auburn hair, and said, “Any of us can get eliminated at any time. Deal with it.” She was talking to Oscar, too.

“This is BULLSHIT.”

In a very good Elvis-like Tennessee drawl, Chip said, “Now if we can all just calm down a minute.”

“BULLSHIT!”

Faye held up her hand as if to shield herself from Charity, and said, “You think having a puppet in your hand gives you the right to act like