The Magic Shop

Elba's Test





Marcus felt a stinging sensation as he cracked his blurry eyes. No matter how hard he blinked, everything appeared to be enshrouded in a red haze. While he struggled with his sight, his other senses, which seemed to be working well enough, started taking in his surroundings. The humid air smelled greasy and pungent, and something sizzled behind him. Then he became aware of a clanking sound, followed by the murmur of muted conversations. As the moments passed, his surroundings faded from view.

“And what would you like, sir?” a low, pleasant voice said from somewhere to his left.

Turning toward the sound, Marcus squeezed his eyes tightly. Upon opening his eyes, a finely dressed Chinese man with a towel draped over his forearm came into focus. The man was bent over slightly, smiling at him.

Marcus surveyed his surroundings over each shoulder as if the surrounding waiters could attack him at any moment. He felt oddly irritable. He was encircled by tables, and patrons all around him were engaged in their own conversations and focusing on their meals. No one but this waiter was paying attention to Marcus.

“Um… I don’t know,” Marcus said, realizing that he was in what seemed like a perfectly regular restaurant. “What do you recommend?” The waiter offered Marcus a menu, and he took it. He wasn’t sure how he had gotten here, but he knew he hated Chinese food. This wasn’t going to improve his mood any.

“I strongly recommend the mutton stewed in licorice root,” the waiter said with a charming twinkle in his eye. He emphasized the word licorice strongly.

“Sure, whatever,” Marcus said, waving the waiter off. He couldn’t help but think that mutton sounded nasty, but he didn’t actually plan on eating it.

The waiter bowed and left for the kitchen to place his order.

Marcus felt groggy, like he had just awakened from a bad dream or a sleepless night. He watched the people around him, but couldn’t help but feel like everything was too normal. The last few weeks had been full of unexplainable events. He really didn’t know what to think anymore. I should get out of this place while I still can, he thought.

“Here you are, sir.” The waiter had appeared at his side and placed his order on the table in front of him. He clasped his hands together and waited anxiously for Marcus to try the food. This waiter was going to annoy him.

Marcus looked down at the steaming bowl in front of him. Large chunks of meat were stewed in a thin, dark broth. The sharp smell from the meal was more inviting than he had anticipated. Strangely enough, it was relaxing. He wondered what time it was, and when the last time he had eaten was. He was hungry.

Marcus picked up the spoon that the waiter had placed on the table and dipped it into the bowl. The waiter gravitated toward Marcus as he buried the spoon, then he sprang back up as Marcus brought it back up to his lips.

“And?” the waiter asked, bright-eyed.

As Marcus tasted the broth, a strange warmth passed through him. He did not answer the waiter immediately, but rather sipped it again.

“It’s… good,” Marcus said, surprising himself. The waiter bowed happily and left without another word.

I must have been pretty hungry to eat Chinese food, Marcus thought. He picked up the fork and the knife on the other side of the bowl and cut up the meat. Every sip and every bite he took helped him feel better. Where he had been restless and agitated before, now a soothing peace washed over him, and things slowed down.

When he had finished, Marcus sat back in his seat and sighed. No food had satisfied him so. He would have to get the recipe.

“All done?” the waiter asked, appearing again at his side. “Feel better?”

“Yes,” Marcus said as his curiosity set in, “and yes.” He hadn’t stopped to think where he was, or how he had really gotten here. Could he trust the restaurant? Maybe he shouldn’t have eaten that food.

“Where am I?” Marcus asked. And how had the waiter known he would feel better? He didn’t ask that last question.

“Good,” the waiter said, bowing. “You feel better. Very good.” He collected Marcus’s bowl from the table and replaced it with a fortune cookie, and then left for the kitchen.

As Marcus stared at the fortune cookie, his mind wandered.

Where were Ellie and Grandma? Weren’t they with him before?

Marcus’s memory was cloudy. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t exactly recall what had happened before arriving here. He had some images, flashes of memories, but he wasn’t completely sure.

He would have to think about those events later, because right now there was a fortune cookie before him, just waiting to be devoured. He chuckled. The answers to all his future problems, all his questions, wrapped up in a cookie that probably came from Sam’s Club.

