Magician's Fire by Simon Nicholson

thought again of that left-behind walking cane in the dressing room, surrounded by a few wisps of purple smoke.
    â€œIt’s all right, Harry. I know you didn’t mean it.” Arthur tugged his friend’s sleeve and swerved to the left. “Anyway, it’s time to get started.”
    They walked a few blocks, and then across the street was the New York Library. Pillars towered at the top of wide marble steps, and Arthur led Harry and Billie up them, through a pair of huge bronze doors, and into the enormous entrance hall. It dwarfed his tiny tweed-suited figure, but there was something impressive about the speed with which he marched across the hall, his fingers clicking at his sides, his tie flapping over his shoulder.
    â€œI dropped in here earlier actually, checked a few things, made a good start. But I’m going to need you to draw that mustache again, Harry.”
    â€œNo problem, Artie.” Harry followed his friend.
    â€œThe snake and sword design too. Maybe you’ll remember something else about it this morning. Every detail counts if we’re to find out who he is…”
    Arthur led them into the reading room, with its high windows and hunched figures scribbling at desks. A swerve to the left and he pushed through a door. Scampering down a corkscrewing staircase, he led them to the library’s musty basement and started weaving his way through its maze of corridors, each one lined with thousands of books. Fingers still clicking, he didn’t hesitate even slightly as he found his way through.
    â€œYou sure do know this library well, Artie,” said Harry.
    â€œCertainly spent enough time here. Remember, before I met you guys, there wasn’t exactly much else for me to do.” His voice had gone quiet. Harry peered at him in the gloom and knew that the quietness had nothing to do with the various signs saying “Silence” and hanging nearby. “Anyway, who cares about that? We’re here.”
    â€œI’ll get drawing,” said Harry.
    They were at the end of the corridor. A desk stood covered with carefully stacked piles of books and papers, and Harry immediately sat down at it. Pinned to the wall behind were the various drawings that he had sketched for Arthur the previous night, different attempts at the curling mustache and silver brooch. Immediately, he grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and a pencil, and started drawing again.
    Nearby, Arthur climbed a wheeled ladder and started leafing through books on a high shelf. Billie pushed the ladder along so that he could make his way through them at high speed. Harry worked away, trying to remember what he had seen with even more care. Once the drawings were done, he held them up. Billie was beside him immediately, snatching them out of his hand and springing up the ladder with them.
    â€œUseful,” said Arthur, studying the sketches. “I’m definitely onto something.”
    Clever stuff , thought Harry, watching his friend tear through books at an even greater speed. It was one thing to be able to spot so many details—and another to know what to do with those details. Billie was hard at work too, leaping up and down that ladder, and transporting tottering piles of books back to the desk. Sitting back, Harry gripped the pencil in his fist and wondered if there was anything else he could draw.
    The face itself? But that would be much harder than simply drawing a mustache or a snake. It would take a highly experienced artist to capture the glimmer of those eyes, the shadowiness of those features, the cruelness of that mouth, all of which had combined to make that face so unsettling. Who was that sinister, bulky figure? Harry’s grip on the pencil tightened as he thought back to that exact moment, halfway up the aisle, when he had noticed the wisp of smoke and looked up to see that piercing gaze…
    â€œWe’re just getting started.” Billie was taking a break, sitting