Read Dark Magic for Free Online

Peter and Liza got out. The driver’s window lowered.
    “Is this guy Wolfe really trying to kill you?” Herbie asked.
    “Afraid so,” Peter replied.
    “Why? What did you do?”
    “I don’t know. He’s part of some strange cult.”
    “That’s bad stuff. What time do you want me here tomorrow?”
    Tomorrow was Herbie’s day off. On his off days, Herbie had custody of his teenage daughter, whom he was trying to help raise. Peter didn’t want him missing that.
    “Don’t worry about it, Herbie. If something happens, I’ll call you.”
    “You got it. Sound the alarm, and I’ll come running.”
    “Thanks. I appreciate the concern.”
    The limo glided down the rain-slick street. Peter unlocked the front door, knowing how lucky he was to have people like Herbie working for him. There was no price tag for loyalty or friendship. It had to be earned every single day.
    They entered the brownstone. From the street, the building appeared nondescript, its gray stone walls shoddy compared to many of its affluent neighbors. But like most things in Peter’s life, appearances were deceiving. His home had three floors and a sundeck on the roof, three spacious bedrooms with cathedral ceilings, a living room with a working fireplace, a gourmet kitchen, a workshop, a study, a basement big enough for a wine cellar, and a Pilates room with an Allegro Reformer. Upon entering for the first time, visitors could often be heard to exclaim, “Oh, my God!” at the enormous collection of brightly painted magic tricks, theater posters, and stage illusions crammed into almost every room. He had practically grown up inside a magic shop, and it was only fitting that he now lived in one.
    They moved through the downstairs without turning on the lights. Liza stopped at the stairwell, and slipped her arms around his waist.
    “I’m going upstairs to take a hot bath. Are you sure you’re okay?”
    “I’m okay,” he said.
    “You don’t sound okay. Stop worrying. The police will find this guy.”
    “I sure hope so.”
    In the kitchen, he poured himself a glass of juice, and drank it standing at the window. Shadows danced in the courtyard behind the building like dancers in an otherworldly ballet. Talking to Schoch had brought back painful memories, and it would be a while before he’d be able to fall asleep. He’d been seven when his parents had died, and his memories of them were faint. He’d tried to learn as much about them as he could. It was the only way he could stay close to them.
    Their names were Henry Butler Warren and Claire Abigail Higgins, and they hailed from the town of Marble in southern England. Their relationship had been straight out of a storybook. They’d grown up together, attended the same college, gotten married, and moved to London to become professors at a small university. Peter had come later, when his parents were well into their forties.
    One day, his parents had packed up their things, and moved to New York City, where they’d taken teaching jobs at Hunter College. The move had been traumatic for their son—a new city, strange customs, his classmates making fun of his accent—and they’d struggled to make it work. They’d argued a lot, and he remembered one exchange in the kitchen where a glass thrown by his mother had shattered against a wall. But in the end, they’d never stopped loving each other. That was what he remembered most.
    He felt a sharp stabbing in his chest. People said that time healed all wounds, but that wasn’t true when the two people you loved most were taken away from you as a child. That was a pain that he’d never quite gotten over.
    He went to his workshop. It was filled with tricks that needed repairs. In the corner sat the Spirit Cabinet. Created by the Davenport Brothers in 1875, the illusion had stood the test of time. The trick was simple. The magician entered the cabinet and sat on the stool. Members of the audience tied ropes around his wrists and ankles, with the