> The Opening Act
>  by thedarkprep
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> 1 - The Headliners
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Opening Act





Chapter One 


The Headliners








It’s not every day that someone has a close encounter with magic.

Some go their entire lives looking for that spectacle, that enchantment that blurs the line between reality and disbelief. Very few ever find it. Luckily for the students at Canterlot High School and, more specifically, the visiting students from the Crystal Prep Academy, they had Trixie Lulamoon.

An announcement rang out over the school intercoms calling for students to make their way to the front courtyard. CPA and CHS students alike began filing out of the school building in disorganized groups, but Trixie remained flush against the wall, scanning the unaware passersby for her desired quarry. Not long after that she spotted them, three CPA stragglers had broken off from the larger group—easy pickings.

Trixie took one more moment to analyze their stride before separating from the wall and taking an alternate route at an unassuming pace. As soon as she rounded the corner, however, a surge of adrenaline hastened her along way back through the labyrinth of hallways. Once she reached her desired intersection, she stopped and waited. And yet, while she was now at rest, her heartbeat only quicked further, her senses sharpening. 

Thirty-nine, Thirty-eight, Thirty-seven, she counted down, her mind’s eye focused on the pace she had seen and estimating their trajectory. Of course, there was always room for error, and so she listened. As her countdown hit seventeen, she heard footsteps against the tile floors. As her countdown hit eight, the footsteps were close enough to strike.

Concealed by her cloak were pouches of smoke powder and flash powder, from both of which she scooped a handful. Closing her eyes she discharged the powder around the corner. Then, guided entirely by sound, she jumped into what she knew to be an empty spot and made her grand entrance.

“Behold trespassers, for you stand in the presence of the Great and Powerful Trixie!” she bellowed with a flourish of her cloak, which began to disperse the smoke. “While most in this place would shun you based on your school of choice, Trixie stands above such petty rivalries and has chosen you three to witness acts beyond comprehension. Consider yourselves favored amongst the few.”

As the last of the smoke faded, she was finally able to get a good look at her targets. Two of the three, a boy and a girl, were still recovering from the effects of the flash powder, blinking hazily. The girl was also in the midst of a coughing fit, despite the fact that the smoke bomb was contained to Trixie’s side of the hallway, causing Trixie to struggle not to roll her eyes. Instead, she focused her attention on the third member of the group.

While he wore the same uniform as the other guy in the group, his jacket was unbuttoned, exposing his tie and his belt with a triple-star buckle. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow giving him a very relaxed attitude, matched perfectly by his spiky jet-black hair. 

“Trespassers, huh?” he said, eyes behind black sunglasses which perfectly complimented his unamused frown.

Of course that’s the part he focuses on.

“Figure of speech, really,” Trixie continued. “In any case, the Great and Powerful Trixie suggests you three prepare yourselves. The feats you are about to behold are not to be witnessed lightly!”

The boy still looked unimpressed, turning to look from Trixie to the pair behind him. Trixie looked as well to see the other student helping the girl steady herself and her breathing. She noted how close they were, his hand on her side, and made note of it in her mind as the student with sunglasses turned his attention back to her.

“I think we’re good actually,” he said. “You’ve done plenty and, in case you didn’t hear, the final event is gonna start outside soon. I think it’s best if we go and act like this didn’t happen.”

Trixie didn’t flinch or react for a second, accustomed as she was to the sound of shutting doors. Instead she took note of the student in front of her. The glasses, the belt buckle, the spiked hair, none of which could be in compliance with the dress code of a place as fru-fru and stuck up as Crystal Academy. He was different from the other students and, on top of that, he was surprisingly familiar.

Yes, all he’s really missing is headphones.

She then focused on the way he had looked at his classmates. There had been something there as well. She’d already gathered something but that look was the missing piece. She knocked on the door again.

