Seriously, yet another reason to be alarmed?
‘If it isn’t the adroit young Tricky Nick,’ Mr E said, his face beaming at the sight of me. ‘I’m rather disappointed that you didn’t resolve to join us at the Brotherhood of United Magicians. You would have made a laudable member.’
I couldn’t look him in the eyes. Why did I feel like I had done something wrong?
‘What are you doing here?’ Trixie asked flatly. Mr E turned his attention to her. His hand was still on hers.
‘And the headstrong young . . . what was it he just called you? Trixie? An abbreviation of Beatrix, no doubt?’ He was looking at her bare wrist, his face slightly annoyed.
‘You know who I am,’ Trixie said, shooting daggers at Mr E who was smiling sweetly back. She yanked her hand out from under his. ‘And I know who you are, too.’
I hadn’t seen Mr E since I’d attended the meeting of the Brotherhood of United Magicians. I’d thought about calling him to see if he knew who Trixie was but I’d accidentally run his business card through the wash, turning it into a pulpy mess.
‘Trixie. Of course,’ Mr E said, still smiling. ‘I must confess, I did not recognise you the last time we met. You have . . . changed.’
I looked back and forth from Trixie to Mr E and then down at the thumb tip still wedged on my thumb. That feeling in my stomach was back.
‘I want to buy this, please,’ I said, taking off the prop and putting it on the counter.
Mr E picked up the thumb tip with his own thumb and forefinger, examining it critically. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘An excellent selection.’ He placed the prop down on the counter. ‘Do you know how to use it? A thumb tip is not the simplest apparatus to master.’
‘It’s okay, I have a book,’ I said. ‘The Encyclopedia of Amateur Magic.’
Mr E’s grey eyebrows shot up while Trixie flinched next to me. I could have kicked myself. How was I supposed to explain where I’d got the new book from? I jumped back in fright. I could have sworn that the rubber mask of the queen just moved on the shelf behind Mr E.
‘I was under the impression the book was rendered unreadable during that unfortunate incident at the library,’ said Mr E.
‘I found another one,’ I stuttered, looking at Trixie for help.
‘From me,’ she said. ‘I lent him my copy.’
My eyes flicked to the bag on my shoulder that held the stolen book. Mr E’s eyes followed mine before he returned his attention to Trixie. Behind the counter, one of the balloons floated up in front of Mr E. He batted it out of the way hard without looking. The balloon burst with a loud pop and I jumped. Trixie and Mr E just kept looking at each other.
‘We’re taking the thumb tip,’ Trixie said slowly. My stomach churned and turned.
‘I have money,’ I said, reaching for my wallet. The balloons at my feet started rolling and bobbing around the floor, disturbing the confetti that had been spilt there. Something was making them move, although there isn’t normally much wind in a shopping centre.
‘Of course,’ said Mr E, giving me a broad smile. ‘That will be seven hundred dollars.’
‘Seven hundred dollars?’ I gasped. ‘I can’t afford that.’
‘It’s a thumb tip,’ Trixie said. ‘You know it only costs a few bucks.’
‘You are welcome to patronise another similar establishment instead,’ Mr E replied, carefully removing an imaginary piece of fluff from his jacket.11
‘You know there isn’t another one,’ Trixie shot back. ‘We want that thumb tip.’
‘Eight hundred dollars,’ Mr E said through a widening smile. He seemed to be enjoying himself.
‘You can’t do this,’ Trixie snapped. ‘Don’t you know what will happen if you do?’
‘What will happen?’ Mr E pretended to exclaim in surprise. ‘I will make a tidy profit is what will happen!’
‘You can’t do this!’ Trixie was getting angry now. ‘It’s not fair. It’s not . . . safe.’
Safe? It was a magic trick, not a nuclear bomb. And why was Mr E being so mean? He’d gone from being a nice old man to Mrs Dorbel in a tweed suit.
‘Nine hundred,’ Mr E said. His grin spread from ear to ear now.
A flash of colour caught my eye. The balloons that had been lying on the shop floor were now bobbing up and down in mid-air as if floating on an invisible sea. I thought that maybe they were filled with helium, but helium balloons would have sailed to the ceiling. These balloons were just hanging there at head height.
‘It’s fine.’ I put my arm on Trixie’s, not taking my eyes off the eerie balloons. ‘We need to go.’
‘NO. IT IS NOT FINE,’ Trixie shouted, pulling her arm away. ‘HE’S MESSING WITH EVERYTHING!’
