For Part I, click here
I knew something was wrong when M lost his keys for the second time in a day.
“How do you lose your keys twice in a day?” I ask on our way, once again, to the locksmith.
M shrugs. He places a cigarette in his mouth. He snaps his fingers. It lights. I shield mine against the cold wind, thumb sore from flicking. Over and over.
“Oh would you just,” I say. M snaps his fingers. My cigarette lights. He smirks. Then he slips, falling right on his ass.
“Didn’t drop my smoke,” he says, triumphantly. He rises to his feet.
I give him a concerned look.
“Do you think maybe you should stop with the magic?”
“Didn’t you listen to that magician?”
M laughs. “He dresses like a pirate and does children parties. I highly doubt he is an authority on the matter.”
I give him a stern look.
“Says the guy getting keys made for the second time today.”
M shrugs. “Bad luck.”
“Exactly! Isn’t that what you told me he said? Magic runs on luck. What if that means you become more unlucky the more you use it? And then, what happens if you get unlucky crossing the road? Or on an airplane full of people?”
“Maybe I don’t need airplanes anymore,” M says. I laugh and turn to chastise him some more, but, he is gone.
“Son of a bitch.”
I continue on to the key store. M is standing outside with the smugness of a president-elect.
“Not a word,” I mutter, passing by him into the store.
I manage to fumble through enough Russian to get a price on the keys. I reach into my pocket and find nothing. I check the rest of my pockets. The locksmith stands, impatient. I walk back out.
“My keys are gone.”
M shrugs. “Bad luck.”
“Yeah, your bad-luck, not mine. I can’t go snapping my fingers to get into our apartment.”
“Oh, how about this?” M snaps his fingers. The world turns over. We stand in the middle of our kitchen. I vomit almost immediately.
Belly, the dog, runs to eat as much of it as he can before it can be cleaned.
“Never again!” I cry, “Never again!” I spit the last of the bad taste into the sink.
“Tomorrow we call the landlord, we get new keys, and you knock it off with this magic.”
M looks a bit guilty. He sighs.
“Pinky promise,” and look, “my finger is pink, that is a double promise.”
I look at his held-out finger, it is a glowing neon pink. I glower at him.
“Okay, okay. Last one. Should we grab a drink?”
I nod. “Yes, please.”
M raises his hands.
“No!” I grab his hands. “No, we can walk and get it, like normal people.”
M frowns. “But,” he says, “we have no keys to get back in, so?”
I let go of his hands slowly, thinking.
“Oh, hell with it,” I say.
M grins wide. He claps his hands. Three bottles of whiskey appear on the table.
The lights go out.
To be continued…