Hey guys! So yes, I am still working on my Dungeons and Dragons au, but I watched Now You See Me for the first time the other day and fell completely in love. I just HAD to write the It characters in that world. Anyways, I had a lot of fun writing this, so I really hope you guys enjoy!
Chapter 1
"My next trick is going to be t…t…twofold," Bill said, twirling a card effortlessly between his middle and index fingers. It was a sunny Saturday afternoon in central park, the kind where people were set on believing, the kind where Bill knew that he had the audience in the palm of his hand. "Sssssssir," he said, pulling a deck of cards out of his pocket and handing them to a young man on his right, "if you would g…g…go through this deck of cards and v…v...verify for me that it is indeed a standard d…d…deck of 52 cards."
The man examined the cards closely for a moment while Bill waited, confident and in control, even humming a little bit to himself. After a long moment, the man turned to him, "nothing out of the ordinary."
"W…w…wonderful," Bill said with a small smile, handing the man a black sharpie. "Now sir, if you would be so kind, p…p…please chose any card from the deck, ssssssign it with this black sharpie, and p…p…p…place it in your pocket." The man did what Bill commanded while Bill started to expertly shuffle the deck, the gracefulness of it catching the attention of the audience. "Ready, sir?"
"Ready," the man replied, clearly eager to see the trick through, but skeptical all the same. It was a look that Bill craved, it was the look that let Bill know that he'd already succeeded.
"Is this your c…c…card?" Bill said, pulling a random card out of the deck and brandishing it in front of the audience. The man's face fell, disappointed. Just as he was about to respond that Bill had got it wrong, Bill cut him off, "of course it's not you c…c…card, what do you t…t…take me for, an idiot?" He tossed the deck over his shoulder, which garnered a laugh from the crowd. "What did I t…t…tell you, you're looking too c…c…closely and forgetting the b…b…big details, the only important ones. I told you that there was a sssssecond part to that trick, a p…p…part so obvious that it's been right in front of you the whole time." He took a deep breath, flashing a smile at the audience, "I'm going to momentarily fix my s…s…stutter." He smirked a little bit at the shocked expression at the audience. "Now, let's talk a little bit about the sensation of the ssssstutter, it feels like there's something in your t…t…throat." Bill reached down his throat and pulled out the playing card, brandishing it to show the unmistakable signature off to the audience, reveling in their mystified expressions. He turned to a beautiful young woman to his right and handed her the card, "could you hold on to this for me for a second ma'am?" She nodded, looking up at him with awe, shocked beyond belief that his stutter indeed appeared to be gone. He turned back to the young man, "sir, could you say something for me? It can be anything, tell me about your day."
"Well… this morning for b..b…b…b…" The entire crowd gasped and the man's hand flew to his mouth. "I'm ssssssstuttering!"
"Yes indeed sir, it appears that you are." Bill said calmly, "but I can fix it for you if you so desire." The man nodded, afraid to even talk. "This may sound like an odd request, but if you could reach into your throat for me." The man raised his eyebrows skeptically, but complied, reaching his hand into his throat and pulling out the signed playing card. The cluster of people around him erupted with applause, the young woman to his right checking her hands only to see that they were indeed empty, Bill took a deep bow. "You c…c…can keep that," he said to the young man as he turned around, walking away towards the Brooklyn River.
It wasn't until later, as he was walking along the Brooklyn River at sunset, looking for a place to set up for his next show that he realized that there was something inside of his pocket. He pulled it out, examining it carefully. It was a card, slightly larger than the average playing card. On one side there was an illustration of an eye, a date, a time, and an apartment number. On the other side there was a tarot card design, the chariot to be exact.
Eddie threw his arms up to the sky with great fanfare, his white robe falling away to reveal his trademark, sequined red jumpsuit. The audience roared in approval. Eddie reveled in the applause, even taking a deep bow. "Do you know what my mother used to tell me?" He asked, his voice booming throughout the auditorium, "she use to tell me to stay away from high places," he snapped his fingers and the platform he was standing on rose into the air, "and fire," he snapped his fingers and the stage underneath him erupted into flames. The audience could barely be contained they were screaming so loudly. "If only she could see me now!" Eddie proclaimed, raising his arms to the sky, "fuck you Sonia!"
