Page 82 of Impractical Magic

He stared off into the middle distance. “Don’t remember no man.”

“But it was literally two seconds ago. He was wearing a tuxedo? He had a rabbit for crying out loud!”

“Didn’t see no rabbit.”

“But . . . I don’t . . .” Delilah was utterly flummoxed. “He was just . . .”

Scarlett finally caught up, breathing hard. “You move pretty fast for a desk jockey, Del,” she said between pants. “Hey, old-timer, where’s the magician headed?”

“He says he didn’t see anyone,” Delilah said furiously.

Scarlett studied him, and he peered back at her expectantly. Then Scarlett noticed a bucket by the old man’s feet. “Oh, I see. Here, take this.” She tossed all the coins she’d won from SpongeBob into his bucket. And then, reconsidering, she snapped her fingers and doubled the amount.

The man grinned. “He was asking me about the Vanishing Point—it’s a magician hangout. That a’way.”

“What the hell!” Delilah complained.

“Information ain’t free,” the man said simply. “Data is king.”

Scarlett just shrugged. “Vegas, baby. C’mon, Del, let’s go.”

“Hey!” the man called after them. “It’s members only, you know! You want help getting in?”

Delilah hollered over her shoulder. “We got it, thanks.”

The sisters took off running down the brightly lit boulevard. Giant billboards and neon signs for different shows and attractions assaulted their senses from all directions. Scarlett and Delilah dodged throngs of tourists as they scanned the crowds for any sign of Max. They passed a squat, nondescript building with no signage—it was like a black hole in the center of the dazzlingly lit surroundings. But there was a man standing by an unmarked door—a veritable mountain of a human, decked out in a bespoke leather jacket, enormous reflective sunglasses, and a chestful of gold chains. He leaned against the building with his arms folded.

Scarlett stopped running. “Look at him,” she whispered to her sister. “Does he look like the kind of guy who stands beside any old door for no reason whatsoever?”

Delilah considered this. “Vanishing Point?”

“Vanishing Point.”

The sisters confidently approached the bouncer.

“Members only,” he rumbled.

Delilah tilted her head slightly, lifting two fingers to her temple. She appeared as though she was about to make an incredibly incisive point, which, in fact, she was: “We are members.”

The bouncer gazed at her for a moment, then nodded. “Of course you are.” He pushed open the door, and they were in.

Sotto voce, Scarlett said, “We’re not the witches you’re—”

“Shut up, Scar.”

The sisters made their way down a dimly lit hallway leading to a small antechamber. The walls were draped with dark velvet curtains, muffling the raucous Strip outside. A single unmarked door stood at the end of the passage.

Scarlett hesitated, nerves abruptly getting the better of her. What if these magicians despise witches as much as Max apparently does . . . but there’s a lot of them? And even if we find Max, what will we do with him?

But Delilah had no such hesitation. She strode up to the blank door and, without preamble, turned the handle. It was locked.

“Open sesame?” Delilah suggested to the door, but there was no response. “Shazam, perhaps?”

“Swordfish!” Scarlett exclaimed, but to no effect. “Not Marx Brothers fans I guess.”

“Oh! I know,” Delilah realized. “Duh. Abracadabra!”

The door opened smoothly and Delilah disappeared inside.