The Science of Magic

A van pulled up outside an old warehouse in a run-down area.  McGregor got out with a group of his men and headed for the building.

In a window on an upper level, they failed to see a shadowy figure watch over them from above.

Inside the warehouse, McGregor walked past the stacks of crates with his men.  A sudden whispering could be heard and a highly suspicious McGregor looked all around for the source while his men took out their pistols in preparation for whatever was to come.

“Charles?” McGregor hissed.

They continued to desperately scan their dark surroundings until Charles stepped out of a shadow-filled gap in between two containers.

“Hello McGregor,” he said.

McGregor’s attention jumped over to him and his men all pointed their guns at Charles.

“Sorry about that,” Charles apologised.  “I was just trying to freak you out.”

“You alone?” McGregor said.  Charles nodded.  “Unarmed?”  Charles nodded again

“But you don’t seem to be either,” Charles pointed out.  “Why is that?”

“I think you can understand if I’m a bit suspicious,” McGregor said.  “You have a habit of deception.”

“What are you talking about?” Charles said jokingly.  “I’ve never broken my word.”

“Maybe technically,” he said.  “So what did you want to discuss?”

“I wanted you to reconsider your refusal.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Well, I can understand you wanting to look rebellious in front of the others, reputation is everything after all.  But maybe in private, I could hear a wiser response.”

“What’s to stop me from having my men gun you down right now?” McGregor noted.  “Then the whole problem goes away.”

“Oh please,” Charles laughed.  “You should know you need more than guns to kill me.”

Charles undid a few of his top buttons to let McGregor see just a portion of his heavily tattooed body, but what he could see was human flesh marked with dark blue images of demons and magical symbols.

“You really think those’ll save you?” McGregor said.

“I don’t even think they have to,” Charles said.  “You know why?  Because first you have to trust me when I said I was alone.”

McGregor’s gaze suddenly darted around the huge warehouse, looking into every shadow cloaked cranny where unseen foes could be lurking, ready to attack.

“Now’s the time to find out whether you want to take that chance,” Charles said.  “Personally, I don’t think you have the will to take that step.”

McGregor came closer to him, scowling at Charles’ smiling face.

“Am I wrong?” Charles said.

“Why would I kill you?” McGregor said.  “If you die, you won’t be able to feel the shame of defeat.  So what now?”

“Well, if you refuse my offer, you know what happens.”

“War?”

“That’s how the game is played,” Charles said.

“Fine.  If you think I can’t stand my ground against you, you’re gonna find out you are mistaken.  I’ll be seeing you later Charles.  Let’s go.”

McGregor and his men turned and headed for the exit.  As the heavy doors slammed shut, Charles grinned and said, “No you won’t,” to the empty warehouse.

Outside, McGregor and his men got into their van and drove away.  Before they got far, the van suddenly exploded, leaving the burning shell that was once a vehicle resting on its side.

From the upper window in the warehouse, Charles stood with a detonator in his hand.

Down on street level, Stephen appeared from his hiding place and nodded up to his boss.  Charles nodded back, before stepping back into the darkness as the van burned.

***

Grantham stood, in the backroom of the pub he owned, by a desk in a dark corner.  On the desk, there was a music box, which he opened and smiled as it began to play.

Crowe entered and spotted his distracted boss.  “Sir?” he said, causing Grantham to snap the box shut and spin round.

“Crowe?” he said.

“I’m leaving to meet with Gravesen.”

“I see.  Good luck Crowe.”

***

Crowe nervously walked past the many tombstones in the graveyard Charles had chosen as their meeting place.  He went over a hill and spotted a lone silhouette standing before an open grave with a huge stone monument of an angel.

Crowe approached Charles, but he didn’t turn around.

“Good evening Crowe,” Charles said.

“You alone?” Crowe said.

“Of course.”

“Why did you want to meet here?  It’s too open.”

“But it’s so nice here.  Feel the breeze, taste the air…hear the silence.”

“What are you on about?”

“So has Grantham considered my offer further?”

“He has…and he told you to get to get fucked.”

“Many other factions have avoided hostilities by simply submitting.  You would keep everything you have now.  All you have to do is answer to me.  Why do you insist on being so unreasonable?”

“He says he’ll never agree.”

“Very well.  In that case, let me take this opportunity to declare war.”

“That’s not a good idea.  Grantham’s not gonna lose.”

“He already has,” Charles said.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know more than you think.”

“Just back off and you won’t get hurt Charles.”

“I don’t respond well to threats.  In fact, I tend to get a little irrational.”

“What do you want?”

Charles turned round to face him and said, “I want everything I can get.  Only a coward wouldn’t try.”

“You think you can wipe out all the other families?”

“I’ve done a pretty good job already.”

“The city’s too big for one man to rule.”

“I find it so funny you think I want to rule it…like a King.”

“What?”

“Come here Crowe,” Charles invited him.  “I want to show you something.”

Charles directed Crowe to in front of the grave and stepped back slightly.

“What is it?” Crowe asked.

“A present for you,” Charles said.  “I hope you like it.”

“There’s nothing here.”

“Look at the angel.”

Crowe did as he was told and looked up at the stone angel, before looking down at the pedestal on which it stood.  There was an inscription.  It read, RICHARD CROWE A WASTED LIFE.

