Neil Patrick Harris - The Magic Misfits 2

As the gang dragged Leila toward Mother Margaret’s office, she dug her heels into the linoleum. But together, the girls were too strong. The soles of her shoes left black streaks across the grey tile floor. The tallest girl flung the office door open, and the others yanked Leila through the room toward the familiar cupboard door. They threw her into the cupboard and slammed the door shut, drowning Leila’s vision in darkness. Leila heard the door lock from the other side.

“Okay, joke’s over, let me out!” Leila begged, banging on the door. “Don’t you want to see the magicians?”

“Sure we do!” called one of the girls through the thick wood. “That’s where we are headed right now.”

“Come join us… if you can!” called another. Laughter rang out like the cries of crows that often sounded across the playground outside. Their footsteps faded as they ran away.

Leila knew what would happen when she tried the knob, but – always hopeful – she tried it anyway.

It was locked. And she was alone. Again.

Leila swivelled her head back and forth, but the dark was so complete her eyes didn’t register any movement. Her heart thundered as it usually did whenever the gang of girls shoved her in here. The acrid smell of the damp wooden walls stung her nose.

In the past, it had taken an adult an hour or more to discover Leila cowering in the corner of the cupboard. And whenever they did find her, they scolded Leila as if she had locked herself in the headmistress’s cupboard.

To calm down, Leila imagined herself as a beautiful girl who was part of the magic show downstairs: purposely shut inside a cabinet on stage, then wowing the audience by disappearing without a trace, with a flash and a bang and a whizzz-zup !

Frustration clenched her body. The magic show was the only thing she’d been looking forward to recently. She wanted to see white doves fly from the formal jackets of the magicians, flower bouquets appear from thin air, playing cards float up and out of a deck…

Leila decided she was not going to allow those girls to ruin this for her. For the first time, she’d stand up, really stand up to them. But before she could do that, she had to figure out a way to escape.

Leila felt around in the dark, pushing her finger against the keyhole. Perhaps there was a way to unlock it from the inside. Leila had never picked a lock before, but she’d read about heroes doing it in stories. First, she’d need some tools. She plucked out the hairpin holding her hair in place and stuck it in the keyhole. She turned it back and forth. Inside the lock, the tool met the tumblers. She heard them clinking. But without another pin, she wouldn’t be able to catch them and turn the locking mechanism.

She didn’t have another hairpin. But she was standing inside Mother Margaret’s office cupboard. Sweeping the floor with her fingers, her heart sped up as she encountered a lone paper clip. Luck was on her side!

She unfolded the clip. She stuck the tip into the keyhole and felt around, putting tension on the plug, seeing how far it would give. The pins clicked against the tumblers but kept slipping.

A muffled cheer came from the floor below. The show had begun.

“No, no, no!” Leila whispered to herself. In her mind’s eye, she pictured the mob of magicians standing on stage, pulling rabbits out of hats, transforming marbles into pearls, levitating chairs, and flipping black silk cloaks over their shoulders. She’d been counting on some magical memories to get her through the next few months with a smile on her face.

The more she rushed, the harder it was to manipulate the pin and clip in the keyhole. Minutes ticked by, until it felt as though she might never escape. She worried the show would end before she broke out. Leila was about to throw down her tools in frustration when she felt a distinct click , and the door swung open a crack. She tapped her feet excitedly against the floor in a celebratory dance.

At the top of the stairwell, a voice sounded from below: “And now for our final act…” The sound of clapping grew louder as Leila raced halfway down, then paused. In the sitting room, several rows of chairs were arranged around a platform, upon which sat a distinctive man in a black suit and a tall top hat. A black cape fell from his shoulders, and when he moved his arms, a red silk lining winked at her. The man’s hair was pure white and made of curls, while a straight black moustache smirked from the top of his lips. Leila plopped herself onto a middle step and watched the man with the curly white hair through the rickety wooden balusters.

You must already know who the man with the curly white hair is… but Leila didn’t. This was the moment she saw Mr Vernon for the very first time, and the sight took her breath away. Do you remember when Carter first encountered Mr Vernon? It was on the night that Carter arrived in Mineral Wells. He came down from the train yard to blend in with the crowds at Bosso’s circus. Mr Vernon’s deft skills – flipping two coins around and around between his knuckles – blew Carter’s mind.

Now, as Leila watched this same man’s two assistants tie him tightly to a metal chair, she felt something even more profound than Carter had. She was certain that she’d escaped from the cupboard upstairs so that fate would allow her to see this man.

The stage assistants’ faces were covered with a thin black stretchy fabric. First, they cuffed the man’s ankles to the chair’s legs. Then they wrapped a long chain around his torso and the chair’s back, so that his arms were pinned to his sides. The orphans in the audience gasped as the assistants attached a thick padlock to the ends of the chain, which hung in the centre of his chest. When they slipped an oil-cloth sack over the man’s head, several of the children cried out in fear.

Mother Margaret stood and waved her arms. “Mr Vernon is a professional!” she said. “Do not be alarmed!”

The man’s voice came from under the hood. “ Do be alarmed!” he corrected. “For if I haven’t freed myself by the end of this very minute, I shall run out of oxygen.” Mother Margaret looked sheepish as she sat back down, as if thinking she’d made a mistake inviting this man to possibly perish in front of her wards.

Leila clung to the balusters, peering through like they were the bars of a cage. The two assistants held up a large white sheet before draping it over Mr Vernon’s body. The sheet covered him from head to toe. One of the assistants brought out a large hourglass timer, then set it down on the floor so that everyone could watch as the sand slipped through, second by second by second.

Leila held her breath. The figure under the sheet wriggled and writhed. The clanging of the clasped chains rang through the room. She couldn’t help but think of herself trapped in the cupboard upstairs, minutes earlier.

As the final grains poured into the bottom of the hourglass, the children chanted, “ Five! Four! Three! Two! One! ” The figure under the sheet grew still. Seconds passed. The audience stood, a few at a time, jaws agape, wondering if this was all part of the trick.

Leila cried out, “Take off the hood! Someone help him!”

Frantic, the two assistants raced back onto the stage. They raised the sheet, held it up before the seated man, and peered cautiously behind it. Turning to the audience, they shook their masked heads, as if to say, We’re too late! The orphans went wild, some screaming, as the assistants dropped the sheet to the floor.