Black Magic by Russell James Page A

Flora said, voice tinged with dismissive sweetness, “that you will be directing our youth to the dark side.”
    Lyle laughed with a bit too much emotion. “No, no. Rest assured, good Reverend. Everything here is just stage magic.”
    “Stage magic?” the Reverend said.
    “Of course,” Lyle said. “Illusion, prestidigitation, sleight-of-hand. Simple tricks made amazing with a bit of showmanship. Allow me.”
    Lyle stepped behind the counter. He pulled out three cups and a red ball. He placed the ball under the center cup.
    “We all know where the ball is,” he said. He gave the cups a lazy shuffle in a figure-eight pattern. “And it seems easy enough to follow. In fact right now…” He paused the shuffle. “…it should be in the center spot again. But through the use of stage magic…”  
    He raised the cup. No ball. He stacked the three cups. The ball was gone.
    “…it has vanished.”
    The mayor raised an eyebrow. The corners of Reverend Rusty’s mouth drooped in boredom.
    “But we know the ball didn’t vanish,” Lyle said. He flipped one hand over and the ball popped out from the wrist of his shirt. “It’s just a little trick. Hand-eye coordination and audience misdirection.”  
    Flora turned to Reverend Rusty and batted her long eyelashes. “See, children’s toys.”  
    The Reverend appeared unmoved.
    “Kids learn that practice makes perfect and that there’s an art to showmanship,” Lyle said. “All clean fun.”
    “And the kind of magic that isn’t stage magic, Mr. Miller?” the Reverend asked.
    “Ah, ritual magic,” Lyle said. “Witchcraft and wiccans. Conjuring the powers of nature, practicing the black arts. None of that happens behind these doors.”
    “All clean fun,” Flora repeated. “Happy, Reverend?” She already knew the answer.
    “I’ll keep my eye on you,” Reverend Rusty said to Lyle.
    “I look forward to it,” Lyle said. There was a look in his eye that Flora didn’t quite like, but it disappeared in an instant.
    Lyle offered the Reverend his hand again. The Reverend looked down in derision. Lyle offered it to Flora instead.
    “A pleasure to meet you, Mayor.” He gave her a true politician’s handshake, firm grip with the right, his left hand at her wrist.
    “Good luck, Mr. Miller,” she said as she directed the Reverend to the door. “I love to see new business downtown.”
    As soon as they were outside, she turned to the Reverend.  
    “Please, Rusty. This fellow has just invested more in this town than anyone else in years. His place could be the start of something wonderful. More shops could follow. People traveling between Miami and Naples will start to see Citrus Glade as a destination.”
    Reverend Rusty looked back at the storefront window. The sun’s glare masked the narrow view of the store beyond it. He drew himself up and gripped his Bible.
    “I’ll be watching him,” he said. “The good Lord will be my guide and I shall watch Mr. Miller.”
     
     
    From inside the shop, Lyle had a perfect view of Reverend Rusty, the sanctimonious bastard. He’d seen his type over and over through the centuries. Whether following Jesus or Osiris, they were all the same. He was just the kind of pinprick that tended to become infected. If the old man began to act on his convictions, Lyle would need to respond.
    The mayor, on the other hand, would be no problem at all. Her dim whapna wasn’t worth his worry. She had the eternally sunny disposition that blinded her to the kind of work Lyle liked to do. She’d blithely smile as the whole world collapsed around her.  
    Lyle couldn’t wait to watch her do it. But for now he had to gather one more unwitting recruit for the Grand Adventure.

Chapter Twenty
    An hour later, Lyle pulled his long black convertible up to the front door of Ferrer Motors. He could feel that the whapna he sought was inside.  
    The four boys in town would only wage half the battle to come. They would generate the magic his plan