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Wesley Augustus Sanderson has built his name on alternative medicine. Really, it’s more a combination of alternative medicine, pseudo-science, and faith healing. Things that can almost be proven—or sound like they can be proven, have been half-proven at one point or another, and the rest is filled in with authentic-sounding nonsense. He’s more than happy to take credit for every success that he can, and brushes the failures off as experiments, or something that the other participants didn’t do correctly.
But between all of the scientific journals, he reads every Book of Shadows and alternative magic guide that he can find. His browser history is full of conspiracy and “unexplained mystery” and witchcraft sites. The only television he watches that isn’t related to his work is the same sort of thing. It isn’t that he believes in otherworldly powers—he wants to believe in them. That’s what makes the con perfect.
The White Rabbit is… Not a good idea. Parker’s the one to bring it up, and she wrinkles her nose even as she mentions it. Eliot shakes his head without a word, and Hardison’s a lot more verbal on his disagreement.
“Well, then, what? We’ve done a magic show before, but that’s not the kind of thing that’ll fool this guy.”
“It’s gotta be something that’ll convince him magic is real without going over the top,” Eliot says. “You go too far, he’ll decide you’re a fraud even if the con’s perfect.”
“You’re thinking too big,” says Hardison. The next thing he pulls up on the screen is an X-Men poster with Patrick Stewart and James McAvoy on it.
“Mutants?” Eliot asks. “You want to try to make him think that mutants, enhanced humans, are out there? How well do you think that’ll go over with someone who knows he doesn’t have any superpowers?” He stops when he realize that Hardison and Parker are both watching him, somewhere between interested and shocked. “What? I dated one of the stuntmen.”
“Riiight,” Hardison says, drawing the single word out as Parker nods, still giving Eliot a skeptical look. “No. I’m saying we make him think that some things are possible, if you practice hard enough. Like telepathy.” Parker draws back and narrows her eyes at Hardison.
“Telepathy?”
“Well.” Hardison grins, pulling an earbud out and setting it on the table. A smile starts to spread across Parker’s face. “If we can prove that someone knows the details of a conversation that they were nowhere near, and there was no possible way that they should be able to know…”
“How’s that going to go when this guy wants us to read his mind?” Eliot asks.
“Guess he just didn’t practice hard enough,” Hardison says.