“Oh come now,” Trixie practically purred. “You can’t honestly tell Trixie you’re that concerned about the games. The silliness of school rivalries notwithstanding, she is sure you’re bound to win as you always do, whether you three go out there or not. As for your friends there, you don’t need to look so worried. They’re not hurt in any way. In fact, this might help them along. A bit of a scare, a chance for the young man to help his lady, and a magic show afterwards? Sounds like the perfect opportunity for a developing romance, wouldn’t you agree?”

The effect was immediate. The student in front of her looked at her confused while, behind him, both sets of eyes snapped to her—squinting and suspicious. They looked to each other, unaware of who exactly, what exactly, had given this stranger her information. The confusion would hold long enough for her purposes.

“As for you,” she continued. “Trixie is asking for a chance to show her skills and talents to a new audience. Despite what you might think, the Great and Powerful Trixie is no mere amateur, and the show you stand to witness is surely a better use of your time than watching students blindly search for flags outside. Trixie merely asks for a bit of your time, like an audition of sorts. Surely as a fellow performer, you can understand. Or is the field of music so privileged you’ve never had to fight for a willing ear?”

His spine straightened.

“Do you know me?”

Trixie smiled.

“Oftentimes it is within a magician’s power to know things she should have no way of knowing,” Trixie explained. “Not only is this within Trixie’s scope but, within her repertoire, it is one of Trixie’s lesser abilities. Would you like to see what else she can muster?”

The boy with the sunglasses looked to his friends again and something unspoken passed between the three—unspoken but not unreadable. In their blinking, in their questioning glances, in their hesitation, Trixie could read their unmistakable curiosity.

Got them.

“Alright, Great and Powerful Trixie,” the student with sunglasses finally said, with more emphasis than was probably necessary. “Show us what you’ve got.”

“With pleasure.”

With practiced grace, Trixie shot out her left arm, tussling her hair in the process, and performed a complicated finger roll. With all eyes on her outstretched hand, her other hand found its way into the cards she always carried in her pocket for impromptu performances, discretely palming them. With the cards safely concealed, she brought her left arm in again, bringing it to the middle. Her hands connected and, in time with the clapping sound, the cards flushed outwards into a fan, seemingly out of thin air. In all, the maneuver took about a second and a half from start to finish. Her heart was racing. Her breathing was steady. Her eyes studied the faces of her audience: a soft smile, a gaping mouth, the removal of sunglasses.

And I’ve done nothing yet. She fought the grin. Look confident. Not giddy.

With the cards outstretched she asked each of them to draw a card and to show them to each other. Then to put them back into the deck.

“Now, this is a trick that Trixie is sure you’ve seen before,” Trixie began, as she shuffled the deck. “It’s quite simple. You pick cards. You put them in. Trixie shuffles. She pulls them out. No one knows how. Applause.”

From the deck she drew three cards and revealed them to be the three cards the students had picked. She put them back into the deck and began to shuffle it again.

“The problem is that this trick has been done. There’s no challenge to it. No nuance. The Great and Powerful Trixie wanted to change it a bit. So here’s what she was thinking. What if she could get you all to draw the cards instead? Infuse you all with magic for long enough that you, without any training, could pull the right card? Wouldn’t that be something?”

It always was a strange experience for Trixie, being both so focused in the moment and simultaneously outside of it. She swelled at the nodding along of her audience. She savored the crisp snap of the cards as she finished shuffling. She drank in the excitement as the three audience-members-turned-volunteers stepped closer to draw their cards. She couldn’t hold back a smile.

“Now, what I need you to do is to stand in a line and wait your turn, maintain eye contact with me to form a connection, and draw blindly from where you think the card is. As long as our connection remains strong, you’ll make the right choice. Then put the card up to your chest and don’t look at it.”

The three nodded and the first up was the girl who eagerly followed the instructions. As for the trick itself, it was easy enough to do. As the girl got ready to draw, Trixie used her trained peripheral vision and rehearsed dexterity to manipulate the card she needed to the proper spot. The girl maintained her eye contact and was none the wiser. The other two were behind her in line and could not see the act happening. The same actions were repeated by the next two participants.

