The Magician's Apprentice

A "Strange" Encounter

"Your name?"

"Evie."

"Evie what?"

"Just Evie. Care to explain what I'm doing here?"

"Come on, your name can't just be Evie. What's your surname?"

I grit my teeth with frustration. What was with this guy? Ever since he stopped my "disagreement" with these stupid thugs, he lugged me off to God-knows-where and began to interrogate me. At least I wasn't tied up or anything. This guy (I decided to call him Steve) didn't sound threatening, just intrigued.

"Just Evie, okay?" I said impatiently. "I'm Evie, and nothing else. And I'm not going to say another word until you tell me where we are."

"We're at my sanctum on Bleecker Street. Now tell me, Evie, how did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"The thing with the whip."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do."

I threw my hands into the air. "Oh no, you caught me. I was waving a thread-like object at some stupid thugs. Happy now?"

"It looks like to me that you conjured the whip out of thin air."

I blushed. I had hoped he missed that, which he obviously didn't. What else had he seen? I was instantly on guard with Steve. He must have noticed, because he chuckled and said, "I'm not going to report you or anything. In fact, what happens in this room can stay in this room."

Finding this too convenient, I raised an eyebrow and asked snarkily, "Are you sure, Steve?"

"Steve?"

"I dunno—that's what I started calling you in my head," I explained, embarrassed that I slipped up.

"Interesting. My name's Stephen."

"Stephen what?" I asked in a poorly imitated tone of his voice.

"Strange."

I frowned. "What's strange?"

"That's my name: Dr. Stephen Strange. I'm a former neurosurgeon."

I was silent for a moment. What did Steve—I mean Stephen—want with me? And he said former neurosurgeon, so why did he address himself as Dr. Stephen Strange? And, most curious of all, why was he no longer a neurosurgeon?

"What do you mean by former?" I asked, sensing (but not caring) that I was asking a personal question.

For the first time since this conversation started, Stephen sounded awkward. "Well, uh, I got into an accident—a bad one. I got severe nerve damage in my hands and got multiple surgeries."

I nodded. "So you got your hands amputated, or...?"

"Nope."

I blinked. "Then what about your hands?"

"They've healed. Well, as much as they could."

I leaned back in my seat, my curiosity in Stephen dissipating. "That's a lovely story, doc, but I would prefer to have some answers than some random story told."

"It's not random," Stephen said calmly, undeterred by my attitude. "In fact, you should find it quite relatable."

My cheeks flushed again, and Stephen said, "I see I touched a nerve."

I instantly stood up, pushing my chair behind me. "I'm leaving," I snapped. I took several steps, and then froze. I could feel Stephen's gaze burning into me, waiting to see what I would do. We both knew I couldn't leave on my own.