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"Pick a card, any card."
It was standard patter for the average magician. The sort of thing they taught you to say in for you first book of card tricks. Necessary, but totally cliché.
For Danny, it was foreplay.
"Go ahead, pick a card," he said, holding out a neat fan. Henley rolled her eyes, mostly for show. Anything he wanted to show her, even a boring card trick, would be worth seeing. She picked a card and hoped it wasn't a plant. King of hearts. Subtle.
"Have you seen it?" he said seriously. "Have you memorized it?"
"Yes, yes, I've memorized the card."
"Could you put it back in the deck for me, please?" At least he'd said please.
Henley wedged the king back between some cards. Daniel shut the fan with a snap, then launched into a series of impressive, showy shuffles. The reason anyone put up with anything as dull as "pick a card, any card": was because of what followed. The showmanship.
The showmanship of J. Daniel Atlas (a name that made Henley want to throw up sarcastic jazz hands whenever she heard or was forced to say it) was rapid-fire speech and flashy hands.
His patter managed to be both self-deprecating (for laughs) and egotistical to the point of condescending, all at once. The self-deprecating part, she figured, came from the scrawny thirteen-year-old boy who had nothing going for him but magic. He'd grown into someone inexplicably sexy and vastly talented, which was where the ego came from. (Well, not exactly. He thought the sexiness came from the talent. The ego came from the talent, and the sexiness came from the ego.)
"Do you remember when we first met?" asked Danny, staring her down with interest, glancing only periodically at the cards flying through his hands.
Henley had easily fallen under his geek charm spell back when he was just semi-struggling illusionist Daniel Atlas, posting an ad on Craigslist looking for an assistant to help expand his repertoire of tricks. Meeting him in person, he'd seemed awkward, but enthusiastic. You couldn't ignore passion.
"I remember you stammered a lot," she said fondly.
"I only stammered because of you," he said.
"Hmm?"
"You were pretty hot. Are," he corrected quickly. "Are pretty hot. It was... intimidating."
"Flatterer." She'd been attracted to him. How could she not? He had a cute face, a decent body, and as his skills improved, his confidence grew, and she was a sucker for confident men, a habit that had gotten her in trouble on several occasions and likely would again. "Am I less intimidating now, is that what you're telling me?"
"What?" For a moment, just a moment, just a blink, Danny's hands stilled. Something was more important than his latest trick. That was a heady feeling. Henley didn't think anything was more important than the latest trick, in the Land of Atlas. "No, no, you're still pretty damn intimidating. You're really good at what you do. It's difficult not to be a little awed by you, Henley."
This had to be a first, she thought, a statement that came from him without his usual traces of ego or condescension. She was more flattered by that than by the compliment itself. So it wasn't just The Eye paying attention. Still, she had to play it cool, because it was still entirely possible that Daniel, the consummate performer, was just setting her up for something. She'd learned that from unfortunate experience. "Well, maybe I should get some more stage time our next performance, then."
Danny coughed hard and nearly mishandled the cards. Nearly. Jack may have been the one making his living as a sleight of hand pickpocket, but Henley was pretty sure Danny practiced in his sleep, he was frighteningly good with his hands. "Uh, well, it's a, a group decision..."
"And there's that stammer," she said with a smile that bordered on fond. In spite of herself, she'd grown fond of him, in the way you grew fond of a new puppy who kept peeing on your rug. "Am I intimidating you again?"
"Um, yes?"
But Henley wasn't so sure. Danny could be 'intimidated' by her all he liked, but Henley knew what he was really intimidated by was her talent, or anyone's talent, or the idea that anyone's talent might someday overshadow his own. She leaned back into the couch cushions, crossing her arms over her chest. "The Eye contacted us as a group, you know. Entrance is a group effort. This whole initiation is a group effort. So that's something to keep in mind."
"Of course, of course."
"Are you going to do the trick, or what?" said Henley with impatience.
"Trick?"
"Danny. You've been shuffling cards for ages now, is it leading up to anything?"
"Well, you know, that's kind of a metaphor, really, if you think about it. A magician's life is shuffling cards, all leading up to one big reveal, one great trick." On the one hand, she kind of hated all of his speeches about what it meant to be an illusionist, as if she hadn't come to any of these conclusions on her own and hadn't known it going into the business. On the other hand, he seemed to finally be getting to the core of this whole performance. "So in keeping your eyes on the cards, I am, in my own way, keeping your eyes on me, keeping you focused on me."
"You love it when people are focused on you."
"I love it when you're focused on me." He flashed her that devil-may-care grin. Henley felt herself getting caught up in it, in him, all over again. That was his gift.
"But the point is," he continued, "that at the end of it, the audience is left knowing something different, learning that something isn't what they thought it was." The cards exploded from his hands, cascading over the couch, coffee table, and floor haphazardly, getting wedged in between the cushions and pillows. It was a rookie move, and Henley wondered if maybe she was intimidating him, if something had changed. Danny looked at her sharply. "Or maybe someone isn't who you thought they were," he said. His voice was soft. He shifted aside his blazer, just a fraction of an amount, to reveal the razor-thin line of a playing card peeking out of his pocket. Henley knew what it would be even before she reached for it, but she reached anyway.
He pulled away just as her fingers grazed his jacket.
"It is a group thing," he said, squeezing her fingers in his hand, holding her until he was done. "And it's not up to me. But if it were, we wouldn't be the Four Horsemen, we'd just be us. We work well together. Really well. I never said it then, and I probably should have, but I'm saying it now."
"So you're saying you want to break away from the group when the initiation is done?" asked Henley, not sure where he was going with this.
"I'm saying I want to work with you. In whatever capacity you want. If you're interested in a partnership, that is."
"I'll... think about it." Henley had waited actual years for this; she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of agreeing to anything immediately.
"In any capacity," he said again, staring at her intently.
"No, I got it."
"I don't think you... I mean, I don't just mean work, you know." He was stammering again. "I mean, I want to be with you. However you want that to be."
"Danny." Henley extracted her hand gently from his. "I got it." She leaned in, and this time he didn't stop her, finally letting the patter fall away to nothingness as she kissed him. Even as her mouth was on his, her hand was inside his pocket, constantly practicing, pulling out the card.
King of hearts. Subtle.