Trixie then pretended to examine the back of the deck and gave a dramatic sigh.

“Oh no, Trixie should have seen this coming,” she said, earning confused looks.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, per se,” she continued. “You see, the trick got a little messed up is all. The Great and Powerful Trixie wasn’t specific enough. As it turns out, she gave you all a little too much power and not enough direction, which ended with different results. What you’ve got there are your cards, but not the ones you drew before.”

“What does that even mean?” the girl asked, as the other two looked questioningly at each other. Trixie took that moment to draw three cards seemingly at random from the deck, revealing them, once again, to be the cards the students had drawn before.

“All you were told was to draw your cards,” Trixie explained. “Your cards. Not the ones you drew before, but your cards. Trixie should have seen it coming. Quite impressive, really, that you were able to tap into her powers so far and complete this feat. It might make more sense if you flip them over.”

They did. They gasped.

The boy with the sunglasses had drawn the King of Clubs. The other two students had drawn the King and the Queen of Hearts respectively. The significance was not lost on any of them and, as they looked at her confident smile, there was no doubt in any of their minds that Trixie had known for a fact what cards they had drawn before they’d revealed them.

“Now, if I could have those back, I can continue.”

They nodded, enthralled and invested in the rest of the performance. Or at least they would have been. However, as Trixie got the last card back and began to shuffle, the skies outside the window went black. Storm clouds appeared out of nowhere. A terrible rumbling shook the building. 

“What’s going on Neon?” the girl asked.

“I’m not sure,” said the student with sunglasses.

But Trixie felt like she did know. Something about this felt familiar.

“There’s a bright light coming from outside.”

Sure enough, a beacon could be seen through the windows, shining into the sky just outside the front entrance to the school. The three Crystal Academy students ran towards it but Trixie hesitated, memories beginning to surge forward—memories she struggled to comprehend.

Canterlot High School had experienced magical incidents. That much was common knowledge amongst the students. And yet, in some ways, it wasn’t. The fight against Sunset Shimmer’s demon form and the reveal of the Sirens as creatures from another dimension had all been mired by brainwashing and hypnosis. The feelings, the sights, the experiences of those magical outbursts were less memories and more dreams in how tangible they were. It was often easy to forget they were real.

Not now though, Trixie thought. Not when the sky is dark as the night Sunset became a demon. Not when the ground is shaking and rumbling like a siren’s roar. This is definitely connected. Which means, right outside that door, there is magic.

Trixie ran the short distance to the awning, pushing through the glass door, unprepared for what would greet her there.

In the middle of the courtyard was a pillar of light, a version of Twilight floating in its depths. All around her she could see portals to a different dimension. Jungles, cities, civilizations made of clouds and crystals, as real as her school building and just as within reach. She could hear the screams all around her of the panic. But more than anything, she could feel the thrum of the magic emanating from the pillar of light and reverberating within her bones. 

The cards, which were still grasped in her shaking hand, cascaded onto the floor. She crumpled weakly beside them. 

So this is what magic is, she thought, humbled and embarrassed by the forgery she had dressed herself up with for so many years. She looked up at Sunset as she struggled against that other Twilight, a conduite of arcane power draped in an ethereal white dress and held aloft with radiant wings. Trixie’s cloak felt childish and stifling.

Before her she saw the other girls, the ones that had stopped Sunset, had helped stop the Sirens, and even now in the face of such energy were undaunted and unafraid. They were still continuing to help. Meanwhile, Trixie struggled to take a breath, much less a step. Her eyes began to water.

What must they think of me? I really thought I was at their level? That I could compete with Rainbow? Entertain Pinkie? Outshine Rarity?

	Memories from the Battle of the Bands rushed past her consciousness.

What gave me the right?

	With each magical burst, the portals kept growing larger making it harder for those already at the edge to avoid falling in. Crystal Prep Academy and Canterlot High School students alike were now joined in the effort of making sure no one fell into the abyss. Trixie knew she needed to help. But…

Why can’t I move?