"Now, ladies, gentlemen, and everything in between," Eddie said while unzipping the fanny pack around his waist, "what you are about to witness is fantastical, unbelievable, unlike anything you've ever seen," he winked very deliberately, "some may even call if magic." The audience became rowdier. "But what it is not," Eddie said, ripping a set of chains out of his fanny pack and cracking them on the floor, "is fake." The audience erupted once again, and Eddie could barely hear himself think over the sound of their delighted screams.
Two beautiful young women walked onstage, circling around Eddie once as if presenting him. After one full circle, a rope ladder unfurled from the platform, which one of the woman gracefully took and scaled while Eddie strapped the chains onto his legs. Once she had reached the top of the platform, Eddie picked his robe up off the floor and shook it out to reveal that it was not in fact a robe, but a good old fashioned strait jacket. She took it out of his hands, presenting it to the audience before securing Eddie in it. Eddie gave a feeble shake to demonstrate that he was in fact secured. "You already know how it is folks. I have one minute to escape from both the chains and the strait jacket before I am dropped in the fire and suffer an immensely painful and inescapable death, etc. etc. etc." His eyes shone with a hint of mischief, "NOW WHO'S READY TO SEE IT?" The audience roared in agreement, "count down with me folks!"
"3…2…1!" The audience screamed along with him. On one, the floor dropped out from underneath him, and he free fell ten feet, his hair fluttering in the wind, the sequins of his leotard catching the stage lights. A dramatically large clock dangling off one of the sides of the platform began to audibly tick, giving the situation an immense sense of urgency.
It was truly a sight to be seen.
He hit the bottom of his free fall. He began to struggle violently against the hold of the strait jacket. Just as the audience started to become worried that he may not be able to free himself from the strait jacket, he ripped it off his body, holding it up for a moment to show the audience before dropping it into the fire. The clock hit fifteen seconds with a bong and the rope let out a little bit with a frightening creak. Eddie curled upwards, his back making a graceful u shape, his spine visible through his leotard as he struggled with his leg cuffs. He seemed to be having much more trouble than usual, and people became concerned as he extended his body and hung there limply for a quick break as the rope let out at bit more at thirty seconds. He glanced at the clock and a little bit of panic shone in his eyes. He curled back into the u shape, clearly more frantic this time around. Just as the clock hit 45 he managed to free one of his legs. The audience applauded since the first time the performance began, their faith restored in his ability to escape. Eddie desperately grasped for his second leg cuff, but couldn't seem to reach it. The audience gasped as the clock gave one definitive bong and Eddie fell, plunging for the fire, someone in the audience burst into tears, another screamed, most just closed their eyes. A moment of deafening silence followed while the audience desperately tried to come to terms with the gruesome spectacle they had just witnessed.
Suddenly, from the fire came a plume of confetti, and out of the smoke and confetti stepped Eddie, entirely unharmed, the fire reflecting off his leotard and casting a beautifully dramatic amber glow. The audience erupted in a confused combination of relief and wonder, prompting Eddie to take a deep bow. As he bowed, he saw that underneath one of his feet there was a blue card, larger than an average playing card. He noticed that on it appeared to be the design of a tarot card, the lovers. He could tell by first glance that it was something important
Mike had set up shop in a beautiful corner of central park with old oak trees, a carousel playing cheerful music in the corner, and vendors selling different useless but beautiful little trinkets. His stand only added to beauty. The stand itself was unassuming, old and rickety, but it's shelves were lined with the most beautiful array of flowers of every type and every color. It was well known throughout the park that Mike charged nothing for these flowers, instead handing them out for free to children.
A small boy in blue overalls wandered up to the stand. Mike didn't notice him at first, as he was small enough that only his eyes peaked over the edge of the stand. The little boy spoke, "excuse me mister."
Mike put his book down, smiling widely. "Hello! Sorry I didn't see you there." He extended a hand to the little boy, "I'm Mike, what's your name?"
The little boy took his hand and shook it firmly, "I'm Mike too!"
"Nice to meet you Mike too!" He smiled kindly at the boy, "would you like a flower?" The little boy nodded eagerly, "which color?"
"Yellow!" The boy said brightly.
"Good choice, yellow's my favorite color," Mike said, reaching for a yellow gerber daisy and handing it to the boy.