“What is this?” Crowe demanded, turning round just as Charles took out a medieval long sword from underneath his long coat and thrusted it through Crowe’s stomach.

“It’s not a gun,” Charles joked before removing the sword with a savage pull, placing one hand over Crowe’s still shocked face and gently pushing him into the open grave.

Charles put his sword away and moved over to the nearby mound of dirt with a spade imbedded in it.  He then began to shovel soil onto the still alive Crowe as he bled to death.

***

In Grantham’s pub, he and his men stood around a large table in the backroom while the music box played in the background.

“That b*****d Gravesen thinks he can take the whole damn city,” Grantham said.  “That guy’s a fool.  It’s time to put an end to him.  We’re hitting Gehenna tonight and wipe him out in one go.”

“That may be a problem,” one of his men said.

“What?” Grantham said.  “Why’s that?”

It was at this point, Grantham realised the music was no longer playing.  He looked over to the desk in the corner of the room as Charles stepped out of the shadows.

“That’s because they don’t work for you,” Charles said.

Grantham’s eyes widened at the sight of his enemy and he immediately went for his gun.  “What the hell you doin’ here?” Grantham demanded while pointing his pistol at Charles.  “Who let you in?”

“Do you really think that thing can harm me?” Charles said about the gun.  “Bullets are no match…” he waved one hand, “…For magic.”

Grantham pulled the trigger and nothing happened.  He looked in horror first at his weapon and then at Charles, who said, “I had them empty it for me.  You’ve lost the privilege to play with such dangerous toys.”

“What’s going on here?” Grantham said before ordering his men, “Get him!”  No one moved.  “What’s wrong with you idiots?”

“I told you,” Charles said.  “They are not your followers.  They never were, for they are humans…and hence slaves of wealth.  They can’t help it; it’s the fault of the society we’ve created for them.  We need money to survive in this world…and I have more of it.  Therefore, I deserve to live more, yes?”

Charles then took out his sword and decapitated Grantham, before addressing the men around him.  “Burn it.”

***

Charles looked on with glee at the burning pub, he found the high flames lighting up the night sky extremely visually pleasing.

As the fire reflected in his eyes, Charles’ smile seemed as if it would never fade, but it did, when Zedd appeared beside him and got his attention by placing a hand on his boss’ shoulder.

Charles reluctantly tore himself from watching the large fire and walked away with Zedd.

“Do you think things are going well?” Charles asked him, but Zedd didn’t respond.  “I think so too,” Charles said as if he had been given an answer.

***

As Charles and Zedd walked through the quiet city, something broke the silence.  It was a woman crying out, “Help me!”

“Shut up!” a male voice said.

The commotion was coming from a nearby alley.  Charles entered to satisfy his curiosity, with Zedd being compelled to follow.

What Charles saw was a woman being beaten by a knife-wielding man named Stephen.  Charles knew his name because Stephen worked for him.

Stephen tossed the woman aside and began rifling through her purse before he noticed Charles’ presence.

“Stephen?” Charles said.  “Is that you?”

“Boss?” Stephen said.  “What are you doing here?”

“What about you?”

“Umm, I’m just…”

Charles approached, seized the purse off him and tossed it to the woman.  “Get out of here,” he told her.  She immediately got to her feet and ran away, passing by Zedd on her way out of the alley.

“You work for me, don’t you?” Charles asked him.  Stephen gave a nod in response like a child being scolded by a parent.  “Did I ask you to do this?”  Stephen just looked at the ground, making Charles say, “Did I?”  He eventually shook his head.  “That’s right…and you know why?  Because this is beneath us.  You doing something like this ruins my reputation.  Are you trying to embarrass me?  Is that what you want?”

“No Charles,” Stephen said.

“Then why are you doing this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Not good enough I’m afraid,” Charles said before holding out one hand, which Zedd instantly placed a pistol into.

He then stepped towards Stephen, casually waving the weapon in front of him.

“What do you think I should do now?” Charles asked him.

Charles turned back to Zedd, who had swapped the clip in his other pistol with an empty one, before handing that to Charles also.

Charles then turned round and mixed them up, before facing Stephen again with a pistol in each hand.

“It’s time for a test of your loyalty,” Charles announced.  “One of these guns is loaded, the other…empty.  You understand?”

Stephen nodded just before he was handed a pistol.

“In order for you to prove that you are worthy of serving me, I need assurance you will do whatever I ask and only that,” Charles said.  “Now put the gun to your head and pull the trigger.”

“What?” Stephen said.

“Put the gun to your head and pull the trigger,” Charles repeated.

Stephen looked down at the gun in his hand and then to the stern unchanging face of Zedd.  He reluctantly raised the pistol to his temple and saw Charles smile and nod.

Stephen suddenly shouted, “Screw you!” before pointing the gun at Charles and pulling the trigger…nothing happened.

“Why can no one learn that guns don’t work against me?” Charles said to Zedd with a sigh, who only shrugged.

Stephen continued trying to shoot him with the empty pistol, hoping that persistence would simply will some bullets inside.

“I’m afraid you’ve failed the test Stephen,” Charles said as he raised the loaded pistol in his own hand and killed him.