Author's note: This is a very short story I wrote for a creative writing class. There some ideas in it I'd like to expand on but for now, it's like the only piece of writing I've ever finished so I'd like to just savor the feeling of having completed something. I hope you enjoy!

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Erich leaned forward in his chair, the old wood complaining beneath him as he watched with unconcealed glee. The dimly lit backroom was neater than you'd expect from a sorcerer's lair. There were no cobwebs clinging to the edges of cast-iron cauldrons. No strange instruments made of silver or gleaming crystals hiding in the corners of the room. Papers were stacked neatly on a desk completely free of dust and a small set of books in languages Erich wasn't familiar with sat in a neat row on a shelf. They held knowledge about anatomy and basic engineering, only mysterious in the eyes of a simple tailor's assistant like Erich.

But still, Erich knew it wasn't the décor that made a sorcerer's lair. Plain though it was, the space had still absorbed some of the life force of its owner. Everything in the room seemed to be watching and listening with the quiet judgement of the magician currently wrestling with a strait jacket on the thread-bare carpet.

Catching the conjoined sleeves with his boot, Rayan managed to pull the thick canvas from over his head and fling it across the room.

"Did you see it that time?" Rayan gasped, catching his breath from the floor. He looked around the room for his shirt, having taken it off save it from getting crumpled up during the demonstration. "The trick is to take a deep breath to make your body as big as possible at the time of binding, then release it to make it easier to wriggle out. No magic involved."

"It's amazing." Erich sat back in the plain little chair, smiling up at the beautiful rug hanging above the desk on the other side of the tiny room. The design was similar to any of the rugs he'd seen under dining tables in any other house in the city, but the colors were much more vibrant. The reds were lively as cardinals in flight, the blues as deep as the night. "The things you'll say to mask your use of magic is absolutely amazing."

Rayan, having remembered where he put his folded shirt, held it in a ball over his face to muffle a frustrated scream.

"I don't know why you put all this effort into making me think you aren't a wizard. You know I won't tell anyone." Erich grinned foolishly, his cheeks ruddy with wine.

The chair beneath him groaned in harmony with the magician.

Erich was telling the truth. Though he spoke about his friend often and to anyone who would listen, he never voiced his thoughts about sorcery. Not that it would matter much if he did. No one would take to heart the ramblings of some son of an immigrant farmer about his favorite stage magician. Almost everyone assumed Rayan was mystical just from looking at him anyways. The dusky shade of his skin and the lilt of his well-trained speech spoke to people of carpets flying over moonlit sand dunes even as he spoke of politics or the latest discoveries in medicine.

Across the room, Rayan pulled on his shirt and mumbled something in Arabic at the mirror. From the tone, Erich could tell it was a series of curses. They were the mundane kind which one might be likely to spit at a table leg after stubbing a toe. Erich knew he wasn't the kind of wizard to cast curses. Well, Erich hoped he wasn't.

After three years of associating with the man, he was becoming quite familiar with curses and swears in all kinds of languages. In fact, the polyglot seemed to have different annoyances categorized by language. Erich wasn't sure what made forgetting things a specifically French pain in the ass while dealing with rude people was by nature Latin, but he was touched that his friend always expressed his frustration towards himself in Arabic, his native tongue.

"Do you have that jacket I sent to you? I had planned on wearing it for the show tonight." Rayan asked, turning away from the mirror.

Erich reached for his bag and brought out a simple black suit jacket, holding it up for Rayan to see. "I'm afraid the stitching in the sleeves isn't as neat as I'd like, but it's bound to be more comfortable than the strait-jacket."

"I'm sure" Rayan smirked, inspecting it closely. He nodded his approval and slipped it on. The fabric was still thinning around the shoulders and elbows, but Erich had managed to salvage it from the horribly outdated original design to something almost in fashion. He was relieved to see it worked as well on a living body as it did on the mannequin. "And those extra pockets I requested?"

"Built into the lining. To make them less conspicuous." Erich explained, showing him the discreet gaps in the stitching around the cuffs of the sleeves and in the collar. It had taken a week to find a viable way to make the pockets invisible from both the outside and the inside, but the outcome was worth it.

