Order of the Majestic Page 6

  “Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you,” the stranger said soothingly, perhaps sensing the turmoil in Joey. “Provided you do as you’re told,” he added as a caveat.

  Joey swallowed hard. “I’m not doing anything with you.” The words took every ounce of courage he had.

  The shadowy man tittered at Joey’s bravado. “What exactly are you going to do, I wonder?” he asked, clearly amused. “Something heroic, like a character in one of your comic books?” He motioned to the long boxes of comics in the corner of Joey’s room and the random issues scattered on the floor. “I don’t think so. In the real world, Joey, bad guys win. Not that I’m the bad guy,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

  “What are you, then?”

  The man in the top hat and scarf spread his arms wide. “I am what I am. I want what I deserve. And I’ll get what I’m after… one way or the other. Tell Redondo if he tries to keep it from me, somebody’s going to get hurt.”

  “Why don’t you tell him? Leave me out of it.”

  “If only I could. We’re not on speaking terms, Redondo and I. That’s where you come in.”

  “No! I don’t come in anywhere! He kicked me out!”

  “You’ll go back. I know you will. Here’s a little something to take with you when you do,” the man said, reaching for Joey.

  As he leaned in, Joey leaned back, but he had nowhere to go. He was already up against the wall. “Stop! What are you doing?”

  “Just planting a seed. Wherever you go, I’m going to be right there with you, Joey. A sinking feeling in the back of your brain… something you’re not quite sure of but can’t quite dismiss, either… a reason—a need—to be afraid.” The man touched a finger to the center of Joey’s forehead. “There. That ought to do it.”

  Joey pulled away as an ice cream headache hit him right between the eyes. He rubbed his forehead, half expecting to find a layer of frost on his skin. He felt violated, like his brain had just been infected with something terrible. “What did you do to me?”

  The man in the scarf snickered. “Maybe nothing, but you’ll always wonder.” The snicker grew into a laugh that was so icy, so full of evil delight, Joey felt a strong desire to hide under his covers. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, Joey. Don’t disappoint me, or history might repeat itself.”

  “What are you talking about? What history?”

  “Redondo’s final performance,” the man replied. He picked up Joey’s phone. The story about Grayson Manchester and the theater fire was still up on its screen. “Would you like to know what happened at the Majestic Theatre all those years ago? What really happened?”

  Joey turned away from the stranger’s glowing eyes. “I just want you to leave.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not staying.” The man waved a hand. “In fact, I’m already gone.”

  Joey blinked, and suddenly he wasn’t lying in his bed anymore. He was standing upright in a large wooden box—the kind a magician might place his assistant inside for a trick.

  “What the—where’d you go? Hey!” Joey pounded on the walls. They were not only solid, but also hot to the touch. Flames appeared at his feet and climbed up the walls like burning ivy. Joey pressed himself against the back wall of the box. Outside, the man in the scarf cackled. More flames rose up behind Joey. He shuffled forward, but there was nowhere to go. “Let me out!” he screamed. “LET ME OUT!” Joey threw a kick into the wall before him. It gave way. He fell forward…

  …and woke with a jolt.

  There was no fire. No flaming coffin. He was safe in his bed, and most important, he was alone. The room was quiet and empty. Joey wiped his brow. He was drenched with sweat. Yesterday he would have been grateful that the nightmare was over. Tonight he was afraid it was only just beginning.

  5 The Order of the Majestic

  Joey’s fascination with Redondo had now moved beyond curiosity and intrigue. He needed answers. More than that, he needed protection. There was only one place he could hope to find either. Joey threw back the covers and got out of bed. He emptied the contents of the magic set onto his desk and looked inside the case. The golden string and key twinkled up at him.

  “Let’s try this again.”

  Joey gripped the key tight in his fist. He pulled the string, and the walls fell away, just as they had done in Mr. Gray’s office. Once again Joey was transported to Redondo’s strange Bizarro World and deposited in front of the Majestic Theatre. The streets were just as dark and foggy as he remembered them. The Majestic’s marquee was still partially lit up.

