The Masquerading Magician by Gigi Pandian Page A

detective with a set of procedural and scientific rules that dictated his understanding of rationality. I knew it was nearly impossible to change a person if they weren’t ready to change, but I believed Max could recapture the openness he’d once known. It didn’t have to be a choice between two extremes. Once he realized that, I could open up to him, and we might have a chance for a future together.
    I took the mason jar from his hands and set it back on the counter.
    â€œCan we change the subject?” Max asked.
    â€œWhat did you have in mind?”
    â€œAs lovely and complicated as this solar infusion of herbs is, it’s not anywhere near as lovely and complicated as the woman in front of me.” Max stepped closer and ran his finger along my jaw. His breath smelled of fresh lavender and peppermint.
    Max’s dark eyes were different than those of anyone I’d ever known, because of what they showed me about his soul. I’ve known a lot of people in my lifetime. Faces blur together in my memories, but I’ve never forgotten people’s eyes. Before the advent of photography, it was usually only wealthier people who had their likenesses captured through portraits, so I didn’t retain physical reminders of many of the people I’d known. I remembered their eyes not because of a unique color or shape, but because eyes are tied to an outward expression that people themselves are unaware of.
    â€œLast night,” Max continued, “I was hoping that we could pick up where we left off.”
    â€œI’d like that.”
    For a fraction of a second, I was self-conscious about my cracked lips and frumpy clothing. But with his eyes locked on mine as he stroked my cheek, I quickly forgot all about my own failings.
    A faint knocking sounded. The front door? I couldn’t be entirely certain it wasn’t my imagination. Max either didn’t hear it or chose to ignore it as well.
    â€œYo, Zoe!” Brixton’s voice called from the backyard. “You in there?”
    I pulled away from Max.
    â€œI thought we were barbequing for just the two of us,” he said.
    â€œI thought so too.” I opened the back door of the house, on the far end of the kitchen.
    Brixton and his friends Ethan and Veronica stood in my backyard garden. Veronica’s gangly frame towered over the boys. Her sleek black hair flowed past her shoulders, and I was pleased that she looked much more comfortable in her skin than she had even months before when I’d first met her.
    â€œHi, Ms. Faust, Mr. Liu,” she said.
    â€œWhat’s up?” I asked.
    â€œYour face is flushed,” Brixton said. “Are you feeling sicker?”
    â€œSicker?” Max asked.
    â€œHe must mean my allergies.” I turned back to the kids. “Max and I were just getting a barbeque started.”
    â€œI love barbeque,” Ethan said.
    Veronica elbowed him.
    Max laughed. “There’s plenty.”

    The miniature charcoal grill I kept in my trailer was only big enough to cook for two at a time, but there was enough food in my kitchen to feed an army, along with their counterparts. I asked Max to get the grill started while I collected ready-to-eat goodies. I pulled a carafe of iced tea from the fridge, selected an assortment of nut milk cheeses and breads, and washed an assortment of vegetables.
    Because of Dorian, I kept my curtains drawn most of the time. Now that he was hiding in his stone form, I pulled open the kitchen curtains. I looked out the kitchen window and watched as Max began grilling two dozen asparagus spears along with full garlic heads wrapped in aluminum foil.
    I was about to leave the kitchen to carry statue-Dorian into the basement so he could change out of his stone form, when Veronica opened the back door. She joined me inside while the boys stayed outside with Max.
    â€œNow that Blue Sky Teas is serving my cooking,” I said to her, “I