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“Angela,” Johann Weisz shouted over the roar of the wind that shook the rock he was hiding behind, “I need you to get up and over to Cass.”

“I’m kinda busy right now,” he heard back in his head, Angela Newman relaying her mental response through Tommy who sat safe and sound away from the fight.

“Well I need you to be busy over with Cass.”

“Damn it, Weisz.”

“I can do it,” came back a reply from elsewhere.

“No, Sal, I need you here.”

“Johann!” Cassandra now interrupted.

Weisz cursed out loud, not caring whether or not Tommy relayed his words to the rest of the team.

Since the moment they set out everything had gone south. This was supposed to go down seamlessly, a simple snatch and grab a weakened Erlend Romanov. Instead they ran headfirst into this other gang, something that shouldn’t have been there, and nothing had gone right since.

Weisz cursed again, reached into his pocket and pulled out the damn stick he was embarrassed to ever use but needed now more than ever.

“I fuckin’ hate magic,” he said, standing up and spinning toward the enemy, arm outstretched, wand ready.

Post Modern #3
Magic
By Jason S. Kenney

March, 2002

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“You gotta love magic,” Weisz said as he lounged on the chair on the far side of the room, the only one seated.

The rest of the room glared at him with varying degrees of hate, though none stronger than General Michael Eustace.

Weisz sat in the Department of Homeland Security’s offices in New York, welcoming home The Seven, the American government’s post modern team. The very same team that had just been made fools of in the streets of New York by Australia’s New Mages. Weisz was a New Mage and reveling in the victory.

“You have brawn, we have brawn,” continued Weisz, leaning forward as he spoke. “You have flight, we have flight. You have chicks, we have chicks. But what we have that you don’t is me.”

“Would somebody please kill this pissant for me,” said Eustace, turning to leave the room as Angela Newman stepped forward, pointing at Weisz, a spout of fire shooting from her hand at him.

Weisz held out his hand wielding his wand and muttered a word that stop the shot in mid-air and redirected it back toward Eustace, catching him in the ass of his pants.

General Eustace cursed and spun back around, swatting at his backside the whole time.

“And that’s why you lose,” Weisz said with a smirk.

“What the hell do you want?” Eustace said.

Weisz pushed himself out of the chair.

“We may have beaten you but Pacific City and its heroes are on the downswing. Besides, I’m just there for one thing and once I have it I’m gone.”

“Your point?”

“You want an in and want to kick some Aussie ass. I need a golden parachute.”

***

“So how do you do it?”

Weisz looked over his shoulder from where he at on the edge of the bed to Newman still under the covers, relaxed, a half smile on her face.

“Do what exactly?”

“Magic,” Newman clarified. “Or whatever it is you do. Like that redirecting my fire thing.”

Weisz smirked.

“There’s a cliche that forbids me from telling you anything.”

“It’s not magic, though, is it?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“There’s no slight of hand, no quick change behind a curtain. What you do, it goes beyond that.”

“Maybe. Or maybe what you think is magic is just the surface.”

“So that hocus pocus stuff is real?”

Weisz shrugged and left his answer at that.

“How do you do what you do?” he asked.

“What, the fire?” Weisz nodded. “It’s genetic.”

“The ability to do it is, sure, but to harness it like you do, direct it, control it, how do you do that?”

“Practice, I guess.”

“Then there you go.”

“So magic is all about practice?”

“Practice and knowledge and ability, all of it. What good is generating fire if you can’t control it or don’t even know you can do it to begin with?”

“So you can do it because you believe you can do it?”

“I can do it because I know I can do it. And because I make you think I can do it. That’s the real trick.”

“So I’m easily fooled.”

“We all see what we want to see. Half of a magician’s job is to make you want to see what I want you to see. The other half is just luck.”

“So is this all a trick of the eye or is this just luck?”

Weisz looked back over to her, the sheet draped across her naked body, her hair falling around her face, her smile, the fire in her eyes.

He smirked.

“A true magician never reveals.”

***

Weisz opened his eyes to find himself back in Pacific City, standing on the rooftop of an apartment building. But he was not alone.

“Good morning, Eldritch,” he said with a sigh to the woman that stood by the fire escape with her arms crossed.

“Afternoon, actually. I will give you one chance to be honest with me and tell me where you’ve been.”

“Out,” he said, walking toward and past her, climbing onto the fire escape.

“What were you doing in New York?” she asked and he stopped. “Don’t play dumb, I can smell the damn place on you.”

“I have things to do, Eldritch.”

“Are they helping or hurting?”

Weisz shook his head and started down the fire escape. He stopped as Eldritch reached over and grabbed his arm.

“Jeffery’s busting his ass here, you know,” she said.

Weisz jerked his arm away.

“Right, and the rest of us are just fiddling while the city burns.”

“Are you?”

Weisz narrowed his eyes and then shook his head, continuing down the escape.

***

“There’s a change in plans.”