"Wait." The magician paused, pulling open the jacket to take a closer look at the grey satin inside. "I don't remember asking you to replace the lining."

Erich shrugged. He knew the magician explicitly told him just to patch up the worst of it, but the lining was so worn there was little left to patch. "Business has been slow around the shop, I needed something to keep my hands busy. It was good practice."

"How much extra do I owe you?" Rayan asked, opening a desk drawer filled with bent bits of metal rods and wire.

Erich sputtered as the magician swore in french and rummaged through a different drawer. "Owe me? Nothing! What you've already paid is plenty."

"Nonsense, this is good work and you do me enough favors as it is." Rayan protested, finally holding his wallet up in triumph. "Now, how much do I owe you?"

Erich thought about it for a moment as Rayan thumbed through the bills stuffed into the old leather at odd angles. "Some magic. The real kind. The kind you won't show the public"

Rayan gave him a long, tired stare, his black eyebrows drawing together like a storm gathering on the horizon. Erich grinned nervously.

"Fair enough, how about lunch then?"

The cafe down the street knew them well. They took a seat outside in a patch of late afternoon sunshine that managed to force its way past the tall buildings. Ruby, the waitress, appeared with tea and sandwiches and small talk before the menu could even cross their minds. Even the sparrows and pigeons began to show indecent friendliness, flocking to their table with hopeful chirps and coos.

"Don't encourage them," Rayan warned Erich who had already begun tossing them bits of turkey and spinach. Like a hundred afternoons before, Erich ignored him and watched with fascination as the pigeons used their bulk to get the best pieces and the angry sparrows retaliated by stealing the crumbs right from their beaks.

Having successfully worked the birds into frenzy, he turned to his sandwich and ate the rest himself. Across the table, Rayan took an occasional sip of tea and studied the incomprehensible scrawl of his journal. They sat in companionable silence broken only by the occasional screeching of sparrows and Rayan's own mutterings until the magician looked up from the little, leather-bound volume and addressed his friend.

"I think I may have another project for you," The magician said quietly with some reluctance. His eyes were glued to a crude sketch filling an entire page of the journal, still making notes in the margins and erasing them.

"Do tell. I can always use the work," Erich prompted when Rayan seemed to have begun to descend back into his thoughts. He flipped the journal around so the tailor in training could see the rough drawing of a strange garment made up of straps and hooks and loops.

"It'll need to be imperceptible under normal clothing, of course. And strong enough to bear at least twice my body weight without damaging either it or myself." He explained, leaving Erich perhaps more confused than before.

"What on earth is this for? It looks like a torture device." The tailor took the journal and studied it closer. What he had originally assumed to be a kind of collar now appeared to be a rope wrapped around the neck of the invisible model and extending off the top of the page. He searched the notes for an explanation, but of course none of it was in English or at all comprehensible.

"Quite the opposite. In fact, it should allow me to survive an execution." Rayan whispered, leaning across the table with his eyes sparkling like champagne. He got up from his chair and stood behind Erich to explain his design more thoroughly. "You see, this harness should be able to distribute the force of the noose away from the neck and across the entire body. Now, the issues I'm having trouble resolving is how much I should account for the force of the initial drop and how to attach it to the noose discreetly."

Erich, with a new understanding of Rayan's goal, pushed his sandwich aside and reached for the pencil on the other side of the table. "The way you describe the distribution of force sounds in a way similar to a ladies' corset, only instead of bearing five pounds of petticoats from the waist, it'll be suspending your weight from the ceiling. So, you'll want to point holding the most of that stress around the waist, well below where you have it drawn..."

They went on, passing the journal back and forth until is it was covered with tea stains and smudged graphite. It was only when bright afternoon sun began to turn red and gold that Rayan realized he should've been at the theatre to set up for that night's show five minutes ago.

They left in a rush, Rayan tossing a handful of uncounted notes on the table right next to the little leather-bound journal on his way out.

The night's performance was coming to a close, much to the dismay of Erich and the rest of the people packed into the tiny, rundown theater at the edge of town. They watched a closed wooden chest from the edge of their seats, listening with wide eyes for the quietest gasp or rustle. Outside, rain poured in sheets, leaking through the old roof in places. The feathers and birds of fashionable women's hats sagged and dribbled pathetically. Grubby orphan children sat at the edges of the room with streaks of ivory and caramel skin carved from their black filth coating.

