The Magic Misfits 2. Neil Patrick Harris

haven’t changed. Always looking for meaning where there is none!”

      “But meaning is everywhere!” Vernon insisted, taking her hands. “I’ve simply trained myself to look for it harder than most.”

      Leila bolted around the end of the counter and grabbed a picture frame off the wall. Her friends stared at her as if she’d gone crazy. But she didn’t care. She held out the frame to Sandra. “This is you,” she said, pointing at the girl in the lower right of the sepia photograph. “Isn’t it?” The girl was sitting with Dante, Lyle, Bobby, and the other members of the Emerald Ring – her father’s childhood magical club – the group that had inspired Leila and her friends to form the Magic Misfits. The girl in the photo was holding a crystal ball. It looked just like the crystal ball embroidered on Sandra’s burgundy velvet purse.

      Sandra’s mouth popped open when she saw the picture. “Oh my goodness! You’ve kept it all this time, Dante?”

      “Of course. I had nothing else to remember you all by. My best friends.” Was there a tinge of emotion in his voice? Wistfuness? Somberness? “There’s nothing like being part of a club.”

      “So then, you were also a member of the Emerald Ring?” Theo asked, craning his head forward, seemingly trying to recognize the young girl in the photo inside the older woman standing before them.

      “I was indeed.” Sandra nodded, handing the photo back to Leila. “I have fond memories of playing in this old building. The fondest of my childhood.”

      “What was Mr Vernon like back then?” Ridley asked. “Was he as weird as he is now?”

      “Weird? ” Vernon echoed, shooting Ridley a funny look.

      “You are pretty weird, Mr Vernon,” she insisted. “But that’s what I like about you.”

      “Back then, Dante was as weird as weird can be,” said Sandra. “And secretive. So were we all. And we were proud of it.”

      Vernon nodded. “That is true, I suppose.”

      “What can you tell us about Bobby Bosso?” Theo questioned. “He arrived in Mineral Wells recently, and he was not exactly the nicest—”

      Vernon cleared his throat and reached out to shut the shop’s door. “How about we continue this conversation over some iced tea. We have plenty of shortbread cookies to dispose of.”

      “That sounds lovely,” said Sandra.

      “Carter? Theo? Would you mind bringing up the folding table from the basement? Use the service elevator. We’ll picnic here in the shop,” Mr Vernon said as he traversed the spiral stairs back up to the balcony and the apartment. “Leila and Ridley, please keep Sandra company.” He pointed at the woman and winked. “And Sandra, you stay right there!”

      “Oh, Dante,” she said, giggling, “unlike some members of our old club, I never learned the art of vanishing.”

      While Mr Vernon prepared refreshments in the apartment, Sandra sat with the Magic Misfits at the small folding table in the back of the shop.

      “… and then,” Leila continued, telling the story of the diamond heist at the Grand Oak Resort, “one of Bosso’s goons clobbered my dad over the head! My friends and I knew we had to save him.”

      Sandra listened in awe to the rest of the tale, as if she couldn’t believe that two of her childhood friends would become embroiled in such a bitter clash. Finally, she admitted, “Bobby was always a little… difficult.”

      “Difficult is an interesting way to describe him,” said Ridley.

      “Totally bonkers is another way,” Carter answered.

      Theo shook his head in disgust. “Criminal is the best way.”

      “He was more crooked than corkscrew pasta!” said Olly.

      “You mean fusilli,” Izzy said.

      “Gesundheit! ” Olly replied. “Speaking of, how does a diamond thief celebrate the Fourth of July?”

      “With sparklers!” Izzy answered, with a silly hyuk-hyuk laugh.

      Mr Vernon descended the stairs. He was holding a tray with a pitcher of iced tea, several glasses, and a plate of those shortbread cookies Carter loved to hoard. “Gossiping about me again, kids?”

      Carter laughed. “Not you. We were talking about Bosso!”

      “In that case, I’d better step up my game! It’s always a trick to be on the tips of everyone’s tongues.” Mr Vernon set the tray on the table, adding, “Everyone, help yourselves.”

      Sandra poured the tea. “Thank you, Dante. You always were the epitome of politeness.”

      “So, Sandra,” Mr Vernon went on, sitting on the arm of the chair where Leila was perched, “what brings you back to Mineral Wells after all these years?”

      “Some sad news, actually,” said Sandra, glancing at the kids as if maybe they couldn’t handle it. She decided quickly that they could. “My mother passed away.”

      “I remember hearing that some time ago.”

      “Yes, it’s been several years,” Sandra went on. “I had a hard time thinking about returning. Too many… ghosts from the past. But Mother left me the old house. You should see the state of it. A total wreck. Boxes everywhere. Layers of dust, inches thick. And quite a few unwanted residents: spiders and flies and mice and snakes. So much work to do. Still, the old house holds a few dear memories – especially those of an old friend who happens to live in the same town. I do apologize for taking so long to visit, but my career has kept me traveling constantly, and I’ve only recently managed to take the time to settle things here.”

      “Why do you travel so much?” asked Carter between slurps of iced tea. “Your job, I mean. What do you do?”

      “Aha. Well, it just so happens that I’m a stage psychic. I perform in front of huge audiences all around the country.” The Misfits went silent, holding their breath. They stared at Sandra as if she’d just told them that she was the first woman to walk on the moon. “Maybe you’ve heard of me? I go by the name Madame Esmeralda.”

      “The Madame Esmeralda?” Theo asked. “I thought you looked familiar. Your posters are in some of the theatres where my father conducts his symphony.”

      “I’ve never met a famous person before,” said Carter.

      “Famous?” Sandra laughed. “I suppose I am – though only a little bit. It’s a fun job. I get to meet lots of people and see the best sights.”

      “I always thought psychic people were a myth,” said Ridley, her brows furrowed. “Are you really psychic, or do you just pretend to be?”

      “Ridley!” Leila whispered through her teeth. “That’s not nice!”

      “It’s okay, Leila,” said Sandra. “It’s a question that everyone wonders. At least your friend is honest enough to ask. But yes, I read vibrational energies of people, places, and things, and I perceive information about past, present, or even future events.”

      “But how ?” Ridley pressed. “Do you use tarot cards? Numerology? Astrology? Palmistry?” The other Misfits looked at Ridley as if she was spouting nonsense. She scowled, “What? When I was researching John Nevil Maskelyne, I spent time looking at some of Mr Vernon’s books about mindreading here at the shop. There are so many types of psychics: precognitors, who claim to predict the future; telepaths will read your mind; telekinesists move matter with their brains. All quite different.