Impossible images flashing through the portals as sobbing was heard from somewhere in the courtyard.

Move.

The rumbling coursing through the earth and into her very bones while students were held between dimensions by the strength of their peers.

Move.

The swirling storm overhead which seemed to react to the magic in the atmosphere, violet hued lightning bolts brightening an impossibly dark afternoon sky.

MOVE!

	Another lurch in reality, another flash of light, and everything suddenly stopped.

Amidst the light, Sunset began to descend holding a defeated looking Twilight in her arms. The portals began to close and Trixie could actually feel the magic draining from the air, as if a pressure was being drained from the atmosphere—a static electricity going numb and fading into nothingness.

Without the thrum of magic pulsing through her, Trixie was able to breathe again, to feel again. And yet, without that resonance, she felt empty, each breath hollow and shallow. She didn’t dare speak, for fear that her voice would be much too quiet compared to what she’d heard. Instead the void was filled by the chorus of the surrounding students.

One by one, the students from Crystal Prep Academy and Canterlot High School were filled by that sense of peace that Trixie found so deeply lacking at the moment. Those who had taken shelter in the building reemerged unto the courtyard, stepping past her and atop her scattered cards as they did so. They returned to their classmates' side, to help them off the floor, to hug and cheer and cherish in the euphoria that came with survival of a cataclysmic event. For them, the world could now go back to normal.

But Trixie wasn't really sure things would ever be normal again. Not this time. The laughter seemed muted somehow, the colors less vibrant, the sunlight more dim. Trixie had stared into something staggering and had been partially deafened, blinded, and subdued as a result. A soft breeze blew by her, fluttering her cloak behind her. It itched against her neck.

After that, she thought she heard some more cheering. She remembered some muted conversation about something or other involving Twilight and the Principal of her school. At some point there was some announcement that The Friendship Games were declared a tie and the Crystal Prep students boarded the buses to go home. But Trixie Lulamoon was only marginally aware of these events.

The only thing she knew for certain was that long after everyone else had gone home, she was still there by herself, numb and shaken, collecting tearstained cards from the entrance floor.
> 2 - The Performance
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Chapter Two 


The Performance








You would think a music store would be loud, wouldn’t you?

After all, one of the main appeals of music is that it can be blasted at ever increasing decibels until the rumble of the bass grapples the beating of one’s heart into submission. Then there’s the variety of genres, some of which can only be found at music stores, shunned as they are from the more mainstream establishments. Metal, rock, dubstep, industrial, music genres dedicated to shaking walls and foundations, would often play through the store speakers as an appeal to their devoted fans who often journeyed here—the last mecca for the shunned scenes. And that was without even getting into the customers themselves and the employees, excitable as they were, often happy to yell and shout about the latest album their favorite band put out. Surely, they would demand the music be turned up so all could bask in its grandeur and, surely, the employees would acquiesce.

But a music store was a store before all things and, as a place of business, it was not as loud as one would think it to be.

These were the thoughts on Trixie’s mind as some thrashy metal song struggled and failed to be heard over some passing conversation as she continued to stock a nearby shelf.

“And there’s that whole ‘Coda’ album, which just reeks of that self-empowerment sellout energy I’m talking about. Like, how you gonna co-write a full length feelsy album with your manager about how ‘sad and hard life is’ and then go back to fronting a punk band like some above-it-all bad-ass? Real poser move, man.”

Yeah, sure would be a shame to miss out on this valuable conversation.

“Uh huh.”

The guy’s friend seemed to agree with her.

“I’m so glad I walked away when I did. You wouldn’t believe the egos man, but now that they’re pulling this crap? I can’t even imagine. Not to mention that new guitarist, Windy or whatever? They certainly didn’t waste any time picking him up. Literally just asked people they knew instead of holding auditions. Don’t get me wrong, bloke’s alright, but they lucked out they actually knew someone who could play guitar. It's all arrogant-like to do it that way, is all.”

