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

passed—and there were many—caused him to wonder. Were you the one who slid that picture under Ricardo’s door? Or you? Or you?

And, more importantly, why?

He didn’t probe each of them with the Truth. There wasn’t time. Besides, John had been doling out his use of True magic sparingly, and it didn’t seem prudent to blaze a trail of it through the Mansion so close to taping. Now was not the time for Ricardo or him to draw any more envy than they already were by the simple fact of their happiness.

When he settled himself in his stylist’s chair, though, he couldn’t restrain himself from saying, “So…it’s on the Internet.”

She combed through his hair, dipped into some product, and worked it between her palms. “What is?”

“Photos. From the last challenge.”

“Really? How’d you look?”

John closed his eyes and gave over to the feel of her skilled fingertips against his scalp. Maybe several crew members had passed around the malicious gossip—but not the crew John trusted. The ones he knew. He needed to believe that. “Perfect. Thanks to you, Wendy.”

“You’re so sweet. If you weren’t gay, I’d snap you right up.”

“I’m sure your husband would have something to say about that.”

“I suppose he might.” She fussed with the front of John’s hair so it lay just so. “Are you wearing a hat today?”

“No hat. I imagine they’ll have us running around.”

“Oh. You mean…the final challenge.” She turned and met his eyes in the mirror, and made an exaggerated pout. “That means this’ll be the last time I get to work with you.”

“Send me an email through my website.” She hadn’t been passing that transcript around. John was sure of it. “We’ll keep in touch.”

Unfortunately, chances were, some of the crew he would be dealing with that day must have been. Would it be someone who should have tightened a bolt, but hadn’t? Someone who should have grounded a wire, but failed to? Someone whose active hatred, or even their passive negligence, would focus the free-floating malice around John, or Ricardo, and bring it to a distinct and dangerous head?

John did his best to clear his mind, to push away the thought. Vigilance was certainly called for, but paranoia would only work against him.

The contestants gathered in the formal dining room, seated down one side of the long table. Jia, Ricardo, John, then Kevin. Ricardo was adorable in a body-hugging lycra costume, Kevin had on stiff jeans, a white sleeveless rib-knit tank and sideways cap, and Jia wore a glitzy red and black tunic and leggings, with her hair in a severe bun. The lights were hot and the room felt stuffy before long, and it was difficult to stop eyeing the floor-to-ceiling curtain that now covered the far end of the room. Ricardo’s hand found John’s beneath the table, and clasped it. John wondered if his face changed when Ricardo touched him. Given the relief that flooded him from that simple contact, he decided it must.

“The Final Four,” Monty said off-camera as he took his place at the head of the table, dapper in a pale gray suit. He shone his dazzling smile on each of them. “I guess we’re in for one hell of a day.”

Somewhere outside, a horn sounded, and Iain strode into the dining room with a phone in the crook of his neck. “Okay, they’re done making noise in the yard. Let’s get rolling.”

Monty cleared his throat, hummed, cleared it again, took a few breaths…then turned on a blindingly bright on-camera smile, and focused on a spot on the wall somewhere behind Ricardo’s head. “Greetings, Magicians. Your historical magic acts caused quite a splash on the Atlantic City Boardwalk. One hundred audience members rated each of your routines in three categories: magic skill, historical theme, and charisma. Are you ready to find out how you did?”

The four magicians all murmured their assent.

“The first rating had to do with your magicianship, the tricks you chose and the dexterity with which you performed them. Jia Lee.” The jib zoomed in on her. “You adapted part of your stage act, the Golden Fan, for use in close-up magic.”

“The Golden Fan is a trick I created myself, where I make coins and ropes appear even though my hands are occupied holding the fans. I thought it was a good choice to perform up-close, because there aren’t any other magicians out there doing it. Only me.”

“Ricardo, you went with a hula hoop routine. Tell us about that.”

“I wanted to interact with the audience, and the hula hoops allowed me to do that. They’re showy and a lot of fun…and I chose them along with my theme because I wanted to be sure my historical period stood out from everybody else’s.”

“Professor Topaz….” The jib swung its mechanical eye toward John. “You opted for a traditional illusion, the cut and restored rope.”

He had. And, at the moment, being faced with three young, vibrant magicians who’d worked their themes stunningly and even invented their own tricks, John wondered what he’d been thinking. Between the new wardrobe with its multiple fittings, and the drilling with the enthusiastic vocal coach, and the choreographer’s expert work on his posture and flourishes, John had opted to go with a routine he’d performed hundreds, if not thousands, of times. Now he wondered if he’d played it too safe. He probably had. But even though the deed was done and the votes had been cast, he still felt the need to paint his caution in the best possible light. “Magic,” he said somberly, “is steeped in tradition. I’ve been performing for over fifty years, and yet for me, many illusions never lose their luster. I chose to share that particular trick with the audience on the boardwalk because it was my favorite.”

Beneath the table, Ricardo squeezed his hand. And the jib moved on to Kevin.

“Kevin Kazan,” Monty said, “you started out with what seemed to be some fairly standard card tricks, all the while relieving your audience of various personal belongings. Would you