The boy stared at it in awe, "thank you so much mister!"
"But that's not all it does," Mike said, "why don't you give it a quick shake." The boy did and the petals started to peel away one by one, revealing a bright yellow bud in the middle of the flower. The bud opened slowly, and out from it came a little stuffed animal, a yellow canary. The boy's smile widened. "You like birds don't you?" Mike said. The boy nodded eagerly, clutching the bird to his chest. "Take good care of him, will you, he's a very good friend of mine." The boy nodded again before running away, calling excitedly for his mother. Mike smiled contentedly, rearranging the yellow flowers to cover the empty space.
Another child started to approach, but she was rudely shoved out of the way by a pretentious looking little boy. The girl on the floor immediately started to cry. Mike's friendly demeanor fell away, "I'm afraid that it's not your turn," he said curtly to the little boy, walking around his stand to help the crying girl off the floor. "Are you alright, dear? Can I get you a flower?" He asked. Her tears stopped and she smiled a little bit, nodding.
"But I was first in line!" The boy whined.
"I only give flowers to children who deserved them," Mike stated bluntly. The little boy burst into phony tears, running to get his mother when he realized that Mike wasn't falling for it. "Which color would you like?" He asked the little girl. She pointed wordlessly to the purple ones. He handed her a purple tulip, "why don't you give that a smell?" She did, the petals peeling away to reveal a little cupcake. "Ahhh! Red velvet, your favorite, isn't it?"
"Thank you!" The girl cried happily, taking a big bite out of her cupcake and running away.
Mike looked contentedly at the horizon line to see a very pissed off looking, heavy set woman marching towards him holding the hand of a sobbing child. He sighed, "how may I help you ma'am."
"You will give my child a flower!" She demanded.
"I will do nothing of the sort." Mike said cooly.
"THEN I WILL TAKE ONE FOR MYSELF!" She said, snatching up one of the red roses.
"I sincerely wouldn't do that if I were you," Mike advised.
"I will do whatever the hell I…" Before she could finish, Mike snapped his fingers and the rose started to move, as if something was trying to burst out from the inside. The woman screamed and tried to drop the flower, but it appeared to be glued to her hand. Finally, the flower burst, and out of it crawled a massive, live rat. "Rats, your worst fear, am I wrong?" Mike said, raising an eyebrow. Mike snapped his fingers again and the woman finally managed to drop the flower.
"You and your tricks of the devil can go straight to hell!" The woman cried, stomping away, terrified child in hand.
"Same to you ma'am," Mike said calmly, walking around the counter to pick the red rose up off the floor and place it back on the stand. As he walked back to his little workspace, he realized that the rat had curled up and fallen asleep on the counter, and that underneath it there was a blue card, larger than the average playing card. He picked it up, looking at it with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. On one side, there was the illustration of an eye, a date, a time, and an apartment number. On the other side, there was the design of a tarot card, the strength tarot card.
Stanley enjoyed hanging out at the upper class casino. He liked numbers, and any upper class people who were stupid enough to gamble were easy to swindle. He sat at a table in the darkest corner of the casino, a group of absolutely hammered, overdressed pretentious pricks gathered around him. "Anyone want to take a wager, let's say, you put down $1000 dollars in cash, and if I win I take it, but if you win, I double it." Everyone around him seemed very skeptical, "what? I promise you, the odds are infinitely in your favor."
One man stepped forward, gingerly sitting down in the seat across from Stanley. Stanley raised an eyebrow, as if expecting something. Finally, the man removed a fat stack of bills from his pocket and slid them across the table. "Looks like we have a brave volunteer!" Stanley cried, taking an equally large stack of bills out of the inner pocket of his sports coat and lining them up perfectly next to the man's, "everyone give him a round of applause!" They gave him a wild round of applause, complete with drunken hoots. Stanley smiled, "here's the challenge. You're allowed to use your phone, I am not. You may ask me to complete five statistical facts about whatever you wish, no matter how obscure, and I will answer you correctly." Stanley shrugged, "if I don't the money is yours." He extended his hand for a handshake.
The man smirked, shaking Stanley's hand with confidence, clearly thinking that there was no chance Stanley would win. He pulled out his phone and furiously started typing something. After a moment, he asked, "who won the 1967 super bowl and by how large of a margin?"