He picked up the cookie, weighting it in his hand for a moment, and then broke it in half. A little white slip of paper linked the two halves.

Marcus removed the paper and set it on the table. Everyone, even those that don’t like Chinese food, knew that you had to eat the cookie for the fortune to come true. And so he did.

He picked up the paper, knowing full well that fortune cookies were silly. But maybe I could use some silly right now, he thought. Grandma had once gotten a fortune that said: “I finally escaped the cookie factory.”

He chuckled at the memory. His read: “Advice, when most needed, is least heeded.”

That didn’t sound too goofy to him, but it didn’t cause him to ponder too much either. That’s all he needed; another bit of advice that didn’t do him any good. It reminded him of the answers his grandparents had been giving him lately. It just made him want to get out of there.

Bored, he flipped the slip of paper over. There was red, sprawling handwriting that read: “Come to the back room. Keep calm, and don’t hurt anyone.”

Hurt anyone? That was the dumbest thing he had ever read. He had never hurt anyone. It was just a fortune cookie anyway, and not worth paying attention to. But the handwriting—that was different.

Still, it got Marcus thinking; this was not any ordinary fortune cookie. This had handwriting on the back of it. That meant that someone must have prepared this personally. Whether it was actually intended for him or for someone else remained to be seen.

“Sir,” the waiter said after appearing next to him again. “This way, please.”

“Actually, I was just leaving that way,” Marcus said, pointing in the opposite direction toward the entrance.

“Please,” the waiter said. His eyes shifted around the restaurant.

There was something about the way the waiter said it. It might have been the tone of his voice, or perhaps the bead of sweat that formed on his forehead for the first time that evening. He looked very nervous.

Images of a wrecked Magic Shop, its walls crumbled and debris scattered everywhere, flashed through his mind. “Where is my sister?” Marcus asked. His memory was slowly returning. “Did you take her too?”

“Come with me,” the waiter said, ignoring his question.

Marcus wanted answers, and he wasn’t going to get them sitting down or by running away. Against his better judgment, he followed the waiter across the restaurant. If his sister was in trouble, she would need his help. The memories continued to cascade through his mind: the explosion, the fight, and the betrayal. At that moment, he wasn’t sure how he felt about his grandma anymore. It was all so confusing.

The waiter guided Marcus to the back of the restaurant, where they stopped before a large red door adorned with a uniform pattern of golden buttons. In the center were two large knockers in the shape of a lion’s head, one placed on each door panel.

“Here you are,” the waiter said, bowing and stepping out of Marcus’s path to the door.

“Aren’t you coming with me?” he asked.

“Those doors will not open for just anyone,” the waiter said. “Certainly they will not open for me. You must continue alone.”

Marcus considered the situation for a moment. This could be some sort of trap by the people that captured him. Perhaps they were toying with him, like a cat that plays with a mouse just before the kill? No, he thought, if they wanted me dead, I would already be dead. They had had plenty of chances to do it. Something else was going on here. He didn’t understand, and wouldn’t do so unless he went through those doors.

After a deep breath, Marcus pushed on the doors. As his hands touched the surface, the lions’ eyes opened, casting a faint blue hue on the gold. The doors clicked open and Marcus proceeded. That was too easy, he thought.

Beyond the door was something Marcus would not have expected. Half of him believed he would walk into a kitchen; the other half thought that perhaps he would stumble upon a secret gambling club. This was not what he found, however.

As he walked through the doors, Marcus saw the sun shining down on a vast, open courtyard lined with small shrubs and several ornate red pillars. In front of him was one of several stone pathways that led to the center upon which stood a tall, open pavilion. The structure was square, and the horned corners on its ruby colored roof lent an unworldly feel to it.

It was empty.

Marcus stepped down a short flight of stone steps, and ran his fingers across the hedging that lined it. As he advanced, he saw that there were three other doors situated around the courtyard. One was across from him, on the other side of the pavilion, and the other two on each side of him, forming a symmetrical cross. Each door faced another on the opposite side.

