Inkling

1.3 The Sinister Influence of Ira Rose - The Formal Introduction

New York City 1876

Ira Rosenberg was born into a world of magic. Or, more accurately, a family of magic. In the world there are admittedly few families consisting entirely of those born with natural magic, but the Rosenberg family was one of them. Though their exact origin is obscured in the tangled thread of time and poor documentation, they like to say they originated in Jerusalem, though it is much more likely they came from somewhere else in Israel entirely. Whatever the case, the Rosenberg family was large, powerful Jewish family - of varying devotion - and entirely full of magic.

When it came to magic, Ira Rosenberg was rather a late bloomer. He preferred daydreaming and tree climbing to incantations and magical history lessons. When he finally (at the embarrassingly late age of 4) started to break all of the objects in a room when upset, his mother cried with joy. The family 'miracle' (as it was often referred to around non-magical people) would carry on in their only child.

Perhaps it was this pressure of being the only child in a family that historically had five or six to each set of parents, that spurred Ira's choices. No matter the cause, it was Ira Rosenberg who first noticed Max's inkling toward magic.

It is important to note that, though the entire family held a natural ability of magic, the Rosenbergs strongly frowned upon the idea of street magic. The semi-secret society (which all old magic families belonged to) had outlawed street magic in case a lesser person was to happen upon the truth. Therefore, at the tender age of 11, Ira set out to the most remote part of New York he could think of, outside the scope of his parents. To avoid recognition he called himself Ira Rose and performed small, shimmering illusions for other children. It just so happened that a very small Max Wayde lived on Ira's favorite street, a small one that more resembled an alley than a street, called Castor Lane. Castor Lane intersected (at a 20 degree angle) with some main street or other, but was often looked over. Small, broken looking things often are.

Max was two years old when Ira started making illusions on his street corner. He was, as all small children are, amazed. It was not until Max reached the age of 5 that he began to truly notice the illusions. Notice in the way that one feels a stranger's gaze on their back; with electricity through their veins and fire under their skin. Ira felt Max's first "realization" like static shock down his spine. Ira Rosenberg was a kid caught in a downward spiral and, without intending to, pulled Max down with him.

It started slow, a crisp Wednesday in October of 1873. Ira approached Max during a street game. Max felt immensely important, being pulled aside by an older boy and a known street illusionist no less.

"Hello, what's your name?" Ira said, leaning down to be at Max's eye level.

"Max." He said, clasping his hands together and twisting back and forth nervously. Ira laughed, placing a hand on Max's shoulder.

"I'm Ira Rose and I wished to introduce myself." Ira stood up and turned to leave but little Max grabbed at his jacket sleeve.

"But why?"

"Because you are special, Max." Ira replied quietly, like it was their secret. Like he knew how much Max loved secrets. His father had told him, since he was old enough to even remotely understand, that secrets kept little boys safe. Certain things were their secret, like the games of hiding when scary men would come to the house. Or when mother was angry. The hiding games made things not scary. The secrets made things fun, and secrets kept little boys safe.