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

was about poise and grace. He rolled one of the rings along the top of his arm, then allowed it to teeter on his fingertip for a moment before he flicked it onto his wrist. He’d done the move so many times before—thousands of times—that it went off like clockwork. His palms had even dried. Ricardo hadn’t realized sheer terror would do that for a guy.

He shifted his weight and rolled out the second ring. If he’d been working a bachelorette party, he would have brought his hips into the act. Here, though…he had no idea what the producers were looking for to populate Magic Mansion. Did they want a player? Or did they want a serious magician? Not that one couldn’t be both. And besides, the whole hip-grinding thing was just part of the act. Like fishnets.

The third ring, some light juggling, just a bit of hip action, and finally, Ricardo struck the rings together. Once, twice, metal chimed against metal, and then he allowed the upper ring to slip through the hidden gap. Presto—the rings were linked.

With a flourish, he ceded the stage to Professor Topaz. His pulse was pounding so hard he wondered if the judges could see veins throbbing in his forehead, and he glided back from the spotlight to deflect the attention from his own nervousness.

Professor Topaz turned his riveting gaze toward the producers and put himself through the paces of his illusion, timeless steps, like a waltz. He didn’t move around the stage as Ricardo had; he was thirty years older, and no longer needed to grind his hips to hold an audience’s attention.

Not that Ricardo could have pictured Topaz prancing around like a gigolo. Even thirty years ago.

No, Professor Topaz could bring a hush to a room with a flick of his cape, a glance of his flashing, dark eyes. When his voice swelled and he intoned, “Behold, the canister is no longer empty,” Ricardo couldn’t tear his gaze away from those graceful hands. Silk scarves fluttered from the loaded chamber, floated on the air, buoyant and ephemeral, framing the commanding form of Professor Topaz, who stood among them like a figure from a dream.

He’d looked exactly the same, back when Ricardo was a teenager, the first time he saw Professor Topaz perform. Only now he had a shock of silver at his temple. A stunning shock of silver that Ricardo ached to run his fingers through.

Ricardo glanced down. Damn it, not here. Not now.

His body seemed bent on reacting to the sight of his hero like that of a boy at the height of puberty—exactly like he had that first time. He blinked, once, long and deliberate, and willed himself to pull it together. Strutting through his paces onstage in clingy slacks that showcased a big package was one thing. Flouncing around in front of the producers with a raging hard-on was another.

Ricardo dropped back and tried to force his body to calm down. He drifted so far upstage, he actually heard the murmur of voices behind the curtain. One voice, he even recognized—the production assistant with the headset mike. “…get through the rest of these idiots. Maybe the cheesy one here’s got something good up his sleeve. If that fucking dinosaur would ever stop pulling scarves out of his ass…”

Cheesy? Yes, fine, Ricardo had been called worse. But to refer to the great Professor Topaz as a dinosaur?

How dare he?

Ricardo spun around and took in the scene around him as if the world had stopped, and only he was still capable of movement. A couple of interns at the edge of the stage flipped through their lists, oblivious to the performers. In the front row, the producers sat with two or three seats between them so as not to inadvertently contaminate one another. One was texting on her cell. The other was occupied with picking a bump on his jaw.

All this, Ricardo saw as he whirled. He kept on turning, finally coming to a halt when Professor Topaz filled his field of vision. Topaz had exhausted his supply of silks and had moved on to folding mylar birds, pulling them out with flourishes that made them seem as if they would take flight themselves at any moment.

The Professor’s eyes met Ricardo’s.

With that single look, the whole day coalesced: the anticipation, the nerves, the humiliation, the sheer effort of holding back…and Ricardo felt himself slip.

His showman’s smile flickered. He tightened his cheek muscles in an effort to keep it in place. Letting the smile slip wasn’t the worst of it, though.

In that fraction of a second when things started tanking, Ricardo had allowed his gaze to fall on one of the sparkly pink doves. If anything, a magician should know how to control his face, his body, the attention of his audience, and most of all, his ability. Ricardo had lost control.

It was beautiful, in its way.

The pink mylar dove spread its wings wide, and the metallic folds of its body plumped as if something other than just air and clever origami were filling it out. While the other glittery doves had fluttered, this dove, for a brief, shining moment…soared.

Professor Topaz’s eyes went wide, and he spread his hands to allow the almost-living bird to hover there before his astonished face. But only for a moment. He focused, then, and the bird dropped from the air into his outstretched hands. His eyes met Ricardo’s…and then he went on with the act as if everything was humming along exactly as planned.

He took a bow, then Ricardo glided to center stage and began juggling two single rings with the linked pair. The inopportune stiffie? No longer an issue.

_____

The parking lot outside the audition smelled like the grudging start of autumn and the end of a frat party. Dumpsters lining a nearby alley overflowed with beer bottles and splitting sacks of garbage. The smoggy sky turned darker yet, and a steamy drizzle began to fall.

“You’ll get a callback by Friday if you make it to