Erich could feel the insistent tapping of water droplets against his skull but found he couldn't care if he'd tried. His eyes were glued to the watch in his hand, counting out the seconds since the heavy oak lid of the chest had slammed shut. He'd last seen Rayan three minutes ago, bound in rope and steel and crammed into a chest about half the size of a coffin. Three minutes was a long time.

The bitter salt of sweat mixed with the rain running from his mustache. Erich's head spun with knowledge the audience was blind to. He knew that Rayan never had a failsafe for any of his escapes. During practices, he had contingencies and someone to help him in case there was some aspect of the trick he hadn't quite perfected, but on stage the locks were solid, the knots were tight, and no one was going to save him. He knew this was a new trick, only performed once before and never in this specific chest. And, most importantly, he knew Rayan could only hold his breath for three minutes.

For the first time in a long time, Erich feared that magic had died. With shaking hands, he tucked his watch away and began to stand. A man behind him hissed at him to sit back down, but Erich wasn't listening. All he could hear was the deafening silence from the oak chest. Even the thunder threatening to tear the roof clean off the old theatre was drowned out by the thunder of his heart in his ears. He marched down the crowded aisle, never taking his eyes off the stage.

Around him, people began to whisper among themselves. The others had caught on to the reality that it had been too long for any man to be stuffed into a box. A young lady in the front row began to sob quietly and a man in the back had fainted.

Erich made his way to the stage as the street urchins ran in packs toward the door. He reached the box and rattled the lid, but it didn't budge. He hammered his fists into the side and pulled at the lock but to no avail. Finally, he yelled into the chaos below for an axe, a knife, a lockpick but no one was listening.

"Excuse me miss, but why are you crying?" Through his blind panic, Erich heard a familiar voice from the front row.

"He-he's dead." The young lady in the front row managed to say through her wracking sobs. She buried her pretty face back into her daintily embroidered handkerchief. Around her, the crowds quieted. People settled back into their seats, expressions of disbelief and wonder across their faces.

"I'm sorry, someone is dead? We should tell the authorities. Can you show me?" The man sitting beside her asked. His bronze-cast brow was creased with concern, dark eyes were heavy with sympathy. Erich fell back onto the box, feeling suddenly faint.

A dainty white finger pointed towards Erich and the box he sat on, shaking in the air for just a moment before again crumpling again into the crying girl.

"I'm afraid you're mistaken. That man seems very much alive." Rayan looked up at Erich from the front row, his smile somehow shining brighter than the stage lights. Erich turned red as the young woman and rest of the audience laughed, finding himself ill-prepared for the stage he had so foolishly climbed onto. Rayan, taking pity on his friend, helped him down as he reclaimed the spotlight.

The crowd lingered hours after Rayan officially brought the show to an end. Starry eyed children and thunder-struck adults, their mouths gaping with questions like newly hatched pigeons demanding food. Erich watched in a drier corner of the theatre as he jotted down notes about the faded glory of the old building. He found they came in handy in the early hours of the morning when the noise of the city kept him awake and his pen beckoned.

Erich smirked at the burst of astonished gasps from the small cluster of grubby orphans who had Rayan surrounded and tucked his notebook away to watch the coin conjuring. The maneuvers themselves were simple. Everyone with even a passing interest in magic knew how they were done but Rayan executed them with such elegance, the silver and gold coins catching and casting light in the most spectacular ways.

As he watched, a man approached Erich who he could've sworn hadn't attended the show. His clothing was dry and generally more expensive than what anyone who came to the show that night could reasonably afford. They conversed in low tones, crouched low over a small, leather bound journal. Erich, as always, was full of polite smiles and thoughtful nods. The stranger talked with confidence and distinction. He asked many questions and Erich answered enthusiastically.

Their conversation came to a blunt halt when Rayan approached them, expression foul and dangerous. The strange man stood to face him, towering above the magician. His brocaded silver waistcoat gleamed like the edge of a knife, the eye of Horus medallion hanging from his neck glaring maliciously. His wide, pale face went stiff as an old cheese as he huffed with displeasure at being interrupted.