  Joey hustled to the theater door before the shadow creatures had a chance to come back out. He had been told by Redondo that they weren’t really there, and Joey’s mysterious visitor had hinted at the same, but that didn’t change anything as far as he was concerned. They were real enough for Joey, and he had no desire to see them again. He turned the key in the lock, transforming it once more into dust, and darted into the lobby. Safely inside, he pressed his face up against the glass and waited. One of the shadows drifted by a few seconds later, gliding through the haze in the middle of the street. As Joey backed away from the door, he heard someone coughing inside the theater.

  Redondo, Joey thought. Good. He’s awake.

  Joey followed the coughs. The noise led him all the way into the theater, where he found Redondo sitting in the front row, staring up at the stage by himself. He was holding something in his right hand. When Joey got close enough, he saw it was the strange deck of cards he had used that morning.

  “You again,” Redondo said without turning.

  Joey came around the end of the aisle. “Me again,” he agreed. Joey took stock of Redondo with a more careful eye than he had that morning. He looked old and tired. Worn out. He still had on the same wrinkled tux with the bow tie hanging loose around his collar. With his tousled white hair and mustache, he looked like the Monopoly Man fallen on hard times.

  “What time is it?” Redondo asked, barely looking up.

  “It’s late. I had a little trouble sleeping.”

  Redondo cleared his throat, somewhat painfully, judging by the expression on his face. “I often have trouble sleeping myself. That doesn’t mean I want company. Why are you back?”

  “I was hoping we could put our cards on the table.” Joey took out the Invisible Hand’s calling card, the one that had gotten him thrown out of the theater that morning. He set it down on the armrest of Redondo’s chair. Redondo eyed the card with distaste, but he picked it up, slid it back into his deck, and mixed the cards up, hiding it in the pack. He then pulled three cards from the top: the Collector, the Traveler, and the Unknown.

  “What’s that there?” Joey asked.

  Redondo frowned and put the cards away. “It’s hard to say.”

  “What about the Invisible Hand? Is that hard to talk about too?”

  Redondo’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you hear that name? Who’ve you been talking to?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know. This guy showed up in my room tonight. He said he was with them.”

  “Someone came into your home?” Redondo asked, the edge in his voice lifting. “They were actually there?”

  Joey nodded. “He made a special point of telling me that. Even poked me in the head to make sure I got it. I’m lucky that’s all he did.”

  “What did he look like? Can you describe him?”

  Joey shook his head. “He had a top hat and scarf on. I couldn’t see his face. He said you had something that belongs to him, and people were going to get hurt if you didn’t give it back. I got the feeling he was talking about me.”

  Redondo made a face like he’d been forced to swallow a spoonful of foul-tasting medicine. He let out a troubled sigh and got up out of his seat. His joints made popping noises as he moved. Joey didn’t know who was in worse shape, Redondo or the theater.

  “What are you doing in here?” Joey asked.

  Redondo cast a sideways glance at Joey. “Why shouldn’t I b
e here? This is my theater.”

  Joey looked around, wrinkling his nose at the dusty, depressing space. “Feels more like a hideout. Do you live here? All by yourself?” Redondo didn’t answer. The question seemed to annoy him. Joey figured he had about two seconds before the old man sent him packing again. “What happened to you?”

  Redondo turned around, scowling. “Nothing happened to me,” he said, getting defensive.

  “Something did,” Joey replied, not buying it for a second. “This place burned down twenty years ago. The newspaper said a kid died in the fire.”

  “The theater didn’t burn down. You’re standing in it.”

  “I don’t know where I’m standing. We’re not in New York. I know that much. I was there today, where the theater’s supposed to be. It’s just an empty lot. Where are we, some kind of ghost world? Are you dead?” Joey hoped Redondo wasn’t dead. After the night he’d had, he didn’t think he could handle that.

