SAVERIO

October 09, 1898

Something marvelous happened today.

I went against my own rule and put a name to one of the faces I met today. Thomas. It was in some square that I spotted him, just across town, near a café where I had successfully charmed two girls—sisters, if you can believe it. These Londoners are not as repressed as I figured. We were making our way to somewhere a little more private when a blur of ash-blond curls, pale skin, and elegant eyes fell toward the earth in an excitable fashion.

Even in his state, he was pleasant looking: slender, big gray eyes framed by those bouncing curls. He was clearly younger, though, even if only by a couple of years, and therefore not quite my type. I would have simply kept moving were it not for the articles of clothing he had dropped around him.

At first glance, they would have seemed like a simple black vest, tailcoat, and cloak, but the cloak and vest were each lined with a dark-blue fabric that had been embroidered with gold thread in such a way that the pattern looked like the night sky. No ordinary boy would be in possession of garments such as these.

And so I reached out a helping hand.

As it happens, the boy is also an apprentice a magician’s apprentice. And he works for none other than Neville Wighton the Great.

It was a grand coincidence, surely. But could it be anything more than that? The more I have been thinking on it, the more I am certain: this is no mere coincidence; this is an opportunity.

You see, I have been waiting an eternity for Paolo to reveal his secrets to me. But I might now be able to claim something of my own, something Paolo wants so much that he will finally stop teasing me.

Paolo shifted our entire tour just so he could come witness this one illusion that Neville is claiming to be “unlike anything the world has ever seen.” There is more to Paolo’s curiosity than he is letting on—he knows something that we do not. But if it is true, and this illusion is unlike any performed before it, then how easy it would be to unlock its mystery with the aid of a certain magician’s apprentice.

I could very easily have Thomas in the palm of my hand. From the look in his eager, shining eyes, and from the way he could barely form his words when I asked for something as simple as his name, it was clear I mesmerized him. It was sweet. And convenient for me. Just another coincidence working in my favor.

I’ve never actually used such methods to get what I want. Sharing my bed has only ever been a temporary cure for lingering loneliness. But as someone who considers himself a student in the intimate arts, would it not be appropriate to put what I have learned so far to good use? And I can think of no better use than positioning myself for greatness. Then many will adore me—and permanently, rather than by a single temporary bedfellow who is gone come morning light.

This plotting is likely all for nothing anyway. Perhaps Wighton’s great trick is one that has already been done many different times with many different iterations. Paolo may simply be overreacting. All the same, I shall keep my eyes on this Thomas—keep him close, in case Paolo’s hunch is all too real and this illusion is a prize just waiting to be won.

And even if Paolo is not wrong about this mysterious trick, what if I am wrong about the boy’s feelings? It was only one chance encounter, after all. There was something in the way he stared, the way he fumbled for words (when he was even able to string some together). I have always considered myself a decent judge when it comes to the attraction, or lack thereof, of others. But what if the nervousness he was exhibiting was simply how he interacts with any new person he meets?

This is silly; of course it was attraction. It had to be. I am simply getting in my own head. I never usually analyze signals so closely, but then again, I suppose none of my other conquests ever really had any stakes. I’ve never had to worry much about whether or not the interest was reciprocated. Good Lord, is this what normal people go through with courtship? How can anyone stand such feelings of anxiety and insecurity on a consistent basis?

Ah, well. If he is indeed enamored with me, then the task will be an easy one. If he is not, well, then it will simply require more effort on my end. It will not be the first time I’ve built something from nothing.

I do feel a bit of remorse for what I may do. Then again, I did not set the rules; I am merely a player in the game.

All’s fair in love and magic.