Excerpt: The Fraternity

In a small room sit a table and chair. In the chair, seated at the table sits a man with the power of the cosmos at his fingertips, a man that knows the how and the why of those things which keep philosophers in a job.
Instead of blasting planets and creating universes, however, he’s simply toying with a pack of ordinary playing cards.
“Close up magic. Stage illusion. Ledgermain. Prestidigitation. We all know magic, and most of us have seen it.”
His fingers move like a dancer’s feet with every cut of the cards. One-handed Charlier cuts, swing cuts, Scarne’s cuts, even a false cut he shows off by displaying the ace of Spades at the top of the deck, then shows again after apparently cutting the cards in a fair and even fashion. His voice is quiet and modulated, a storyteller’s timbre meant to draw, to lure the willing mind into his web of flight and fancy.
“What if magic were real, though? What if the vanishing coins were really gone? What if your mind was not just being read, but manipulated? What if the girl that got sawed in half and put together again was a miracle of healing and restoration beyond your wildest dreams?”
He spreads the cards on the table, face down, then with a flick of his hand sent the string of cards cascading in a flip that turned them all face up again.
“What if the tools of the performance magician weren’t tricks and sleights, but real and true displays of ungodly power? What if magic wasn’t a form of entertainment, but a weapon?”
The story turned with a shift in his voice, a hushed tone and intensity in his eyes that made his words truth rather than a simple fabrication.
“What if the stage and screen were playing host to a timeless war for the souls of all mankind, and this…”
He paused, fanning the cards out in front of him with one hand.
“…what if this was the only thing standing between yourself, and total annihilation? I ask you, my brothers and sisters in the human condition, what if my story was true? Would you then have me in this room? Would you then deny me my right to a simple phone call?”
The cards were flipped into order and squared again, laid on the surface of the table. Long-fingers traced over a tattoo on one wrist, a pair of handcuffs in black and white, before they linked together, flexing with tension.
“I ask you, my brother, if you knew that the true form of evil was loose on the streets and seeking out your blood and soul to feed upon, would you really be so worried about the four men I killed tonight?”