“A fish doesn’t know it’s in water, boy.” Bosck’s tone was solemn, almost damning. “Just as a boy raised in danger, does not know when danger draws near. Vigilance will serve you well. Arrogance will not.”

The heft of Bosck’s payment felt weightless across my back. I embraced the packaged ledger, binding the book with my arms across my chest and shifted the straps of the guitar case, drawing the brass sliding adjustor to hold the center of balance closer to my body. I needed to feel its comfort. I looked down and spun the nail ring around my finger nervously.

We sat in the shop again, Bosck behind his counter, as I sat upon it.

“One of your parents, am I correct? One of your parents was a Keeper.”

“My mother.” I spoke, avoiding his eye. “My father I know nothing of. He left while my mother was pregnant. Mother spoke little of him, but always respectfully. She had loved him dearly.”

“And what happened to her?” Bosck approached the topic with blunt words but a gently tone.

“I was told she was killed by the White Hand. I was being trained by a maestro at the time. I was 11.” My mind flashed with images from memories that didn’t seem to belong to me. I wiped my palm across my forehead, trying to clear them from my thoughts.

Bosck let me sift through my thoughts before he spoke again. “Were you close with your mother?”

“For a time, yes. For a time, no. My mother grew increasingly pre-occupied during my youth. At a point she left me to the maestro, and the times I saw her diminished, as the intensity of each encounter  escalated. I almost began to fear her towards the end.”

Bosck nodded, knowingly. “I can guess how you developed your skill, then. You held music in her place. It was her steward. You found a comforting hand and a nurturing spirit in music.” He squinted in an almost accusatory manner. “But you also began to find yourself. Your angst, your anger, your sadness. A place to spill the aspects of your spirit that were hard to speak aloud. You found a complexity in the music, a depth that shaped you as much as you shaped it.”

I thought on this, revisiting choice moments of my past. I was silent for several moments. It was my turn to nod.

“It explains your impetuous style. You erupt with the feelings you neglect. You have much to learn of yourself.”

“Learning more of you seems more pressing.”

Bosck smirked as if preparing to dazzle an audience. “At the risk of bordering the obvious, I am a man who enjoys some level of mystery. However, I agree,  the time has come to shed a bit of light,” the light in the room seemed to spread and brighten. How colorful. Bosck couldn’t help but grin. “Let’s start on my favorite subject, shall we? Me.”

“I find the dance around this subject to be a bit boring.” I can be quite an ass if the situation demands. Bosck’s ego was nothing if not demanding.

“Give it a moment, I think you may warm up to it.” Bosck chuckled as he waved down my comment. “In my youth, I had an interest that I held on a pedestal not unlike your own. In fact, like your own, I inherited it from someone who had grown very special to me.” Bosck’s face grew vacant with nostalgia, and then he shook his face a bit, waking himself, sending his tired skin in tides across his face. “I had a very close friend who grew obsessed with illusions.”

“Parlor magic?” I scoffed. “Here, I thought you were a man of science and engineering.”

“Am I not? Has there not been magic since the first people? Csaba’s closest friend, Othayn, created the very art as a means to tease and mock Csaba. Jester to the God, Othayn was, making laughable miracles, sometimes creating amazing ones, himself. He aided the people in another way, bringing them mysteries that would draw their minds together, creating brotherhood in a way that Csaba could never accomplish.”

“You seem to add a lot of color to the stories, codger. You may be old, but you do not look ancient. These are not your friends.” I laughed dismissively.

Bosck’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Do your songs feel so distant from friends? ”

I spread my hands in acquiescence and gestured for him to continue.

“The basics of illusions state that the majority of tricks hold 3 fundamental and essential parts. The first being the pledge, where a subject is introduced. It is usually an object or a person. It should be ordinary. Now, unfortunately, in our case, I am the pledge and as we have come to determine, I am anything but ordinary. However, I am not so extraordinary that I would be outside the requirements.” Bosck was having a ball, while I was growing impatient.

“The next piece would be the turn. You show the audience, or in our case, a poor vagrant, something they have never seen, that seems to change the subject,” Bosck gestured towards me with an open palm, “and the vagrant’s, perspective on what is possible within the world, to something incredible that makes the new reality exclusive, restricting it from ever returning to what it was. Now, I have shown you many things. If you looked closely you would have noticed even more, but the audience never looks too closely, as they don’t want to. They want to believe the illusion is real, that the magic is real.” I watched as Bosck removed the blanket from across his lap and saw that he had what appeared to be mechanical legs. With a grin, he lifted one leg above the other, folded at what seemed to be a knee, and crossed one metal leg over the other.  “And in turn, the magic of illusion really exists. It merely exists in the mind of the audience, or of you, dear boy.”

I stood, mouth agape.

Bosck continued on, almost as if nothing had changed. “Lastly is the prestige. Mind you, this is the hardest part. It’s where you bring back what you have taken away, the ordinary.  Now, as you may guess, this may become a bit of a problem, as I am unable to return my old legs. So let us set about another trick. A trick wherein, you, boy, are the pledge. Seemingly ordinary, you are well within the realm of understanding. Especially for an old man like me, who has seen much of the world.” Bosck turned yet another lever on his chair and it lifted him free, pushing him into a standing position on his motorized legs. They popped and hissed as they straightened. It was both dazzling and disturbing. And then something even more miraculous happened. He began to walk towards me.