“You can’t just change the plans, Weisz,” said Eustace.

“I just need to add another immunity.”

“Who?”

“Cassandra Trellis.”

“Why?”

“None of your damn business.”

“Her daddy’s powerful enough to take care of her himself.”

“I want her covered. Insurance.”

“And what do we get in return?”

Weisz hesitated.

“You see, you keep coming in here with requests and demands and we I grant them, but at some point you need to give back. So I ask you, Mr. Weisz, what exactly is in it for us?”

“What do you propose, General?”

“I want names and identites. I want to know who the New Mages are.”

“That’s an awfully big betrayal you’re asking of me.”

“You sitting here is an awfully big betrayal.”

“Granted.”

“Names, Weisz.”

Johann Weisz sat back in his chair and thought about it.

***

Weisz threw the water onto Jeffery Carter’s face and couldn’t help but smile as Carter suddenly sat up then balled up and rolled off the couch and onto the floor.

“There’s my amusement for the day,” Weisz said, tossing the now empty cup onto the floor.

Carter started to move, groaned as he eased himself out of the fetal position and rolled onto his back on the floor, his hands clutching his gut where he’d been run through with a sword the night before.

“Where’s Eldritch?” he asked.

“Beats me,” Weisz said, walking toward the apartment’s kitchen. “You want something to drink?”

“What day is it?”

“Tuesday,” Weisz said, opening the fridge and pulling out a couple beers. “Where have you been?”

“Didn’t you get me out of the way?”

“Sure, but I left you on the roof,” said Weisz as he walked back to Carter. “Here.” Carter looked up to Weisz holding a beer out to him. “Come on, I’m being nice to you. Take it.”

Carter pushed himself up and took the beer.

“You just left me on a roof?”

“I had somewhere to be.”

”Where?”

“Somewhere else. Just be thankful I got you out of there.”

Carter took a drink off his beer and Weisz did the same.

“Why did you?” asked Carter.

Weisz smirked.

“To keep things interesting.”

Weisz took another drink while Carter studied him.

“Why are you being nice to me, Weisz?”

“Because I’m out of here,” Weisz said, standing up and walking toward the kitchen.

“Leaving town?”

“Yep. You kids are too fucked up for me.”

Weisz set his beer down on the counter and sighed.

“A bit of advice, Jeffery. Get out while you can.”

“I can’t leave, Weisz. Not with what’s coming.”

Weisz shook his head.

“What’s coming is why you should leave.”

Weisz headed toward the door but stopped when Carter spoke.

“What’s coming, Weisz? What do you know?”

Weisz smirked and shook his head again.

“What have you done?”

“Hopefully I’ve saved this city,” Weisz said with a shrug. “But only time will tell, I guess.”

And Weisz left the apartment.

***

Weisz stared through the drink his hand was wrapped around and sulked. The TV in the corner soundlessly mocked him, its subtitles spelling out his failure as footage showed a destroyed landscape and a crater where a once vibrant, very populated city had stood only a day before.

He didn’t move as the woman stepped next to him and settled into the empty stool there, looking at his face while he just continued to stare.

“Now’s not a good time,” he said, knocking back and finishing off his drink.

“Never is going to be a good time,” Angela Newman said, catching the bartender’s attention. “What are you drinking?”

“Not now, Angela.”

“Give him another of whatever he was having,” she said to the bartender, “and I’ll take one too.”

Weisz sighed and narrowed his eyes.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Can’t a gal just get a drink?” He glared at her and she smiled.

“Is this you coming to bring me in?”

“For what?”

“There is no Pacific City, no New Mages, no Romanov or Romanova, the aces up my sleeve are played out. Now I’m a liability.”

“That’s an awfully big assumption,” Newman said as their drinks were set in front of them.

“That I’m a liability?”

“That there are no New Mages.” Newman picked up her drink. “Or that there is no Erland Romanov.”

Weisz looked at her as she drank.

“What do you know?”

Newman smiled.

***

“So Erlend Romanov survived?”

“As far as we can tell.”

Weisz leaned back and stared through the table. The rest of the group waiting for his response.

“Is he the only one to survive?”

“Well, there were refugees…”

“Not the refugees,” Weisz said, glaring at the man to his right who cringed. “The New Mages. Are any of the others alive.”

The man shuffled a bit, cleared his throat and shook his head.

“Not that we can confirm.”

“Damn,” Weisz said, leaning forward. “OK, I want full access to whatever information you guys have on American science heroes.”

“Post moderns,” corrected another man.

“Doesn’t matter, I want data. I need a full report on every current member of The Seven, ever other science hero or post modern or powered up piece of shit the government has tabs on, I want it all.”

“What do you want it for?” asked General Eustace from the other end of the table.

Weisz smiled.

“I’m going to do what you couldn’t do, General. I’m going to build a team of winners and I’m going to beat the shit out of Erlend Romanov.”

Eustace snorted.

“With what? Parlor tricks?”

“That’s half of it.”