Marcus felt drawn to the structure in the middle of the courtyard. He didn’t know why. Perhaps it was the decorative architecture, or maybe it was the simple serenity of his surroundings. Maybe it was to get away from the Chinese food.

As he got closer, he noticed something. An object protruded from the ground, right in the center of the structure.

Marcus wasn’t sure what it was, or why he hadn’t noticed it before. He must have thought that it was part of the structure. But as he closed in on the structure, it became clear what it was.

It was a sword.

Marcus knelt and examined it. The sword was obviously made with fine workmanship. The grip was made of a rich, dark wood, and both the pommel and cross guard had matching dragons carefully carved into the metal. The same dragon design adorned the blade.

As Marcus reached out for the weapon, he began to feel anxious and irritated, like he had an itch that he couldn’t quite scratch. His frustration grew. He could think of no explanation for his recent sudden mood swings.

“Do you like it?” a woman’s voice asked.

Whirling around, Marcus saw the Chinese woman from The Magic Shop. He remembered her doing business with his grandpa. And then anger welled in the pit of his stomach as he recalled her giving the order to take them away.

“My name is Elba,” she said, “and that sword has been in my family for centuries.”

“Where’s my sister?”

“Focus on controlling yourself,” Elba said. “Letting your emotions get the best of you is bad form, especially for you.”

“Who are you to tell me what to do?”

“Someone who has watched you for a long time, Marcus,” Elba said, examining her fingernails. “I have experience that you don’t. Experience you need.”

“The only thing you have that I need is my family,” Marcus said. “You know, the one you stole from me?”

“You don’t even know what you’re saying,” Elba said. “But if you’ll let me, I’ll help you understand.”

Marcus couldn’t explain it, but he wanted to jump on this woman and rip her hair out. No, he wanted to end her, maybe even with her own sword.

“Marcus, we have much to discuss.”

“We have nothing to talk about,” he said, consciously holding himself back from the woman.

“We have everything to talk about. I only came at your grandmother’s request. Please understand, she was…afraid.”

“Afraid?” asked Marcus, starting to shake. “Of what?”

“Now that’s the right question, young man, and that is precisely why you are here.” Elba snapped her fingers, and the red doors that Marcus had noticed earlier burst open. Dozens of men trotted down the stairs, carrying ornate metal bowls that hung from long poles stretched across their backs.

The men quickly encircled Marcus and Elba with military efficiency and awaited orders.

Following a nod from Elba, the men reached inside their pockets in unison, and each removed a large match that they struck against their bowls to set its contents aflame.

Thick, dark fumes gathered above the bowls, accumulating in a purple-black smoke that spilled over and soon enveloped them.

Marcus smelled something he was fairly acquainted with. The scent was slightly pungent, but reminded him of home.

Licorice.

A sense of tranquility and peace washed over him. With the mood swings he had felt recently, he wondered if something was seriously wrong with him.

“How do you feel?” Elba asked.

Marcus took several deep breaths before responding. “Calmer,” he said reluctantly. The extreme emotions he had felt just moments ago were gone, leaving him to question his sanity.

“Good,” Elba said. “May we talk now?”

“I guess,” Marcus said. He looked at Elba’s men and the wall of smoke surrounding them. “I don’t seem to have much choice.”

“I have a series of things I would like to show you,” Elba said. “Would that be alright?”

“If I have to,” Marcus said, disinterested.

“It’s what your grandmother wanted.” Elba clapped her hands and a servant came running from the door behind her, carrying a golden box in his hands. She waved the man on, and he placed the box at Marcus’s feet. ”Open it,” she ordered.

Marcus looked at the box at his feet. There were no markings, and no apparent way to open it. It resembled a gold brick.

“How am I supposed to open this?” he asked with frustration after only a few moments. He felt like this woman was messing with him. Elba watched and said nothing.

Marcus tried to open the box for some time. He picked it up and shook it. The box was cold. He felt for creases or other weaknesses in the packaging. He even threw it on the ground, hoping it would splinter open. Nothing. He racked his brain to try to find a way to open the box.

Finally it hit him. He couldn’t think of anything else, but maybe the answer was right there under his nose after all.

