Wand, Part Three

I rang the doorbell, repeating, “John Burton . . . John Burton . . .” under my breath. It was the name I was using. I’d picked it because it sounded a little like “Tom Jurgen,” so I hoped I’d respond to it quickly.

            I’m not used to going undercover.

            The door opened. A short man looked up at me. He wore a tuxedo, like that creepy butler on The Prisoner. “Name?”

            “T—John. John Burton.”

            He checked an iPad. “Burton. Okay.” He ushered me inside.

            He led me into a large dining room lined with folding chairs. About twenty people sat in a semicircle. Three people sat at the desk in the corner—two men, one woman.

            The small man pointed to a chair in the front row. “There. For the initiates.”

            Feeling like the new kid in first grade, I sat next to a middle-aged woman in slacks and a sweater. “Hi. I’m John.”

            She ignored me.

            After 15 minutes three more people arrived and sat down. The short man closed the dining room door and stepped up behind the desk.

            The woman poured herself a glass of red wine and stood up. “Well, welcome. For the new people, I’m Lorraine Gore.”

            Mrs. Gore. In her fifties, with black hair and a sharp chin, wearing a gray silk blouse and a long dark skirt.

            “This is Fletcher Mason.” She nodded to the man on her right, balding, in his forties, wearing a maroon cable-knit sweater and jeans. The man on the other side was Joe Leeds, younger, in a herringbone jacket and a loose necktie.

            “We are the Triumvirate of New Sun.” Mrs. Gore sat down again. “That means we decide who is invited to join, and who stays with us. Our decisions are final. Nothing that happens here leaves this house, this group. The penalties are—severe.”

            Fletcher Mason nodded. Joe Leeds looked bored.

            Mrs. Gore sipped her wine. “For the newcomers, this group was founded by my late husband, Kenneth Gore. Since his recent death, I’ve taken the lead, with help from Fletcher and Joe. We practice magic—some of it dangerous.”

            A man behind me laughed.

            Mrs. Gore smiled. “Tonight I’ll be teaching our members a new spell. In the meantime, you initiates will be interviewed upstairs. Good luck to all of you.”

            The short beckoned from the door. The women next to me and two other men stood up and followed out of the room and up a flight of stairs.

            I’d gotten lucky. Mrs. Gore didn’t know what I looked like, but she might have recognized my voice from our phone conversation.

            A row of chairs sat outside a door. The short man looked at his list and then arranged us—the middle-aged woman first, me last. Then he left us alone.

            A moment later Joseph Leeds opened the door. How had he gotten up here? Teleportation—or maybe just a back seat of stairs?

            Leeds looked at the woman. “Ann Jarson?”

            The woman stood up and followed him into the room.

            I turned to the man next to me, a young Hispanic man. “Hi. I’m John.”

            “Nick.” He rubbed his hands together. “Man, I can’t wait.”

            “What do you suppose they’ll ask?”

            “They’ll want to see what we can do.” The other man, a Caucasian in his 30s, folded his arms. “A friend of mine went through this. He didn’t get in. He wouldn’t talk about it much, but that’s what he told me.”

            What we can do? Well, I couldn’t do any magic, so that meant I wouldn’t be offered a membership. At least I wouldn’t have to decide whether to ask my client to spend that kind of money.

            Maybe I could get information out of it, though.

            Ann Jarson emerged from the room 15 minutes later, looking happy. Mason held the list this time. “Norman Klein?”

            The other man got up and followed him inside.

            Nick looked nervous. I wished for a magazine as we waited.

“Nick Guarini?”

            Nick stood up, still rubbing his hands, and flashed me a grin. “Wish me luck.”

            I nodded. “Good luck.”

            I passed the time reviewing my story. John Burton, heard about the group from—

            After five minutes Nick came out, shaking his head. “Oh, well.”

            “Better luck next time?”

            “There isn’t a next time.” It was Leeds again. “All right, John Burton?”

