any before. Maybe he should be thanking Vincent.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I've been rude."
"That's okay," she said, breaking into a blinding smile. "My brother gets that way too when he's working on a trick or a cheat. Very focused."
"But I shouldn't be. Not with such a lovely lady in my presence."
She pushed his shoulder as if to deny the sentiment, but at the same time, she said, "I was wondering how long it'd take you to notice. And now that you have ... let's get back to cleaning. Mr. O'Neil usually stops by at lunchtime to check on the store."
"Who's he?"
"He owns this place. Doesn't really know much about magic, but his brother told him he could make good money selling tricks, so he opened the shop."
"Does he really make good money?"
Lucy tossed him a rag and walked to the merchandise shelves with a duster. "Some. I don't know why he keeps at it though. No passion for the job, you know? Still, we get a free place to stay, so I'm not going to question it."
Duncan got to work wiping down the counter. He took the time to enjoy looking at all the old rope illusions and coin effects under the glass as he cleaned. There were gaff cards â specially made cards used to pull off unusual effects â and Svengali decks, loads of Svengali decks. In a Svengali deck, every other card was the same but cut slightly shorter than the regular cards in the deck. Riffle the deck one way and you'd see a normal flashing of various cards. Riffle it the other way and you would see only a single card over and over. Loads of tricks had been designed around this simple deck, and even in 2013, Duncan had owned a few. But to see these old 1934 versions amazed him.
He moved down the counter and spotted an autographed photo of Cardini â a big name performer of the time. Lucy's stack of papers blocked his view, so Duncan slid them aside and in doing so, jostled one particular page to the floor. He bent over to pick it up, and the world stopped.
On the page, Lucy had sketched out a drawing of a wooden door with unique markings on it. Duncan's mouth dried up. They weren't exactly the same markings as the magic door in Pappy's living room, but they were clearly of the same type.
Lucy walked toward him with another rag. She halted when she saw his face. "What's wrong?"
He lifted the paper off the floor and held it like treasure. "Where did you see this door?"
"That?" she asked with a dismissive tone. She walked right up to him and snatched the paper from his hand. Placing it on the stack of papers, she squared them up, and held them against her chest. "It's nothing, really. Just a little project I'm working on with Vincent."
"Project?"
"It's nothing. Don't worry about it."
"But that door. Where did you see it?"
"It's just a doodle. Honest. I've never seen that door for real." Her brow furrowed with worry, and she took the papers with her through the blue and white door. When she came back, she had a big smile on her face. "I guess that's enough cleaning for today. Don't you think?"
Duncan's brain kicked on the turbo. He had a few seconds to make a big decision. She knew something about the magic door, that was clear, but if he pressed her any further, chances were he'd find out less than if he held back. But if let the opportunity go now, he might have to wait many days before another chance came. Unless he tried to break into her room one night. But thieving had never been his strong suit. Yet the longer he stayed in 1934, the more a tiny voice niggled inside him, suggesting that he had really screwed up going through that door, that he might never find the door again, that he might be stuck here. He'd be damned to let that happen.
"I was wondering," he said, buying another half-second for his mind to find a solution.
"Hmm?" she purred.
And it clicked. Simple, easy, and sure to give him plenty of chances to learn more. "I heard a rumor that this town is rather big for a small town. In fact, there's quite a lot to do for a
"I'm sorry," he said. "I've been rude."
"That's okay," she said, breaking into a blinding smile. "My brother gets that way too when he's working on a trick or a cheat. Very focused."
"But I shouldn't be. Not with such a lovely lady in my presence."
She pushed his shoulder as if to deny the sentiment, but at the same time, she said, "I was wondering how long it'd take you to notice. And now that you have ... let's get back to cleaning. Mr. O'Neil usually stops by at lunchtime to check on the store."
"Who's he?"
"He owns this place. Doesn't really know much about magic, but his brother told him he could make good money selling tricks, so he opened the shop."
"Does he really make good money?"
Lucy tossed him a rag and walked to the merchandise shelves with a duster. "Some. I don't know why he keeps at it though. No passion for the job, you know? Still, we get a free place to stay, so I'm not going to question it."
Duncan got to work wiping down the counter. He took the time to enjoy looking at all the old rope illusions and coin effects under the glass as he cleaned. There were gaff cards â specially made cards used to pull off unusual effects â and Svengali decks, loads of Svengali decks. In a Svengali deck, every other card was the same but cut slightly shorter than the regular cards in the deck. Riffle the deck one way and you'd see a normal flashing of various cards. Riffle it the other way and you would see only a single card over and over. Loads of tricks had been designed around this simple deck, and even in 2013, Duncan had owned a few. But to see these old 1934 versions amazed him.
He moved down the counter and spotted an autographed photo of Cardini â a big name performer of the time. Lucy's stack of papers blocked his view, so Duncan slid them aside and in doing so, jostled one particular page to the floor. He bent over to pick it up, and the world stopped.
On the page, Lucy had sketched out a drawing of a wooden door with unique markings on it. Duncan's mouth dried up. They weren't exactly the same markings as the magic door in Pappy's living room, but they were clearly of the same type.
Lucy walked toward him with another rag. She halted when she saw his face. "What's wrong?"
He lifted the paper off the floor and held it like treasure. "Where did you see this door?"
"That?" she asked with a dismissive tone. She walked right up to him and snatched the paper from his hand. Placing it on the stack of papers, she squared them up, and held them against her chest. "It's nothing, really. Just a little project I'm working on with Vincent."
"Project?"
"It's nothing. Don't worry about it."
"But that door. Where did you see it?"
"It's just a doodle. Honest. I've never seen that door for real." Her brow furrowed with worry, and she took the papers with her through the blue and white door. When she came back, she had a big smile on her face. "I guess that's enough cleaning for today. Don't you think?"
Duncan's brain kicked on the turbo. He had a few seconds to make a big decision. She knew something about the magic door, that was clear, but if he pressed her any further, chances were he'd find out less than if he held back. But if let the opportunity go now, he might have to wait many days before another chance came. Unless he tried to break into her room one night. But thieving had never been his strong suit. Yet the longer he stayed in 1934, the more a tiny voice niggled inside him, suggesting that he had really screwed up going through that door, that he might never find the door again, that he might be stuck here. He'd be damned to let that happen.
"I was wondering," he said, buying another half-second for his mind to find a solution.
"Hmm?" she purred.
And it clicked. Simple, easy, and sure to give him plenty of chances to learn more. "I heard a rumor that this town is rather big for a small town. In fact, there's quite a lot to do for a
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