  Redondo barked out a short laugh. “No. I’m not dead. I’m retired. There’s a difference. It’s subtle but not inconsequential.” Picking up on Joey’s anxiety, he sought to ease his concerns. “Relax. This isn’t the afterlife. You haven’t traveled quite that far. This is just another realm. A redoubt in between realities,” he added by way of explanation.

  “In between realities?” Joey repeated. His mouth hung open when he was done speaking. In truth, Joey had already guessed that much, but to hear the words actually spoken out loud… for Redondo to confirm the impossible truth about the theater’s location and to do it so casually… it boggled the mind.

  “There used to be enough magic in the world to open doors to all kinds of different realms,” Redondo continued. “Faerie, Asgard, the Thrice-Tenth Kingdom, Tír na nÓg…” Redondo smiled, reflecting briefly on the list of magical destinations, but the smile faded quickly. “I couldn’t reach those high heights, but I was able to plant my flag here. Beyond space and time. Short of any real substance. I call it Off-Broadway. It’s seen better days, I know.” He motioned to the fire damage all around the stage. “But it’s safe. It’s still safe.”

  “From them?” Joey asked. “The Invisible Hand?”

  “For now, yes.”

  “Who are they? What do they want?”

  Redondo clammed up again. He was extremely reticent on the subject of the Invisible Hand, but Joey would not be dissuaded.

  “I think I deserve an explanation. I’ve got a creepy dude showing up in my bedroom in the middle of the night, threatening to burn me alive. I know magicians never reveal their secrets, but you’ve got to let me in on this one.… What did I walk into the middle of?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t give me that.”

  “It’s the truth. This isn’t the middle of anything. It’s the end.”

  “Of what?”

  “Magic. My life’s work. Any purpose I served. Take your pick.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the bitter conflict between two secret societies of magicians. The Order of the Majestic, which aims to keep magic alive and free, and the nefarious Invisible Hand, which seeks to hoard magic and control it. The two sides have been at it for centuries—rivals since the days of Merlin. The Order of the Majestic was founded to ensure the world remains a magical place, fighting the influence of dark, evil magic wherever it rears its ugly head.”

  “Fighting evil…,” Joey whispered. “Like a superhero team?”

  Redondo cast his eyes upward. “If that helps you…”

  “Why is that ending? What’s going to happen if the Invisible Hand gets their way?”

  Redondo seemed resigned to defeat. “I’m afraid they’ve been getting their way for some time now. That’s why the world is how it is. No magic. No wonder. No hope. They’ve wrapped an invisible hand around the world and are slowly squeezing the life out of it.” Redondo balled a fist and clenched it tight, as if crushing an orange. “Most people don’t even notice. They don’t know what they’re missing.”

  “How’s that work? This stuff is pretty hard to miss.”

  “It’s easier than you think. Most people your age ignore magic. Your generation in particular finds it on TV, online… in their phones. The world is full of magic, but no one believes it. They choose not to.”

  “I believe in magic.”

  “Since when?”

  Joey looked down. “This morning,” he muttered.

  Redondo smirked. “That’s what I thought. Too little, too late. Best to put all this out of your mind. Forget you ever came here. Ignorance is bliss.”

  Joey scrunched up his face. “I don’t want that.”

  “In my experience, the world doesn’t care very much about what we want.” Redondo patted Joey on the shoulder. “Nothing lasts forever, young Kopecky. This…” He gestured around at the theater in all its degradation. “All of this… It’s over.”

  Joey looked around the run-down theater, trying to follow along with what Redondo was telling him. “What do you mean it’s over? If it’s over, why are people breaking into my house at night to tell me you better play ball? Why am I here?”

  “You’re here because you passed my test, and the Invisible Hand doesn’t want me getting any ideas. They can’t follow you in here, but every time you show up, they slip a note under the door.” Redondo drew the card with the hand on it from the deck, inexplicably plucking it right out of the middle. He flipped it over to the side that read, Soon. He handed it back to Joey. “Message received.”

  Joey looked over the card. “Is that why you kicked me out before? You thought I was with them?” Redondo nodded in the affirmative. “I’m not, you know,” Joey said, taking umbrage at the notion.