Trixie heard the friend respond something but she couldn’t make out what, which was weird as they were stepping closer to her section. Soon they would be close enough that interrupting their conversation with a question or a greeting wouldn’t be out of place. Instead she focused on fixing the placement of the last three CDs, which she had accidentally placed in the wrong area.

“I mean, honestly. I wouldn’t be surprised if the reason they’re getting so popular is because of some supernatural enhancements.”

A muffled clatter intersected the conversation but was largely ignored as Trixie dropped a few CDs onto the carpeted floor and cursed under her breath.

He should know better than to talk about that, she thought, scanning over the aisle for the first time. She recognized Ringo from school, but not the friend he was talking to. We all should.

“What do you mean?” asked the friend, showing genuine interest for the first time since Trixie had begun unwillingly eavesdropping on their conversation.

“Okay, so back in school the lead singer used to belong to this group, right? And they—”

“Hi there, folks! What can I help you with?”

The question broke through the conversation like a stone through a glass window, violently and unignorably. Trixie almost wished she’d been the one to ask it. Instead, it was her coworker who was left to endure the stares of the two whose space he’d just invaded. The store’s speaker system, now playing some indie rock number, was momentarily given a chance to chime in.

“Hey, don’t I know you?” Ringo asked, gathering his wits first. “Yeah, you’re the mute girl’s friend!”

“You mean Vinyl.”

“Yeah, you lot set up the sound system at one of Flash Drive’s shows! That takes me back. What was your name again? Neon something right?”

“Neon Lights,” he filled in with a nod. “Though I do a lot less setting up audio nowadays. More just making music online and working here.”

“I bet it’s a pretty sweet gig,” Ringo’s friend said. “Getting to talk about music all day, listening to music. It’s where it’s at.”

“There’s certainly that,” Neon agreed behind a quiet chuckle. “Still, it’s a job, so there’s other stuff to deal with as well. Anyway, speaking of Flash Drive, there was this band that just came out that reminded me of them just the other day.”

Neon kept talking with the two customers as he led them over to the section where said band presumably was, thankfully away from Trixie, allowing her to focus on her task. Which she did. 

Or she tried to at least.

Ringo wasn’t wrong in that working at a music store was a “pretty sweet gig,” not least amongst the reasons for that being that it was a very easy job to do. However, there is always a danger with easy jobs in that there is often very little to distract one from their thoughts. 

“Literally just asked people they knew instead of holding auditions,” Ringo’s words echoed through Trixie’s mind. She thought back to the CHS Battle of the Bands incident and how close she had come. Third place in a contest with no magical abilities and certainly higher if judged fairly. But they didn’t ask me.

“They lucked out they actually knew someone who could play guitar,” more words, more echoes, more memories. Shutting her eyes, Trixie could see a music shop where Rainbow Dash and she battled for a guitar, neck-to-neck, riff-to-riff, lead-to-lead. At least, until—

No, don’t think about that, Trixie reminded herself. 

And yet, try as she might, she couldn’t shake the thought. Magic had won Rainbow that duel. Magic and the lack thereof seemed to have been a deciding factor in their fates. Even now, Rainbow was off touring the world, dazzling stages with her talent, while Trixie was here—stocking disks at a local music store.

It’s not fair, Trixie grumbled. I worked just as hard as she did. I practiced just as much. I know I’m just as talented. She knows I’m just as talented. And she didn’t even think me worthy of asking!

It felt good to be angry, Trixie noted. It made her shift go by just that much faster, a welcome blessing, and it felt nice to feel something for once, a drop of red upon a grey canvas. And yet, even that couldn’t last too long. Soon, Trixie’s thoughts turned somber and whatever embers had been sparked by the overheard conversation died without catching any sort of momentum.

Sure, Rainbow could have asked her to join her band. But then what?