Rayan was a rather small man. He held no shame about that fact, pointing out how it worked to his advantage in various stage tricks if it ever came up. But as the looming stranger stepped forward, the magician was forced to either crane his neck or retreat a few steps to look the man in the eye. He lifted his chin and glared from under his furrowed brow. Erich stepped away; it was clear that he had no part in this discussion.

"Hello, Hughes. How kind of you to come all this way. But you seem to have missed the performance." Rayan greeted him, his tone cold and stiff. "What a shame"

"I didn't come for the performance. I can see a magician of your caliber on any given street corner, why would I also pay for the privilege of being dribbled on?" Hughes snorted at the chipping paint and softly rotting beams of the old theatre. "I've performed in many different venues, but I don't think I've ever had to resort to someplace with so much... history"

"I thought maybe you had come to learn something new." Rayan smiled sardonically.

Hughes answered with a thunderous scowl, "Actually, I had come to return something."

He brought out the little leather-bound journal from his coat-pocket, holding it between them like a secret.

"Merde," Rayan gasped, reaching for it reflexively. Hughes let him take the book, though made a point of not handing it over. Though he did have the decency to look mildly offended when Rayan flipped through the pages, closely examining its condition as though it might have been sabotaged. "Lovely to see you haven't literally taken a page out of my book, though I assume you've copied a few."

"You have such a low opinion of me," Hughes groaned.

"Yes, I am an excellent judge of character. Very perceptive." Rayan smiled coldly, tucking the book into his jacket pocket. "Thank you for returning my journal, now I must ask you to leave."

Erich appeared next to Rayan, watching the strange man storm out of the old theatre. "What on earth..."

"Isaiah Harris Hughes. Or as he's more popularly known, The Fakir of Ava. Always on the prowl for new material." The magician's voice was flat and dull, though his friend's jaw dropped at the sound of the name he'd so often seen on posters and in papers. The Fakir of Ava was the face of magic, performing on all the best stages across the country. But Erich hadn't expected that face to be quite so pale in person. "I seriously doubt our 'fakir' understands a word of Arabic, so whatever he copied down won't be much use. Without help, anyways."

Erich, unable or unwilling to wrap his head around the situation, changed the subject. "By the way, I must apologize for making such a fool of myself during the chest routine. I had stupidly assumed you were suffocating."

"Oh, nonsense. It added to the drama." Rayan waved him off.

The theatre was now almost entirely empty. They went to work gathering up Rayan's props and tools and tossing them all into the solid oak chest that had so recently held the magician himself. As they lifted the chest between them, Rayan turned to Erich, exhaustion lining his dark eyes. "I must ask you to try not to take liberties during future shows. I can't afford to pay you for your acting as well as your tailoring skills."

The rain had cleared up nicely, the remnants of the earlier downpour glittering like stars on the narrow, gaslit streets. The two walked down the cobblestone streets carrying the oak chest between them. Erich walked slowly, bearing his half of the weight easily but struggling to maintain a comfortable rhythm.

"Let us stop a moment, your swinging is going to rip my arm clean out of the socket." Rayan groaned, lowering his half of the chest to the cobblestones. They pushed it against the door of a jewelry shop that had closed for the night and both took a seat, sheltered from the cold breeze by the decorative pillars framing the entryway.

Erich was watching the empty streets absentmindedly, wondering at how the cobblestones gleamed dark like obsidian in the night when Rayan cleared his throat. He turned to see the magician massaging his shoulder, deep in thought about something he wasn't sure how to say. "Hughes, did he... ask anything of you?"

"Yes," Erich replied, conversationally. Somewhere in the night, a lonely dog howled and scratched at a door. A stern owner scolded the animal. "He asked me about what you'd been planning. How you might to execute it and what those scribblings in your journal meant."

"And what did you tell him?" Rayan asked, his voice stiff and expression clouded.

Erich watched pale moths crowd around a gas light, casting strange shadows with their ragged wings. "I said you were going to use your powers of sorcery to cheat death, of course. I'm not a fool."