The third thing he noticed, perhaps the most puzzling, was the pile of car tires at the foot of the bed.
It took Magnus a few moments and a number of strange contortions to get over the sleepers and out of his bed. There were easily twenty more sleeping and passed-out people all over the living room. The curtains were also missing from the windows of this room, but he could see where they’d all gone. People were using them as blankets and improvised tenting. Alfie alone was awake, sitting on the sofa and looking out at the sunny day miserably.
“Magnus,” he groaned. “Kill me, won’t you?”
“Why, that’s illegal!” Magnus replied. “And you know how I feel about breaking the law. And who are all these people? There weren’t this many when I fell asleep.”
Alfie shrugged, indicating that the universe was mysterious and nothing would ever be fully understood.
“I mean it,” Alfie said. “If you don’t want to use that voodoo whatever, just hit me on the head with something. You gotta kill me.”
“I’ll get you a bracer,” Magnus said. “Iced tomato juice and Tabasco, sliced grapefruits, and a plate of scrambled eggs, that’s what we need. I’ll have room service send up two dozen of each.”
He stumbled over a few people to the phone, only to find that he had actually reached for a large, decorative cigarette dispenser. It was possible he was not quite at his best either.
“And coffee,” he added, setting this down and picking up the telephone receiver with tremendous dignity. “I will order some of that as well.”
Magnus placed the order with room service, who had by now stopped questioning Mr. Bane’s unusual needs for things like twenty-four plates of scrambled eggs and “enough coffee to fill one of your larger bathtubs.” He joined Alfie on the sofa and watched a few of his new guests turn and groan in their slumber.
“I gotta stop this,” Alfie said. “I can’t go on like this.”
Alfie was clearly one of those people who turned maudlin after a good night out. Somehow, this only made him more attractive.
“It’s just a hangover, Alfie.”
“It’s more than that. See, there’s this girl. . . .”
“Ah,” Magnus said, nodding. “You know, the quickest way to mend a broken heart is to get right back on the wagon. . . .”
“Not for me,” Alfie said. “She was the only one. I make good money. I got everything I want. But I lost her. See . . .”
Oh no. A story. This was perhaps too maudlin and too much for the early hour, but handsome and heartbroken young men could occasionally be indulged. Magnus tried to look attentive. It was hard to do so over the glare of the sun and his desire to go back to sleep, but he tried. Alfie recounted a story about a girl named Louisa, something about a party, and some confusion over a letter, and there was something about a dog and possibly a speedboat. It was either a speedboat or a mountain cabin. Those things are hard to mix up, but it really was much too early for this. Anyway, there was definitely a dog and a letter, and it all ended in disaster and Alfie coming to Magnus’s bar every night to drink away his sorrows. As the story lurched to its conclusion, Magnus saw the first of the sleepers on his floor start to show signs of life. Alfie did too, and he leaned in to speak to Magnus more privately.
“Listen, Magnus,” Alfie said. “I know you can . . . do things.”
This sounded promising.
“I mean . . .” Alfie struggled for a moment. “You can do things that aren’t natural. . . .”
This sounded very promising indeed, at least at first. However, Alfie’s saucer-eyed expression indicated that this was not an amorous inquiry.
“What do you mean?” Magnus asked.
“I mean . . .” Alfie lowered his voice further. “You do . . . those things you do. They’re . . . they’re magic. I mean, they have to be. I don’t believe in the stuff, but . . .”
Magnus had maintained the premise that he was nothing but a showman. It was a premise that made sense, and most people were happy to accept it. But Alfie—an otherwise down-to-earth mundie—appeared to have seen through it.
Which was attractive. And worrying.
“What exactly are you asking me, Alfie?”
“I want her back, Magnus. There has to be a way.”
“Alfie . . .”
“Or help me forget. I bet you could do that.”
“Alfie . . .” Magnus didn’t really want to lie, but this was not a discussion he was going to get into. Not now, and not here. Yet it seemed like he needed to say something.
“Memories are important,” he said.
“But it hurts, Magnus. Thinking about her makes me ache.”
Magnus didn’t really want this kind of thing this early in the morning—this talk of aching memories and wanting to forget. This conversation needed to end, now.