            I almost didn’t respond, until I remembered that I was “John Burton.” I stood up. “That’s me.”

            Inside was an office that had probably once been a bedroom. Leeds and Mason sat behind a short black desk. A laptop computer sat on one corner. The short man stood behind them, hands behind his back.

Mason leaned back in his chair. “So, Mr. Burton.” He smiled. “How did you hear about Iron Sun?”

            I remembered my story. “A friend told me about it. He was never here, I mean. He heard about it from some guy named Yount.”

            Mason blinked. “Rick Yount?”

            I shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t remember. Anyway, I tested positive for ESP in college, so I thought this might help me get better at it. What kind of dangerous magic do you guys do?”

            “Maybe you’ll find out.” Leeds tapped a key on the laptop.

            “Let’s try a test.” Mason leaned down and opened a drawer under the desk. “Look at this.”

            It was a wand. White string wrapped around a long pencil. Just like the one I’d destroyed. The wand Mrs. Young had found next to her husband’s body.

“Wow.” I sat forward. “What is that?”

“Lift it.” Mason set the wand on the desk. “Two inches.”

            Oops. “Do I get in if I do?”

            He smiled. “It’s a start.”

            “Okay.” I leaned forward and stared at the wand, wondering how long I could draw this out. At this rate I’d be home in time for the 10:00 news, with nothing to show for it.

            I frowned, creasing my forehead, trying to look as if psychokinesis was only slightly harder than algebra. Okay, come on, you can do this . . . you can do it . . . come on . . .

            Then the wand rose into the air.

            I blinked. Did I do that? I leaned further forward, holding my breath.

            “Very good.” Fletcher tapped some keys. The wand dropped.

            I sat back. Okay. I was starting to see it now.

            I hadn’t lifted the wand with my mind. One of them had—Mason or Leeds. Or maybe the short man behind them.

Which meant that this whole setup was a scam. Draw people in, convince them they have psychic powers, and then get a whole lot of money from them to keep them coming.

            Some of them obviously did have the powers, though. There were no wires lifting up that wand. Which meant that these guys could be dangerous.

            Dangerous magic. That’s what Mrs. Gore had promised.

            But what did this have to do with Richard Yount? Had he threatened to blow the deal? Or was something worse behind his death?

            “All right.” Mason backed his chair up. “Mr. Ying?”

            The short man stepped forward. “Hello, Mr. Burton.”

            “Uh, hi.”

“Would you object if Mr. Ying held your hand for a moment?”

            The short man stepped forward. Mr. Ying, presumably. “I suppose not.”

            He walked around the desk silently and held out his hand. I put mine in his palm.

            Immediately I felt queasy. Mr. Ying gazed into my eyes like he could see past them into my brain. Uh-oh. I felt my body go slack.

            I heard them talking, but I couldn’t make out the words. Except for Mason at the end: “All right. It’s time.”

            Mr. Ying let my hand go. “Thank you.” he smiled.

            I sat up. “So? Now what?”

Leeds slid the wand across the desk. “You’ll be in if you do this.”

            I sat up. “Do what?”

            “It’s a test.” Mason tapped two fingers on the desk. “Listen to me.”

            “Okay.” My voice sounded far away. “I’ll be in, right?” Suddenly being accepted into Iron Sun was the most important thing on my mind.

            “Yes.” Mason slid the wand toward me. “I want you to pick this up and take it two doors down on the right. Then I want you to put it into the nightstand next to the bed. Then you can leave. Don’t talk to anyone. Just go home and forget.”

            “F-forget?” My head swirled. This wasn’t right. Was it? “I have to . . .”

            “Just do it. Everything will be fine.”

            I stood up, suddenly dizzy, as if I’d been siting for a lot longer than 10 minutes. I reached out and clutched the wand. “O-okay.”

            Out the door. Down the hall. Second door to the right. The floor spun under my feet.

            What was I doing? I felt like I was watching myself from a distance, and at the same time I could only see directly in front of my eyes.

             I turned the doorknob.