Hello again!  I was looking at this poor, abandoned story blog, and I was reflecting on the fact that for the first time in a very long while, I actually had something that might be worthy of posting.  This is the prologue to a new story I'm writing, which I'm either calling Magician or Enchantress.  It sort of depends on what mood I'm in.  Anyway, this section of story is definately in its rough draft, so don't critique me too harshly!  I started this story six days ago because I couldn't help myself, and for that reason, I'm still trying to work out the plot.  If you guys really like it, I might be convinced to post more.  *grin*  Enjoy! 

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The Annual Magician’s banquet was the event that most of the performing Magicians around the metropolis looked forward to every year.  All of the elite in the realms of slight-of-hand were destined to be there, decked in their most mysterious or professional-looking outfits, charming the ladies with bouquets of roses hidden up theirs sleeves.  For one evening, all magic makers would be able to relax and talk freely with one another, laughing and joking the night away. 

            They could not have guessed that there would be a real magician in attendance this year. 

            His long, thin frame was clad simply in a black, shapeless coat that might have once been a cloak, and tight, forest-green pants and boots that made him look like Peter Pan gone awry.  His face was young – almost too you – but something about the look in his eyes was old, as if he had already seen everything life had to offer.  He laughed much but said little, sat at the end of a corner table, and was mostly unnoticed, except by the few who happened to look his direction, only to find his large, pale-blue eyes staring at them from under his dark, wavy locks.  He would tell jokes to those near enough to hear him, and they would laugh, but when the conversation ended those who had listened in realized that they still knew nothing about the man. 

            There were the usual honorary speeches, to which everyone listened patiently and politely, and the guest speaker, who set the audience laughing so hard with his witty phrases that he would have to wait several minutes for the laughing to die down so that he could continue.  Then there came the favorite event of the night: all who wished were asked to present their newest and best tricks to their fellow magicians, to showcase their talent. 

            The man in the black coat was the first to rise, and without waiting for permission he walked calmly up to the podium.  Everyone stared at him, and some whispered to their neighbors, inquiring who he was, but no one could make anything of him. 

            “I would like to thank you all for allowing me to come,” the man said into the microphone.  “This has been such a wonderful honor.”  He smiled, and something about the curve of his lips unsettled most of the audience members. 

            “Great magicians are both born and made – you can’t have one without the other.  A man can work for years to acquire the magician’s touch and perfect timing, but he will always lack that inbred sense of magic that a natural magician has.  But a man with talent that does not use it – he is the greater folly.  As is the man who pretends to be what he is not, which is the third thing a true magician must never make a habit of doing.” 

            There was a moment of silence, and then a few people started clapping, which set the rest applauding at length.  They were still trying to figure out what exactly he meant. 

            The man raised his hand.  “I am going to present you with my latest trick,” he said simply.  “I hope you all enjoy it.” 

            This was familiar turf.  The applause flowed easier this time, and the crowd of magicians waited expectantly for the illusion to begin. 

            What they did not expect was that all their wine glasses would slowly rise into the air, form themselves into a circle, and whirl around above their heads. 

            Some of the ladies fainted, while most of the gentlemen stared in shocked silence, wondering what kind of illusion this was.  Someone in the back of the room shouted for the glasses to stop, and when he did the circle slowly stopped rotating, and the wine glasses returned to their proper owners – all without spilling a single drop of wine.

            The guests turned to the man at the podium, demanding him to explain this devilry, only to find that he was no longer at the podium.  Those who had been watching him out of the corners of their eyes stood up in shock, because they hadn’t noticed him leave at all.  But he was gone, and though a search was made of the building, he was nowhere to be found. 

            The magician, standing in a corner behind a large shrubbery, watched the growing mayhem with an unquenchable grin on his face.  He giggled to himself in the carefree way of a child, and made his way unnoticed to the door.

            Once he was out in the parking lot, he completely lost control of himself, laughing so hard that the tears streamed down his cheeks, doubling over and clutching his belly in a hopeless attempt to still his mirth. 

            “Ah,” he said, finishing at last.  “Now that’s a good joke.  Nothing baffles a fake magician quite like real magic.”  He chuckled again, but his stomach was sore from his laughter, and he fell into silence presently.  He looked up at the stars, which shone clearly on the chill spring evening, and had just decided on trying to sneak back in to finish his glass of wine, when a voice shouted across the parking lot:

            “There he is!  Look, come here, I’ve found him!” 

            The magician turned, saw two men near the entrance of the building who were pointing his direction, and decided that he had lingered long enough.  He whipped back around, and his long scarecrow legs carried him swiftly into the night. 

**Note: As my story is still in the making, all names, places, and events may be subject to change.** Copyright 2008 Cherise A. Do not reproduce at all without my express permission. If you like what I do, you can link to me instead.