	Trixie had not properly practiced her guitar playing since high school, since her senior year to be exact. In fact, she had barely played her guitar at all since then and when she had, it was only for small stints of time—unable as she was to stomach the disappointing performances she put out. Dead notes. Muted melodies. Voiceless chords and arpeggios.

Maybe Rainbow knew what she was doing after all. 

“Okay, I’m back.” Trixie looked up from the shelf at Neon Lights, who was flashing her a wry grin. “I swear, former Canterloters are the worst. Am I right?”

“Yeah, sure are. All of them,” Trixie rolled her eyes. “And I’m sure Crystal Preppers are all just absolute gems.”

“I mean, I did just deal with those two so you wouldn’t have to.”

“I guess you did. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Neon winked. He then looked around for customers before crouching next to Trixie. “And I do mean it, it was no trouble. We all agreed back during the games to keep hush hush about all the weirdness that happened so I don’t mind intervening, but… shouldn’t you have been the one stopping him from blabbing? Rainbow is your friend right?”

Trixie tensed.

“More like acquaintances,” she said, going back to her task. “And really, that doofus shouldn’t have been saying anything to an outsider in the first place. So it’s really on him.”

“Right,” Neon agreed, taking a few CDs from Trixie’s box and stocking them as well. “But, he was. Shouldn’t you have, I don’t know... Cut him off, or reminded him, or something?”

“I don’t know Neon, okay?!” Trixie whispered, causing Neon to back up. She moved up in tandem, closing the distance. “We didn’t exactly have meetings about it! We didn’t sign a contract! Last I checked, I didn’t agree to spend the rest of my life cleaning up Rainbow’s messes and making sure her little secret doesn’t get out! Tell you what though, the guy you distracted might feel like complaining about her powers at some point in the future and we just can’t have that, can we? Want me to go follow him and take him out? I think I have one of my knives in my car from my magic act that I could use to make sure he stays silent.”

“N- No,” Neon stammered, backing up even further, his pale face going even paler at the thought. 

“Good,” Trixie said, finally giving him some space. “The way I see it, they’ve managed to keep things under wraps this far. They can probably survive a stray rumor from some jealous ex-band member. All I did was go to the same school they did. I don’t owe them anything.”

“Didn’t they save—”

“Anything.”

“Right,” Neon said, rubbing the back of his head. He looked around the store again to see if their conversation had attracted any attention, but it did not seem to be the case. “Well, I should probably go do something useful.”

“Yeah, me too,” Trixie agreed. “I’m pretty much done with these and I’ve got twenty more minutes or so before I have to leave.”

“You’re not staying tonight?” Neon said, raising an eyebrow. “We’ve got the Bichette album release tomorrow. Jazz Tone said they needed ‘all hands on deck’ to make sure all the merchandise was on the floor and the display was set up after the doors closed.”

“Yep, all hands on deck except me,” Trixie replied. “It’s a Friday night, and I have a show. It was part of my hiring conditions. You should know that, by now.”

“I mean, I know, but...” Neon looked at her, uncertainly. “You’ll at least be here to help us tomorrow though, right? For the actual album release? That’s when we’ll really need people.”

Trixie hesitated. Neon groaned.

“More shows?”

“No,” Trixie replied, shaking her head. “But in theory I could have a show on a Saturday or a Sunday, or be traveling or something. So instead of checking with me or trying to keep track of that, or remember, or anything sensible, Jazz just doesn’t ever schedule me at all on weekends.”

“That must suck, hours wise.”

“No,” Trixie lied. “I’m always available during the week, so I work plenty there. It’s fine.”

Neon nodded, and Trixie tried to convince herself that he believed her. She found she couldn’t manage it.

“As for tomorrow,” she continued. “Everyone’s getting all hyped up and worried because Rainbow is from here, but Everton is really not that big. Not only that, but people don’t really buy CDs from stores that much. The store will be busier because of the Bichette release, sure, but it won’t be droves of people filling it. Someone will just have to stay at the register for once and you won’t be able to have conversations on the floor while you wait for a customer to be ready to check out. It’ll be like a regular store, and they seem to manage it.”