"The Green Bay Packers by a margin of 25 points," Stanley said, without a moment of hesitation.
A tremor of shock ran through the crowd, causing slight gasps and nearly silent whispers. The man furrowed his brow, clearly confused, starting to type into his phone again, this time more intensely. "How many species of rats are there?"
Stanley closed his eyes, rubbing them, clearly concentrating, "64."
"What the hell?" The man whispered to himself. The crowd was becoming rowdier as they became more impressed, having full on conversations with each other about the spectacle. He returned to typing, smiling a little bit, clearly thinking that he had Stanley with this one. "How many different varieties of apples are there usually at every grocery store?"
Stanley scoffed, "easy, 11."
The man was getting panicked now, glancing nervously at the money on the table than back at his phone. "How many words are in the bible?"
"Let me see," Stanley said, reciting a series of inaudible words to himself, "if I'm not mistaken, 622,771." The man's jaw dropped, the crowd gasped loudly, "from your reaction I'm guessing that I'm correct." The man said nothing, "don't fret, you still get one more chance."
The man was sweating profusely now, talking furiously to himself as he typed into his phone, this search taking longer than the others. Finally, he tentatively spoke, "what is the most expensive car available in India and how much does it cost?"
"Hmmm… I think you've really stumped me with this one." Stanley said. The man visibly relaxed, reaching for the money. Stanley snatched it away before he could get there, "just kidding, it's a Bugatti Veyron Grand Sports and bids for it generally start around $1,914,000." Stanley pocketed the money, "try again next time."
"You bastard!" The man screamed, lunging across the table at Stanley, knocking his drink off the table.
Stanley moved effortlessly out of the way, "security!" Two comically buff men came over to his table and Stanley gestured passively to the man, whom they quickly restrained.
"What? No! No!" The man screamed, "you've got the wrong man! That bastard just swindled me out of $2,000!"
The security men looked over at Stanley, clearly expecting an explanation. Nobody in the audience said anything, too shocked by what they had just seen to come to the man's defense. "He's been accusing me of that for a while now," Stanley lied calmly, "he's probably drunk out of his mind, I'd throw him out if I were you." Security seemed to take that as a good enough answer, for a moment later they dragged him, kicking and screaming, out of the casino. "Some people have no class," Stanley said, talking mostly to himself. He reached down to pick up the knocked over drink, and underneath it he found a blue card, larger than an average playing card. On one side there was an illustration of an eye with a date, time, and apartment number, on the other there was the design of a tarot card, the hanged man.
Ben was sitting at the very edge of the Brooklyn River, feet dangling over the retaining wall, book in one hand and ice cream in the other. It was sunset, a pleasant breeze coming from the river, and Ben was having a very relaxing time. Suddenly, he heard someone clear their throat behind him. He turned around to see a gruff police man who looked very displeased. "How may I help you?" Ben asked, taking an innocent lick of his ice cream.
"You're not allowed to sit on the retaining wall," the officer said bluntly.
"I'm so sorry officer," Ben said convincingly, "I can fix that right away." With a brilliant smile, Ben slid off the retaining wall and into the river, but instead of sinking, he appeared to stand on the surface. "Is this any better for you, officer?" Ben asked, winking.
"Holy shit!" The officer cried, pulling a gun out of his waistband and pointing it at Ben, his hand shaking violently. "Don't… don't move or I will be forced to incapacitate you!"
"I'm afraid that won't be necessary," Ben said. With a deliberate flick of his wrist he flung the ice cream off the cone and straight at the officer, knocking the gun out of his hand. A small crowd had gathered around the river now to watch the spectacle, slack jawed in awe, many of them filming it. The officer dove for the gun, but before he could get there, Ben ripped a page out of his book and flung it at the officer, leaving a long, bloody cut on the side of his face and causing him to collapse inches from the gun. Before the officer could move again, Ben threw his ice cream cone in the air and snapped his fingers, shocking the crowd when what he caught was not the ice cream cone, but the gun. The officer, not recognizing what had just happened, grabbed onto the ice cream cone where the gun should've been and pointed it at Ben like it was a dangerous firearm, garnering a laugh from the crowd.
