It was a smoky little joint, well-hidden within a labyrinth of alleyways that few dared to enter during the day, let alone at night. Rats. Gangs. Who could guess, really. All the twiggy magician- stepping out of his taxi a few meters away from the nightclub- really knew was that the invitation had come embossed in gold, written in a sloping cursive, sealed with wax still warm to the touch. A name had been signed within, one that the magician hadn't recognized at first but, as usual, with a little bit of asking around everything revealed itself.
Boss Nihlson. As far as mobsters went, he was as crooked as they came: "advisor" to the mayor. Owned half the town. Cross him, and you'd pay the price. Either in greenbacks, or, if you were unlucky, in splintered joints.
The magician had been involved with the mob before- briefly- but it hadn't gone well. He had told Charlie all of it when he'd got the invitation, and to nobody's surprise she wasn't happy. If the magician remembered correctly, she'd said something along the lines of: William, you'd have to be an idiot to get into that again- his assistant was right, of course- she generally was but this was the audience that William Carter had always dreamed of. Influential. Powerful. He wouldn't give up this chance just out of the fear of getting a few bones broken.
The Amazing Maxwell was brave like that. Or stupid.
Naturally, Charlie had insisted on going as well. She'd be there in a few minutes, stepping out of her own ride in that deep maroon overcoat she had purchased with her share of last week's profits. Probably wearing that same exasperated half-smile she'd had when they'd parted ways that after noon. Don't think that I suddenly approve of it or anything, but I could use the money too. And...besides, I'd have to be the rottenest girlfriend in existence to let you go in there alone. She had paused then and Carter remembered his cheeks turning red as the rose in her hatband. Girlfriend. He still couldn't believe it to be honest, that someone like Charlie, a bold, quick-witted flapper, would ever choose the likes of him as a companion. He had tried to become a man she could be proud of- The Amazing Maxwell- but things never really seemed to go the way he planned.
Carter fingered the small lump in his pocket. He could hear something clink, and winced as his face, Pavlovian, began to burn scarlet again.
Everything would be perfect tonight though. It would have to be.
Breaking his string of thoughts, a door slammed a few meters behind Carter. He whirled around and, for a moment, panicked when he saw nothing. But before the magician could reach for the Codex, nestled snug and safe in his coat pocket, he received a gentle tap on the shoulder.
"Hey Maxy."
And there she was.
Carter gave what he hoped was a crookedly endearing smile and, before he could lose his nerve, planted a quick kiss on Charlie's cheek. The assistant looked almost surprised-at any rate, she was usually the one to initiate any kind of physical contact- but not necessarily displeased.
"You're really getting quite good," he told her, "I mean- you've only been practicing for a few months, right? Before I know it, I might find myself competing with The Magnificent Charlie."
The flapper's eyes widened, a touch too much to be real surprise. "Wow Maxy, thanks! Looks like I'm going to have to break it off here then. Good luck on the road."
Carter, raised his eyebrows just shakily enough that anyone could see he still believed her a little. "Mmmm. Okay then."
He gazed at her straight-on-
She stared him dead in the eye-
One minute…
Two…
Someone finally let out a snicker. Whether they were Carter or Charlie, it was impossible to tell. And, quite frankly, it didn't matter. Within the span of a few seconds, the two of them, just a few steps from the realm of gangsters and bootleggers, were laughing hysterically.
Needless to say, it was a sight to behold.
"God, you should have seen the look on your face!" The woman grinned. "You were terrified!"
"Oh what? Like you weren't!"
Charlie let out a little snort, then burrowed gently beneath Carter's long noodle of an arm. "You think so. Really?"
Carter paused. "Maybe a little. You'd know it better than me though."
"Damn…" The shorter woman paused a few moments deep in contemplation. "I guess you're right. Maybe The Amazing Maxwell and His Wondrously Fabulous Assistant Charlie are a package deal."
"Maybe they are." The package in his pocket was burning as the magician gave his companion a quiet smile. He loved her thoughtful moments just as much as her boundless enthusiasm.
She smiled back at him too, but Carter noticed that the smile didn't quite seem to reach her eyes.
Charlie took a breath. "...Maxy, I was wondering, before we go in, do we have a few moments to talk. I was looking around for the props and I think I stumbled upon-"
But she never finished, for at that moment another conversationalist entered the fray. He was a large man, fitted in a tweed colored jacket with a carnation pinned upon his lapel. Almost as tall as Carter which was a feat that few people could brag of and undoubtedly able to take him in a fight, a feat that many could. At his side, two others wearing a mix of rags and gaudy looking finery took the two performers in. A knife hung at the shorter one, a man,'s side. The taller woman seemed to keep her daggers in her eyes.
"Well then," the first of the three said, "You must be the entertainment, then. The Amazing Maxwell, I presume?"
The magician straightened his back, let himself fall into character, stretching his lips into what he hoped looked like a suitably terrifying grin. Even if William Carter might be shaking in his boots, Maxwell should be able to go toe to toe with any mob boss. Conversing with demons nightly would do that to a man.
"You presume correctly." Carter-as-Maxwell replied, "Mr. Nihlson."
The mob boss raised an eyebrow. It was a simple matter of deduction really- from the cloths to the deferential looks by the two at his side- but, for some reason, clients always seemed to be impressed when he pulled it off. A different sort of magic, Carter had always supposed.
"You are as keen as they say," Nihlson said at last, "This means, I suppose, that you, my dear, must be Charlie?"
The magician spotted a small flutter of displeasure cross the woman's face beside him. He had learned early on that any terms of endearment were for close friends and with Charlie's permission only.
"Miss Rosenstein, if you please," she said, keeping her tone and face just on the verge of friendly.
The boss lifted his chin and, for a moment, Carter froze, fearing the worst. Memories skittered through his mind- a hefty man named George Witherspoone. Splintered fingers, fractured jaw. A battered apartment abandoned as dawn rose.
He forced a smile and as his voice came out, it was with a decidedly un-Maxwellian quaver. "Mr. Nihlson, I'm afraid that my assistant and I are going to need time and room to prepare if, tonight, you truly want to experience the mysteries of the supernatural."
The mobster gave a loud sniff- as though he could smell the fear that fell from Carter like a summer's rain- then smiled. "Oh very well." He glanced to his two companions and gave a quick jerk of his left wrist. "I suppose you can take Maxwell, here, and Miss Rosenstein to the backstage then. Help them set up a little. If they need it. After all, the entertainment tonight should be amazing."
"Amazing."
It was a thinly veiled threat and both of the performers knew it. For whatever reason, Boss Nihlson would be expecting a perfect show from them tonight. And if not...well, Carter could imagine a few ideas of what might happen to them. Ranging from mild injury to a final curtain call.
As the two followed their guides- captors really- into the smoky speakeasy along the alleyway, the magician glanced to the woman at his side. Though Charlie's face was set in stone, he could see the pale leaching into her cheeks. She had been right- this was a bad idea- and now, Carter thought with a cold spike of dread, she was in danger too. But the flapper didn't have to come. She'd wanted the money too.
And...well, and she didn't want to leave him alone.
Carter let his hand fall to his side where Charlie could reach it easily. As their fingers brushed together, he bit his lip and made a decision. They'd both be getting out of this in one piece, no matter what. He'd see to it.
This was going to be a spectacular show.
