The Arcane Extraction : A Magical Heist

Chapter 3: The Magnificent Maestro Mirage

The serene canvas of white clouds reflected in Ashford Thorne's pensive eyes as he gazed through the airplane window. "Can I get you anything to drink, Sir?" asked the charming airhostess, breaking his contemplation. Ashford briefly pondered, teetering on the edge of refusing the kind offering before acquiescing. "Whiskey, on the rocks, please."

A subtle nod from Ashford signaled his acceptance as he watched the airhostess skillfully prepare the drink. She returned with a smile, presenting a glass adorned with amber liquid, its surface glistening slightly under the cabin's soft glow. "Enjoy your drink, Sir," she said warmly, handing over the glass filled just above a quarter of its capacity.

Ashford reciprocated with a polite smile, acknowledging her gesture with a curt nod before cradling the glass in his hand. He gave a slight rotation to the glass and took a sip, memories flashing in his eyes.

The curtains slowly opened as the music played. A deep voice, often associated with show anchors, faintly echoed throughout the auditorium. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome..." The voice paused for a dramatic effect, followed by a drum roll. "THE MAGNIFICENT MAESTRO MIRAGE." A sudden bang in the center of the stage accompanied a cloud of smoke that appeared out of nowhere. The smoke dispersed, revealing the silhouette of a tall man. Seconds later, the man emerged, appearing no more than in his late thirties. His black top hat obscured most of his hair, but the sides revealed jet black hair except for two long and wide white streaks near his ears. He was elegantly dressed in a black tailcoat, matching black slacks, and Oxford shoes. A beam showcased his white teeth as he looked at his fully packed magical theatre. Thunderous applause filled the room as he removed his top hat, revealing his perfectly combed jet-black hair, and bowed to show his gratitude.

Speaking in a calming yet loud voice, he addressed the audience, "Welcome, everyone! I am delighted to be performing for you all." He waited until the last of the claps died out before continuing, "People often ask me, Maestro Mirage, why do people like to be tricked? Why do they pay you to deceive them?" Pausing for a few seconds, he continued, "I say, why do people marry?" The crowd laughed, and the magician chuckled. "But honestly, people don't think they are being deceived; they like to see something ordinary turned into something extraordinary. If you think about it, we yearn for something extraordinary throughout our lives." He paced to the edge of the stage, taking a kerchief from his coat and displaying it. "Something ordinary. And this is a cloth napkin, which we don't throw away - for the new millennial kids who don't know what it is." A few audience members chuckled. He whisked the kerchief high in the air, and at its maximum height, a white pigeon flew from its place, making the kerchief vanish. "To something extraordinary," he proclaimed, as the crowd erupted in applause. "So let us begin!"

For the next hour or so, the Maestro performed jaw-dropping acts, each one received with gasps and applause from the audience. "And now, let me introduce you to my son, just a boy of 10 and yet I'm sure would win over your hearts just like he did mine, The junior Maestro, Ashford." The crowd applauded again, and a young Ashford walked briskly to the stage and joined his father. Everyone in the theatre could see that Ashford was the splitting image of his father. The boy beamed along with his father, and just like his father, he took off his top hat and bowed.

"Some people are blessed with kids who they trust with their lives, and ladies and gentlemen, I'm one of 'em. What you're about to see is no trick but a pure talent." Mirage walked to the end of the stage where he took five daggers and a bag from the table. The well-polished steel glistened in the highly bright stage. He handed them to Ashford and took long strides to the other end of the stage. He took an apple from the bag and threw it at once. In a swift motion, Ashford threw the dagger which flew, rotating and reflecting the bright stage light, and the crowd took a few seconds to realize the fallen two pieces of apple on the ground while the dagger was sunk into the wooden wall at the end of the stage. There was a huge applause, and soon three more followed as Mirage and Ashford repeated the routine.

"So, how well do I trust my son? By performing the most clichéd act of throws," said Mirage as he removed his top hat and placed the apple on his head. There were a few audible gasps in the crowd. He looked at his son and gave a wink. Ashford threw the dagger, and it went through the apple while the hilt carried the apple, and both the dagger and the apple were lodged in the wooden wall. Another thunderous applause broke as both father and son bowed.

The backstage hummed with lingering applause still echoing in their ears as Ashford and his father, Marius Thorne, known as Maestro Mirage, descended a short wooden staircase. Footsteps echoed in pursuit. "Brother! Brother! That was incredible!" A vivacious girl of about six threw herself at young Ashford, enveloping him in a tight hug. "You're squishing my ribs, Syl," gasped Ashford, eventually prying himself free. A warm feeling washed over him as he looked up to see his mother, rising after placing a kiss atop his head. "None for me, my love?" quipped Marius, earning a playful scowl from Isabella Thorne. "Sylvie, you're here! Where's your mother?" asked Isabella. In response, a woman with bright chestnut hair arrived, breathless. "I can't keep up with you anymore, Sylvie!" she chuckled, joining in their laughter.

"You're just in time, Uncle and Mom!" proclaimed young Sylvia. "Can I explore the stage?" she asked with eager anticipation. "I'll show her around," Ashford volunteered. Together, they stepped onto the stage, and Sylvia radiated excitement, hopping around. "I want to be like you, Ash," she exclaimed. Ashford smiled, "You'll be amazing in your own way, Syl. Just wait and see." Mimicking Ashford and his father, Sylvia took a bow to the empty theater seats. "Allow me to introduce you," Ashford said, clearing his throat dramatically. "Ladies and Gentlemen, get ready for the captivating magic of the Spectacular Sylvia!" Ashford swiftly moved to the audience seats, applauding vigorously. Sylvia burst into laughter, her joy echoing through the now-empty theater.

Attention all passengers on Flight 372 to Florence. We are now approaching our destination. The current local time is 11:30 PM, and the temperature in Florence is a mild 15 degrees Celsius. Please fasten your seat belts and prepare for landing.

Ashford's gaze shifted from the window to the seat belt sign, the memories of the magical stage fading as the airplane descended into the city of Florence under the veil of night