"I… I'm calling for backup!" The officer yelled, unable to think of another solution. Ben pointed the gun at the officer and fired, but instead of a bullet, out came the end of a rainbow cloth. Ben grabbed onto the end of it and started pulling it out of the gun, eventually ending up with a rope at least twenty feet long. He quickly wrapped it around his fist, tying it into some sort of makeshift lasso. The officer, who had been fiddling with his radio trying to get a connection, looked back at Ben at this point and laughed, "ohhh wow… I'm so scared, a long, rainbow…" Ben cut him off by throwing the lasso, looping it around the walkie talkie and yanking so that it tumbled into the water, sinking before the officer could get a hold of it.
The officer stared at him, shocked. Ben took advantage of this moment of weakness and fired the gun again, this time producing an actual bullet which buried itself in the dirt inches from the officer's feet. "Maybe you should consider getting the hell out while you can and telling none of your little police friends." The officer let out a panicked scream and sprinted away, practically tripping over his own feet. Ben dropped the gun back into the water, hopped up onto the retaining wall, and commenced his reading. When he opened the book, he noticed that in place of his bookmark, there was a blue card, larger than an average playing card. On one side, it had an illustration of an eye, a date, a time, and an apartment number, on the other, it had the design of a tarot card, the World to be specific.
"Alright you're getting very sleepy and all that bullshit and bam!" Beverly snapped her fingers and the man fell asleep on the spot. "Alright my dude, I'm going to wake you up and you're going to tell the truth, the whole truth about what happened the night of that frat party to your bro over there, alright?" She gestured to the tall, tattooed man behind both of them, "you ready? Rhetorical question you can't answer that." She hit him in the chest, "wakey wakey eggs and bakey." The man's eyes opened with a start.
"Dude…" The hypnotized guy said. He was clearly a little out of it, his words slurring, his head having trouble staying up.
"Alright… Jefferey? Jared? Jensen! That's it, that's your name, right?." She turned to his friend who nodded in awe, "alright, Jensen, let's stay awake throughout this experiment so that we can let," she closed her eyes, concentrating for a moment, "Derek know what happened at that party." She whacked him in the back of his head and he immediately seemed to wake up and stand at attention. "Derek is your name, isn't it?" Derek nodded, "thought so."
"Derek, man." Jensen said, "this is so embarrassing, dude."
"It's okay dude, you're my best friend." Derek replied.
They started to lapse into a comfortable silence, but Beverly cut them off, "okay, okay that's very sweet but hurry this up I've got customers coming out of my ass and we close in thirty minutes."
She snapped her fingers once and Jensen started speaking quickly, as if he couldn't quite control his words, "dude at that party we got so drunk, like so drunk and we were sitting on the couch together playing super smash bros and we made out, for like a super long time."
Derek was shocked into silence, but Beverly was thoroughly entertained. She burst out laughing, "that's some grade A truth serum right there!" She leaned against the bar to her right, taking a casual sip out of a martini that was most certainly not hers, "in a massive plot twist no homo becomes undeniable homo."
The two of them just ignored her, "and you told me that you had feelings for me, man, is that true?" Jensen asked.
Derek seemed visibly uncomfortable, unsure how to answer the question. "Well that's unfortunate isn't it," Beverly said, hopping off the bar and throwing the empty margarita glass over her shoulder. "Want him to forget that any of the stuff at the party ever happened, and you can go on living your sad, closeted life?" Beverly snapped in front of Jensen, freezing him in place while still talking to Derek, "or… I have another solution. Jensen may not be gay, but that guy over there," she gestured to the bartender, "gay, out of the closet, and single, and I can set you up while STILL making Jensen forget what happened at the party, for, I don't know, $200." Derek could do little but nod, fishing around in his khaki pocket for his wallet, managing to pull out just enough money to hand to Beverly. "Hey you!" Beverly called to the bartender. Just as she caught his attention, she snapped her fingers and he collapsed across the bar. Beverly placed two fingers on the bartender's back, "you're gay, he's gay, you're going to ask him on a date, kapeesh? That's metaphorical, you're out cold, you can't answer." She whacked the bartender hard on the back.
The bartender awoke with a dazzling smile, "hey… you're cute. Wanna get some dinner tonight?"