Marcus grabbed the sword by the grip and pulled with all of his might, dislodging the blade from the ground. He raised the weapon high above his head and thrust the sword down on the box.

The box shattered into many pieces, as if it were made of glass.

Marcus jumped. He wasn’t expecting that.

Once he had regained his composure, he fell to his hands and knees and sifted through the debris. ”What’s in the box, another fortune cookie?” He continued to sift through the shattered contents on the ground.

“No,” Elba said. “The box was empty.” Her lips went unmoved, but Marcus wondered if he didn’t detect the hint of a smile.

“The purpose of this exercise wasn’t to see if you could open the box, but what reason would motivate you to draw the sword.”

“What?”

“One last exercise, Marcus,” Elba said. She clapped her hands and the men reformed their lines. They formed two walls, one on each side of the center structure that bridged the two doors that didn’t connect to the restaurant.

Elba walked past him, never taking her eye off him. Once she had reached the door on the opposite side, she knocked three times with the knocker.

The door opened from the other side, and Marcus’s grandmother and sister stepped out and stood next to Elba.

“Ellie! Grandma!” Marcus said, reaching out to them. “Stay away from that evil woman.”

“This next exercise should be simple,” Elba said. “You have merely to come and stand next to your family—without hurting anyone.”

“Why would I hurt anyone?” Marcus asked, confused. Why does that keep coming up?

As Marcus took a casual step forward, Elba gave one clap, and the men that lined the courtyard placed lids on their incense bowls, stemming the tide of the licorice smoke.

Marcus paused. “Okay,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. He felt a little puzzled, and somewhat irritated.

The men stood perfectly still. Marcus couldn’t even tell if they were actually breathing. His eyes wandered upward with the last bit of dark smoke as it spiraled into the sky. The sight of the smoke disappearing was beautiful, but Marcus thought it a shame that the smoke was gone, as he had loved the smell of it.

Marcus turned around and looked at the shattered box. The fact that Elba would have him go to the trouble of breaking an empty box was agitating. Was she trying to make a fool of him?

Then there was the sword. It had been in her family for generations. Maybe he should destroy it and show her that he wasn’t one to be trifled with. She messed with his family; he would mess with hers.

Marcus returned to the center of the structure and picked up the sword. He looked the sword over, noting the dragons and the fine workmanship. He looked at the blade and saw his reflection.

He was angry.

Marcus dropped the sword and took a few steps back. The face he saw in the blade was his, but it was almost as if it were someone else. The face was mean, and full of hatred. It wasn’t his nature to be mean.

It was as if his irritation and frustration levels were inciting him to abnormal levels of anger. He had felt it before, but now he saw it. His anger had a face and Marcus didn’t like that it was his.

“Come, Marcus,” Elba called out. “Your family is anxiously waiting for you.”

Marcus walked forward as if he had large stones chained to his ankles. For every step he took, his anger increased and started to consume him.

Even though they outnumbered him and they were fully-grown and well-built, Marcus wanted to attack the men who lined the courtyard. They had something he wanted, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

Marcus turned back to the sword and stepped toward it. Those steps were easier, and he felt less resistance; as though he was meant to get the sword.

Marcus decided on the path of least resistance. He darted at the sword and scooped it up, turning in one motion to face his foes with a frightening, crazed look on his face.

The men stood, expressionless.

Marcus lunged at the nearest man. Without blinking, the man held out a hand, and the sword stopped inches from his chest. Marcus was enraged. He pushed harder, but the sword would not move. He pulled the sword back and lunged at another man, only to achieve the same result.

Elba shook her head and sighed. “Marcus, what you want is right here.”

Marcus turned to watch the woman reach into her blouse and pull out a small, familiar sphere. The blue wisps fixated Marcus’s attention on the glass ball.

Elba snapped her fingers and the men removed the lids from their incense bowls. The dark, purple-black smoke again surfaced and filled the air.

Marcus took a deep breath, and suddenly felt relief wash over him. The anger seemed to retreat down his core, through his feet, and out into the ground. After taking a moment to gather himself, he ran toward his family.

His grandma cried.

“Oh no,” she said as she sobbed on Elba’s shoulder. “He’s one of them. I can’t lose another.”