James Swain - Shadow People

“You don’t fool me,” MJ told them.

Peter rose from the table. MJ had resumed reading the menu while sipping her drink. She’d won this round, and she knew it.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

He found the restroom and splashed cold water on his face. Drying himself with a paper towel, he stared long and hard at his reflection in the mirror above the sink.

“Mirror, mirror on the wall, tell me what the hell to do.”

His cell phone vibrated. He knew who it was without having to look at the face.

“I’m listening,” he said.

“Why don’t I cast a spell on her, and wipe her memory out?” Holly suggested. “I’ve gotten rather good at that, you know.”

“Will it harm her?” Peter asked.

“Of course. She’ll be a blathering idiot for the rest of her life.”

Peter groaned into the cell phone.

“All right, how about if I just make her blind?” Holly said.

“You’re not helping.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Any other ideas? Come on, I’m in a real bind.”

“Sorry, but I’m afraid that’s all I can offer you. The thing I don’t understand is, how did she get into your theater? Your security is awfully tight.”

Peter had been wondering that very thing himself. His security was so good that it had caught Dr. Sierra knocking on the front door that morning. So how had MJ snuck in and filmed him so many times without being spotted? After a moment the answer hit him. She’d had help.

“I’ve got to go,” he said.

Ending the call, he pulled up Snoop’s number. His assistant answered with dance music playing in the background. He was back at the pop-up club getting ready for tonight.

“How long have you and MJ been an item?” Peter asked his assistant.

“Who told you I was dating MJ?” Snoop said.

“I found out the hard way. Your girlfriend is writing an exposé about me. She used you to get into the theater. She’s going to tell the world that I’m a psychic, and ruin everything.”

“What? MJ’s a reporter?”

“Afraid so. You once told me that there wasn’t a computer that you couldn’t hack. Does that hold true for private computers as well?”

“Sure. They’re the easiest to get into. All you need is the person’s e-mail address.”

“Then do it.”

“Do what?”

“Do I have to spell it out for you in black and white?”

The line went silent. Then Snoop said, “But that’s a crime.”

“Like you haven’t committed crimes before? Call me when you’re done.”

Peter ended the call and headed back to the booth. MJ had gotten another tequila drink and had a sly smile on her face. Just you wait, he thought as he sat down.

He picked up a menu and studied the array of tasty appetizers. MJ was a formidable opponent, and he felt certain that this wasn’t the last time their paths would cross. To be forewarned was to be forearmed, and he pulled out his cell phone, and placed it on the table.

A minute later, it vibrated. Snoop calling. He answered it by saying, “All done?”

“Yup,” Snoop replied.

“What about backup?”

“That’s gone, too.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“Do I still have my job?”

“Of course. Just next time be more careful.”

Peter put his phone away. MJ was watching him. The smile had left her face. She was smart enough to know that something had gone down that wasn’t in her favor. He wondered how long it would take her to figure out what it was. He would have liked to have been there when that happened, but he had more important things to do, and he rose from the table.

“Time to get out of Dodge,” he said.

Liza rose as well. Without a word to MJ, they walked out of the bar. Under her breath, Liza said, “Are you just going to leave? She’s going to ruin you.”

“Not today,” he whispered back.

“What do you mean? What did you do?”

“She can’t hurt me anymore. I’ll explain in the cab.”

Peter gave MJ a parting look. The young blogger was on her iPhone trying to retrieve the clandestine videos she’d shot of him. She’d spent a great deal of time composing her exposé, and it seemed a shame that it had all been erased in the amount of time it took to strike a keyboard. She slapped the table in anger and looked across the room. Their eyes locked. If looks could have killed, he would have been six feet under pushing up daisies.

He waved pleasantly and headed up the stairs.

Lying in bed that night, Liza asked, “Is your life always this exciting?”

“Hardly,” Peter murmured, his eyelids heavy.

“Will it go back to normal soon?”

“Boy, I sure hope so.”

“Can you look into the future, and make sure? My heart beat’s still racing.”

“Ask me tomorrow, okay?”

Liza rested her head on his chest and stared at the grisly images on the flat-screen TV. They were halfway through season two of The Walking Dead, one of the better zombie shows in recent years. They had come to the series late, and rented the episodes from Netflix. They were both hooked on the show, only Liza didn’t like the fact that in the first season the zombies had staggered around with wooden legs, while in the second they ran like deer. She was thinking of going online to post a negative comment about it.

The episode ended with a zombie getting its head shot off, just like all the other episodes had. Peter started to ask Liza if she wanted to watch the next episode, when he realized she was fast asleep. She looked like an angel, and he kissed her forehead.

“Thanks for not running away,” he whispered.

He killed the TV and the picture was reduced to a tiny blip, which hung there for a while before vanishing. The bedroom fell dark. The day had started out lousy but ended well. While he hadn’t stopped the shadow people or found Dr. Death, he’d reunited with Liza, and that was all that mattered. Alone, there was only so much he could accomplish. But with Liza by his side, just about anything seemed possible.

He didn’t really understand it. He’d had plenty of girlfriends before Liza, but none of the relationships had been this deep. She was more than just his lover and soul mate. She was also his assistant, and with him almost every waking moment of every day. His previous assistants had found him too demanding, and had all quit. Not Liza. She’d embraced the challenge of performing on stage every night. It was hard work, and to her credit, she’d never once screwed up a trick.

He did eight shows a week, fifty-one weeks a year, along with a few dozen private events sprinkled into his schedule. Liza had been with him for two years, and not made a single mistake. Had she ever dropped a prop or forgotten a cue? Had she ever not floated perfectly in midair, or not magically jumped out of an empty box when she was supposed to?

He couldn’t remember a single time when she hadn’t been perfect. Not one. But that was impossible. Everyone who performed magic made mistakes. It was part of the business, and there was no getting around it. It was how you learned, and grew.

Yet Liza didn’t make mistakes. Not any that he’d been aware of. The matinee this past Saturday was a perfect example. She’d been hidden inside the secret compartment of the Dollhouse illusion when the shadow person had kidnapped her spirit and taken her into the future. It had been a hair-raising experience that would have sent anyone else to the hospital. Not Liza. Not only had she escaped from Dr. Death, she’d also ended the trick correctly, and taken her bow beside him.

He decided that he was being irrational. Liza made mistakes just like everyone else, and he just wasn’t catching them. Love was blind that way.