As she shouted, the celebrity masks on the shelf behind her wobbled and quivered. Arnold Schwarzenegger fell off the shelf, landing on the floor with a rubbery thud. Neither Trixie nor Mr E seemed to notice what was going on, but I was terrified. Every hair on my body was standing on end.
Mr E spread out his arms. ‘Unless you’ve got one thousand dollars, I’m afraid it is not yours to buy.’
Mr E reached out to pick up the thumb tip but Trixie grabbed it off the counter. She looked towards the door as if she was going to run for it.
‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ said Mr E, reading her mind. He stepped out from behind the counter, pushing floating balloons out of his way as he did so. The racks of fridge magnets and bumper stickers started to shake and rattle. Mr E ignored them and stood in front of the door, his arms crossed. Tom Cruise’s face floated in front of him.
Why weren’t they doing anything? Couldn’t they see that something very strange was going on?
Trixie glowered at Mr E as balloons and ribbons and coloured flecks of paper flew around her. My heart pounded hard in my chest and my stomach spun. Suddenly, before I could react, Trixie grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the back of the shop.
As we ran, pieces of floating confetti whipped at my face like snow in a blizzard. I closed my eyes and let Trixie drag me.
‘IN HERE,’ Trixie shouted. I opened my eyes as she charged through a door at the back of the shop, pulling me through behind her. The door was covered in wigs. I hadn’t even realised it was there when I’d walked past it a few minutes before. Trixie quickly reached behind me and closed the door. As it clicked shut I heard the sound of Mr E calling out in genuine surprise. Trixie grabbed a stepladder that was leaning up against the wall and wedged it under the doorhandle.
We were in some kind of storeroom. Plain cardboard boxes of practical jokes and balloons lined the walls. A kettle sat on a dirty sink in one corner. A small safe rested on the floor. We weren’t supposed to be here. But, at the same time, I didn’t want to face the chaos outside. It was as if the shop was tearing itself apart, as though a windless hurricane had sprung up in the middle of a suburban shopping centre. On the plus side, the feeling in my stomach seemed to be settling.
‘Oh, thank heavens!’ a bag of party hats said from the corner. ‘You have to help me!’
Trixie and I ran over and pulled the large clear plastic bags of hats aside, revealing a plump, elderly woman sitting tied to a chair, her hands and feet bound by metres and metres of coloured ribbon. He hair was dyed bright red, and her face was streaked with tears. She was definitely grandmother material. Trixie grabbed a pair of scissors and sliced through the ribbon, helping the old woman free.
‘That horrible man,’ she gasped. ‘He came in before we opened and said he needed some balloons for his granddaughter. He was so lovely and charming I didn’t think anything of it. Then he tied me up in here and . . .’
The woman burst into fresh tears. I tried to pat her on the shoulder but she just cried louder and louder. There’s nothing worse than being a kid watching an adult cry.
‘Is there another way out of here?’ Trixie asked the woman, grabbing her by both shoulders. ‘Other than through the shop?’
The stepladder shook as Mr E tried to open the secret door in the wall. The sound made the woman wail harder. Her large arms wobbled and she quivered in fear. As she wailed, the stock on the walls start to shake.
‘What is going on?’ I gasped. ‘How did he do all that?’
‘It wasn’t him,’ Trixie snapped. ‘Well, it was his fault, but he didn’t do it. Look, we don’t have time for this.’ Trixie turned her attention to the woman. ‘Please, this is important.’ Trixie tried again, pointing to the stepladder that blocked the door. ‘He can’t get in here. Is there another way out?’
The woman waved a shaking hand to a rack of playing cards on the other side of the room. Trixie ran over and pulled it aside. There was a second door behind it.
‘Thank you,’ Trixie said and then shouted loud enough for Mr E to hear, ‘YOU SHOULD CALL THE POLICE.’
The stepladder stopped rattling.
Trixie grabbed me by the hand again and ran towards the other door. She kicked it open and we found ourselves in a long white twisty corridor that appeared to connect all of the shops in the shopping centre.
The floor was polished concrete and snaked off in several directions like a maze. We ran past door after identical door, turning left and right. Every turn felt like it was taking us back to where we had started.
‘Please,’ I huffed as we ran. ‘You have to tell me what is going on.’
Trixie didn’t say anything, she just kept on running. Finally, we came across a pair of double doors.
THIS DOOR IS ALARMED.
DO NOT OPEN.
Trixie didn’t even seem to notice the sign. She just shouldered the doors open and pulled me through into the bright light of the outdoors.