  “I know. You dropped this earlier.” Redondo went inside his jacket pocket and took something out. It was the Save the Planet pamphlet that the girl on the train had given Joey that morning. He scanned it, amused. “Not exactly the Invisible Hand’s agenda. Too optimistic.”

  Joey took the pamphlet back from Redondo, realizing it must have fallen out of his pocket during the magical flash flood with the Water of Life. He hadn’t bothered to read it on the train, but seeing it again now got him thinking… not about clean air and clean water, but something rare and precious just the same. He remembered Redondo had put his own call to action inside the Mystery Box:

  The world is running out of magic. Unless we act, this most precious of natural resources will disappear forever.… That’s where you come in.…

  An idea took root in Joey’s mind.

  “Can you teach me magic?” he asked Redondo out of the blue.

  “What?” Redondo looked at Joey as if he’d asked if he could borrow a million dollars. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Why is that ridiculous?”

  “Because it is,” he said flatly. “I don’t have the time. I don’t have the energy. I don’t have the temperament. I’m not a teacher. I’m a magician. And I work alone.”

  “Doing what?” Joey asked. “You haven’t worked in years.”

  Redondo stiffened, affronted by Joey’s bluntness. He pushed past him, heading up the aisle toward the exit. “I don’t have to listen to this.”

  “Where are you going?” Joey called after him. He took the instruction booklet out of the Mystery Box and read aloud, at the top of his voice. “ ‘Master the tricks in this booklet and join me onstage as my assistant.’ What do you call that?”

  “Ancient history,” Redondo said, still walking away. “And I never taught anyone magic even then. Read that page again, the part about mastering the tricks. Have you mastered anything?”

  “I did the tricks!” Joey shouted. “Isn’t that enough?” He hustled after Redondo. “Hey! You said the Mystery Box was there to kick-start imagination and find kids who have what it takes to join the Order of the Majestic.”

  “I’m certain I never used the word ‘kick-start.’ ”

  “So they weren’t your exact words. Whatev
er,” Joey said, catching up to Redondo outside the doors that led to the lobby. “The point is, I passed your test. You said so yourself.”

  Redondo slowed to a halt. Putting one hand on the door, he turned to face Joey. “You passed the first part of a very old test. One I didn’t even know was still out there.”

  “Who cares? Any way you slice it, I passed. What’s next?”

  Redondo shook his head. “Nothing. There is no Order of the Majestic. Not anymore.”

  “Can there be one?” Joey asked.

  “Can there be—” Redondo cut himself off, exasperated. He pressed his fingers to his temples and made a noise like Joey was giving him a headache. “What does it matter to you? Why do you care?”

  “Are you kidding? This is the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me in my life. You can’t expect me to just forget about it. This is my shot. My Hogwarts letter!”

  “Your what?”

  “My dream come true! Being here is like finding Narnia in the back of the wardrobe. It’s Luke Skywalker meeting Obi-Wan Kenobi or Dr. Strange tracking down the Ancient One. This is an origin story right here!”

  Redondo stared at Joey, dumbfounded. “Who do you think you are?” He shook a finger at Joey, adding, “I’m fifty-five years old, by the way. That’s hardly ancient!”

  “Come on,” Joey pleaded. “Put yourself in my position. It’s not every day you find out magic is real.”

  “It’s only real if you believe in it.”

  “I do believe in it.”

  “Because you’ve seen it. You have proof, not faith. It’s all well and good to believe in someone else’s magic. If you want to make your own, you have to believe in yourself. I can’t teach you how to do that.”

  “You don’t have to. I did magic. I did enough to get here. Twice in one day! You’ve got to give me that.”

  “You did… a little,” Redondo said grudgingly. “Very little.” He held his thumb and forefinger close together. “This much.”

  “Thank you! That’s something, isn’t it? Please. I’m begging you. Out there they want to plan my life out for me. In here anything’s possible. This is what I want to learn. I want to learn it all. Teach me.”