Tales of a Magician, The Inquiry

Chapter 4

"Okay, okay, slow down." Monty pinched the bridge of his nose. They were sitting in a deli, blocks away from the incident. Someone had surely called the cops with all of Monty's screaming. His uncle waited patiently for him to finish as he ate his own sandwich, Monty hadn't touched his food nor had he even thought about it. "You're my uncle... Scott. How come I've never met you?"

Scott finished his bite. "Nick never mentioned me? Damn, that man could hold a grudge."

"You guys had a fight?"

"Oh, a nasty one. He nearly took my head clean off my shoulders. Then again, in his defense, I did give him a pretty big scar on his face."

"You did that?"

Scott nodded and took another bite. "Yep."

"What was the fight about?..."

He shook his head and wiped his mouth with his napkin. "That's not important. What is important is that I now have you and we can find him."

"What do you mean? How do we do that?"

Scott grabbed Monty's wrist and held it up. "With this."

Monty furrowed his brow in confusion. "The ring?... Okay, what's the deal with this stupid ring?"

"This 'stupid ring' is the lifeblood of all your father's magic."

"Which brings me to another question." Monty pulled back his arm. "What the absolute fuck is happening?? How did you do that thing in the bar, and then in the alleyway, and like no one even noticed, it was broad fucking daylight. And lifeblood?? Magic?? You can't just drop that on me and expect me to be like 'Oh yeah, dude, that's cool'-"

"Okay," Scott sighed impatiently and stood up. "I think it would be better to just show you."

"Show me?"

"Just go with it. There's something called suspense, kid."

Scott opened the glass doors of a very familiar bookstore. Monty looked around, confused. This was the bookstore he had been going to since he was little. His father used to take him there all the time.

"What are we doing here?" Monty asked.

Scott walked around, looking through every isle to make sure no one was there before walking up to the cashier.

"How've you been, Gerald?"

The cashier, who Monty had known to work there since he could remember, stared at Scott in shock.

"Scott Winstead?" The old man adjusted his glasses. "I haven't seen you in years."