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The theater's backstage was a spacious, circular room, but to Hodge Blackthorn, it felt overwhelmingly cluttered.
Long poles stretched across the space, draped with costumes from different eras. Wooden crates were haphazardly stacked in corners, and as Hodge passed by, he glimpsed an open crate stuffed with all sorts of odd props, cushions, and crumpled strips of fabric.
Hodge trailed behind the magician, watching as the man approached a dingy wall and lifted a corner. Only then did Hodge realize it was actually a heavy curtain. He hurried to catch up, nearly colliding with someone emerging from behind it. "Oh, sorry—" he muttered, stepping aside as a line of actresses in dance costumes swept past, appearing as if from nowhere. Ducking through the curtain, Hodge found himself in what could barely be called a room—a cramped space with a dozen vanity tables separated by narrow pillars, some shielded by flimsy curtains. It was clearly a place for performers to prepare and rest.
A few actors in costume huddled together, chatting idly.
The magician strode briskly to the vanity at the far end, clearly his own spot. He leaned close to the mirror, scrutinizing his face, then stepped back to adjust his bow tie, flashing a satisfied smile at his reflection.
"Just back from a trip?" Hodge asked.
The question startled the magician, who spun around to face him. "Oh, it's you," he said, noticing Hodge's gaze fixed on a soft cloth bag tucked beside the table's leg. He quickly zipped it shut.
Then, as if just registering Hodge's question, he added, "Yeah, like I said on stage, I visited a magical place…" He paused, eyeing Hodge. "Here for an autograph?"
Hodge nodded.
"Normally, I charge for those… and I sell some magic props on the side." He gave Hodge a quick once-over, as if searching for a wallet, then gave up. Pulling out a piece of paper, he scribbled his signature.
"But since you helped me out, consider it a perk for my stage assistant."
"You sell props too?" Hodge asked.
"Gotta make ends meet somehow. Times are tough." The magician shrugged. "I've even done door-to-door sales, you know, knocking on every house."
"What about that quill?" Hodge pressed, pointing to the bag. The magician's hand froze mid-signature, a flicker of panic crossing his eyes. "Oh, no, that quill's special to me. Hard to come by…"
Hodge figured it was probably worth about two silver Sickles.
"I can pay for it," he offered. "I'll go get the money."
"Don't be ridiculous, my dear assistant." The magician seemed to scramble for an excuse. "It's, uh, a family heirloom. My grandfather's." He exhaled quietly when Hodge didn't argue, relieved.
When he spoke again, his voice was smoother. "My grandfather was into the occult, you know—magic, crystal balls, wands, that sort of thing. I think he went a bit loony in his old age. He actually believed—wrote it in his notes, mind you—that there was a magical castle hidden in some ruined wasteland, where people taught magic. Wild, right?"
"Pretty wild," Hodge agreed. "But don't you already have a wand?"
The magician blinked, caught off guard, then laughed. "Of course I do." He waved his hand in front of Hodge, and with a flick of his wrist, a magic wand appeared out of thin air—just like his opening act on stage.
"I see," Hodge said. "You're no wandless wonder, then."
The magician twirled the wand deftly between his fingers, aiming for charm. "Hardly," he quipped.
"So," Hodged ventured, curiosity creeping into his voice, "did you find that magical place because of your grandfather's notes? I'm dying to know where it is. A wardrobe? A train platform? A ship in a painting?"
His examples came straight from The Chronicles of Narnia, where characters slipped into other worlds through such portals.
"Ha!" The magician winked. "That's a secret. But if you ever stumble across a grimy little pub on the street, maybe poke your head inside."
His eyes grew distant, lost in memory.
"I passed by it loads of times but never noticed it before… The people inside dressed like they were from the Middle Ages—pointed hats, hairnets, robes, high-waisted gowns, heavy cloaks, velvet vests. I even saw a woman in a conical hat, like something out of a tapestry. Men, women, old folks, kids—it was like a whole little society. Shops everywhere, books stacked impossibly high, signs floating in the air that changed colors, brooms twitching in shop windows like they were alive, fireworks that never seemed to burn out… I don't know what those short, long-limbed creatures were—definitely not human—but they were running a bank, of all things! It was madness. I worked up the nerve to step into a shop. The owner was busy with someone else, but I saw quills, ink, parchment… If it was a dream, it was a strangely logical one, like it was built for kids. Everything was right there, within reach…"
"So you just helped yourself to a quill when no one was looking?" Hodge asked.
"I wouldn't say that." The magician grinned slyly. "It sort of… hopped into my pocket. Makes sense in a magical world, doesn't it?" His expression shifted to sudden realization. "Wait, you knew, didn't you? You saw it on stage. Clever kid. Thinking of buying it to show off at school? No way. It's worth a fortune, and you saw how well it works for me. I'm only telling you this once."
He bent down, unzipped the cloth bag, and started packing his things.
Hodge studied him, then said softly, "Because I'm just a kid, right? That's it. I trust you won't go blabbing to everyone. That quill could make you famous."
"I'm planning a national tour," the magician said, nodding as he checked his hair in the mirror, already envisioning his success. "Tonight was a great start. The crowd loved it. Should make it easy to book other theaters."
"You're just going to leave like that?" Hodge asked. "After stealing and lying? Planning to keep up the con? What happens when someone catches you?"
"Ha!" The magician crumpled the signed paper and tossed it into the trash, irritation flaring. "What do you know?" Noticing someone glance their way, he lowered his voice. "I was just messing with you, kid. Don't try to blackmail me or run to your parents. I don't know where you heard that nonsense, but I didn't steal anything. Got it? It's all just magic tricks."
He emphasized the last words heavily, then grabbed his bag and stormed off.
"You know," Hodge called after him, "you can't keep this up forever. No one knows when a couple of Aurors might show up."
The magician froze, Hodge's words striking a nerve. That was exactly why he'd never dared return to that "magical place." "I'll take it as advice to be extra careful," he said stiffly, then vanished behind the gray curtain. A moment later, Hodge heard a loud thud, followed by the scrape of a crate against the floor and a muffled curse.
The audience hadn't fully dispersed yet, so they were treated to a bizarre sight: the magician who'd just performed for them was now sprinting down the street.
Backstage, Hodge picked up the crumpled autograph from the trash.
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