2. Pelican’t #2
“So are you, though in your case, I use the term loosely. What’s your point?”
“My point is that magicians and witches are mortal enemies!”
“Sure . . .” He executed a gravity-defying shuffle, using his right hand to send the cards soaring over his head and landing perfectly in his left. “And my point is, who cares. Smart cookies, those Oak Haven witches. I enjoyed the ones I met very much.”
Max stared at him in astonishment. “You admire them?”
“Got more moxie than most magicians I know. Or knew, I guess I should say. I don’t really know anybody anymore.”
“But they’re our enemies!”
Shaw set down his cards. “Says who?”
“Says everyone! It’s been that way for hundreds of years!”
“Has it now? And why is that, exactly?”
Max opened his mouth, then closed it, looking genuinely puzzled. “I . . . well . . . because . . . they’re witches?”
“Oh. So, just because, huh? That’s some top-shelf thinking right there.” Shaw picked up his cards again. “You don’t actually know, do you?”
“Well, I know that witches hoard magic. They’re elitists who want to keep all the power for themselves. Not like magicians. We are democratic. With enough study, anyone can be a member of our community.”
The older man barked out a laugh. “Our community? Kid, have you met our community? Half of us are just grifter frauds, and the other half are moustache-twirling megalomaniacs.”
“Good, sir, I am neither!”
“And yet, here you are. Stuck in the Void, just like that notorious criminal, me.”
“Yes, well . . .” Max sagged like a leaky balloon. “Okay, so if you’re so smart, why are magicians and witches enemies? What started this long feud?”
“I surely don’t know, kid.” Shaw shuffled his cards absentmindedly.
“But I’ll tell you what I do know. I know that we’re all just people, just trying to make sense of a nonsensical world.
Those witches that your beloved council calls enemies?
When they’re falling through infinite darkness, they scream just the same as you. ”
Max reached into Quentin’s cage to stroke his fur. “So what happens now?”
“Now?” Shaw shrugged. “Now you sit here. You serve your sentence. Eventually your time will come and you’ll be moved on. To where, I can’t say.”
“How many people have you pulled in here?”
“Dozens, maybe? Hundreds? After a while, I stopped counting. At first I thought I was doing them a favor, giving them a break from the falling. Not to mention all the other creepy shit out there. Eventually I realized I was really doing myself a favor. Turns out even bad company is better than no company at all.”
“But surely there must be some way out? Some way to escape?”
Shaw glanced toward the door behind the desk, then quickly away.
“Well, there’s that door over there, but .
. .” He shuddered slightly. “Trust me, you don’t want to know what’s behind it.
Smells like formaldehyde and sounds like .
. . well, let’s just say I don’t expect it leads to any improvement on our current situation. ”
Max followed his gaze. “You’ve never tried to open it?”
“Once I got about as far as turning the handle before I decided I’d rather spend eternity in here, thanks very much.”
An uncomfortable hush fell over the waiting room. Max fidgeted with Quentin’s cage while Shaw dealt himself a hand of solitaire on the coffee table.
“Of course . . .” Shaw didn’t look up from his cards. “That doesn’t mean a fella can’t make his own door.”
“What do you mean?”
Shaw grinned and stood up, walking over to the motivational poster that declared “You already have what you need.” With theatrical flair, he peeled back the corner of the poster to reveal a small hole in the beige wall, barely the size of a golf ball.
“Been working on this little project for about forty years now,” he said proudly. “Figure I’ll break through . . . oh, sometime around the year 3000. Give or take a century.”
Max stared at the tiny hole. “That’s your escape plan? You’re . . . digging out with what, a spoon?”
“Magical equivalent of a spoon, yeah. See, the Void doesn’t like being messed with.
Try to blast your way out with some big flashy spell, and it’ll crush you like a bug.
But tiny little bits of magic, applied very, very slowly .
. .” He demonstrated by holding up his index finger, which glowed with the faintest possible light.
He touched the finger to the edge of the hole, and a few flakes of wall crumbled away.
“It’s all about patience, kid. And I got nothing but time. ”
“But that’ll take forever!”
“Everything takes forever when you’ve got forever to do it.” Shaw smoothed the poster back into place. “Besides, it beats sitting around feeling sorry for myself. A man’s gotta have a project, you know?”
Max looked at him with something approaching admiration. “You really think it’ll work?”
“Hell if I know.” Shaw winked. “But I’ll tell ya what: I’d rather die while trying to escape than live while accepting I can’t.” He settled back into his chair and picked up his cards. “So, Max the Magnificent. You any good at gin rummy? Because we got a lot of time to kill.”