John smiled triumphantly to himself. The show had been a success; the manifestation spell had worked and the band had gelled together as though they'd been playing as a group their whole lives. The crowd at the club had gone wild, and his little display of "pyrotechnics"—a little subtle elemental magic, not that anyone needed to know—had been the final touch.

As he made his way through the clubbers, still lively and partying the night away, John noticed the Mucous Membrane merch had sold out, and the person at the table now had a deck of tarot cards out, offering readings to patrons. He arched an eyebrow; the tip jar was already half-full of bills, mostly ones and fives, but a couple twenties were in there, too.

He watched in silence as the reading continued, the club goer's facial expressions telling John everything he needed to know. The guy was eating it all up, every word. John had to admit, the tarot reader's little performance was solid, and the smooth voice with a soothing and pleasant rhythm made it easy for the client to relax. Most tarot readers were little more than charlatans, he knew; he'd met many a fake in the occult circles he frequented, all very eager to show off their "magical" powers.

The client left, satisfied, and John approached the table with a charming smile. "Looks like you're stealing my audience here, love. Maybe you ought to be my opening act." He took a seat in the chair facing the reader. "Mind giving a demonstration? For the lead singer of the band you're overshadowing with your party trick?"

He'd said that, but truth was, there was a little hint of magic to this one. A scent, you could say. Magic left an aftertaste in the air, a lingering feeling, a smell like the ozone scent of a storm. There was a subtle, very faint aura around the tarot reader. Not enough to indicate the reader was a full-fledged magician, but enough to make John wonder.

"Come now, love. Surely you can humor me."