Derek was taken entirely off guard, turning to Beverly and saying, "that was fast."
"Magic doesn't work miracles sweetheart," Beverly said with a wink, "just takes what's already there and turns it into reality." She glanced at the bartender, then back at Derek, "I'll leave you too to your conversation." She turned back to Jensen, "alright you asshole, why don't you forget everything that happened today and everything that happened at the party. Abacadabra! Alakazam! Magical-forget-a-juice or whatever!" She whacked Jensen on the back of the head, waking him with a start.
"Wha… what happened?" He asked, rubbing his head confused.
Beverly punched him not so playfully on the shoulder, "sorry man, turns out some people aren't susceptible to hypnotism, your friend Derek over there is one of them." She put on a flashy smile, "have a nice day!" She reached for another martini on the bar next to her. When she lifted it up, she realized that underneath it there was a blue card, larger than an average playing card. On one side it had an illustration of an eye, a date, a time, and an apartment. On the other side it had the design of a tarot card, the high priestess.
Richie was shit with playing cards, and he knew it. It was the reason that he used them at every possible opportunity. See, what Richie had decided over the years is that everyone's top priority is always to be right, so when people are too focused on trying to prove you wrong, they don't recognize other, more important things. For example, and this is just an example, getting robbed blind.
Anyways, it was one of those days, a nice day, where Richie could smell people's craving to be right. He was standing at the corner of the subway, hair a mess, glasses askew, messily shuffling a deck of cards when he spotted the perfect victim. She was a middle-aged, socialite looking type complete with a heavily branded Gucci bag the color of dog shit, bleached blonde hair, and an unhealthy amount of botox. The kind of woman that yelled at other moms at pretentious three-year-old club soccer games because 'no Janet Timmy didn't score that goal, my baby Jeffrey did!' She would jump at the opportunity to prove him wrong. "Ma'am!" Richie cried out in a half-convincing New York accent, catching her attention, "you really ar' quite gorgeous. You're should have a private helicopter to carry you everywhere." He bowed, extending his hand, "Jackie McKinnon's the name, doing card tricks is ma game. Would ya' like to see one on this fine mornin'."
"Oh why young man you are quite polite!" She said, gingerly taking his hand as if she might contract some sort of flesh eating disease if she shook it too hard. Richie hated people like that, people who though they were better than everyone else. "I would like to see one of your card tricks," she glanced down at her extraordinarily expensive watch, "that is, if you can make it snappy."
Richie couldn't help but smirk a little, she clearly though that she was doing him a favor. He guessed in a way she was, but not nearly in the way that she thought. "Thanks a million ma'am." He said, reaching to shake her hand. While he did, he slipped the watch off her wrist and pocketed it, pulling out a deck of cards in its place, she didn't notice. "You see the fou' jacks, they're all gonna rob a bank togetha'." He brandished four jacks in front of her with three, non-Jack cards hidden behind the final jack. He knew that the trick hinged on the three cards remaining completely hidden behind the final jack, so he skewed them a little, just enough that the woman would believe that she had spotted something that he hadn't intended her to spot. While she was examining the cards, he slipped a hand into her purse, removing her wallet and pocketing it.
"Oh dear," the woman said, "I'm afraid I see the three cards behind the last jack." She smirked, so disgustingly content with herself that Richie would've been pissed at her if he didn't know that she was going to get what was coming to her in a major way, "try again next time."
Richie's face fell and he acted disappointed, "aww geee ma'am. I'm so sorry, I'm jus' an aspirin' magician y'know. Thank ya' for not bein' too hard on me."
"I just need to catch my train," the woman said, clearly inconvenienced. Richie turned and started walking up the stairs, unable to hold back his smirk anymore. "I just need to know what time…" The woman gasped, "my watch! He got my watch!" Richie started to sprint away from the subway tunnel, "that little good for nothing, low-class rascal got my…!" She faded out of earshot. Richie turned into an alleyway, collapsing against a wall and laughing to himself. He fished the wallet out of his pocket, opening it up to check what the woman had, what he could use, and what he would throw away, but the first thing that greeted him was the sight of a blue card, larger than the average playing card, tucked into the largest pocket. On one side it had an illustration of an eye, a date, a time, and an apartment number, on the other side it had the design of a tarot card, the fool to be exact.