“I guess you’re right,” Neon said, taking a deep breath, though he still seemed unconvinced. Trixie took a deep breath as well.

“Look, I have to stop by tomorrow to check the schedule,” she offered. “If it really is crazy, I’ll see if I can convince Jazz into letting me clock in to help. Okay?”

“Okay,” Neon said. A second or two passed, during which Trixie could see Neon visibly relax before her eyes. “Thank you, that would be really helpful. Anyway, I did say we should get started on something right?”

“Right,” Trixie agreed, following behind Neon as he walked back towards the register.

“Not really sure what we can do with your twenty minutes, but I’m sure we can find something,” he thought out loud. “Got any cool tricks planned for tonight?”

“I mean, there’s this new trick I’m trying out where an audience member straight up shoots me with a gun,” Trixie shrugged. “It took me forever to get the paperwork approval for that one, so if you’re judging it by the amount of red tape I had to go through, I’d say that one is pretty cool.”

“...You’re kidding.”

“I’m really not. Months of paperwork.”

Neon Lights closed his eyes for a moment before rubbing his hands across his face.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, grabbing some cleaning supplies from underneath the counter. He then began walking away, but not before adding, “You know, I really do miss the days when you would just do card tricks.”

“Yeah, me too…” Trixie whispered, though Neon was too far away to hear.

Just fifteen more minutes, Trixie sighed. It’ll go by quickly—

Suddenly the store speakers cut out, a dubstep-metal mix dying mid bass-drop as a result. When the speakers came back on, they were projecting Jazz’ voice, presumably from somewhere in their office.

“Hi, everyone! Jazz here, hoping you’re all having a Fantastic Friday! I know you’re all excited that our hometown heroes Bichette are releasing their newest album tomorrow. I know we are! So to celebrate this incredible instance, I have decided to introduce songs from all of their previous works into the store’s rotation. So expect to hear some classic compositions from these perfect performers, starting with what many consider to be the fan favorite song, ‘Broken Mirror.’ Enjoy!”

Then there was a sharp click, as the microphone was turned off, followed by the beginnings of a song. A song that Trixie had absolutely no interest in listening to.

Just fifteen more minutes.

Just fifteen more minutes.








After closing the door to her apartment, Trixie quickly rushed towards her bedroom, almost tripping on a bag next to the entrance. Undeterred, she continued on her path, stripping off her clothes and discarding them where she happened to be at the time.

I’ll pick that up later, she figured, as she kicked off her pants and left them on the floor. There’s so much to set up before the show starts.

Getting to her closet, she quickly pulled out her outfit, and began getting dressed, all the while running over a mental checklist of preparations and items she needed to account for. Once her outfit was on, she went over to her vanity to apply some make up. With practiced ease, she got her appearance up to show standard, but as she was finishing up her mascara, a picture next to the mirror caught her eye.

It was a simple picture frame, holding a picture of a teenage Trixie performing at some function put on by her school. In it, she was draped by her signature lavender cloak and holding a fanned-out deck of cards. The stage too was captured in the shot, a vibrant display of lights and colors, and what appeared to be a hint of fireworks in the upper right hand corner. Trixie couldn’t quite remember the event, but it looked to be quite lively.

A blink.

She turned to look at herself in the mirror.

Oh how things change.

The Trixie in the mirror was definitely still a magician, but older and more mature. Black slacks, white shirt, black vest, black jacket when it wasn’t too hot to wear one. She even wore black gloves as a way to complete the effect. As for the stage…

Color and lights are fine for kids, she supposed. But if you want to be taken seriously—

Or at least that’s what dad used to say.

Trixie slammed her fist against the vanity, the rattle of her makeup vocalizing for the shaking mirror.

Don’t think of him, Trixie growled. You have more important things to worry about than some two-bit magician.

Her reflection continued to glare at her. Eventually, however, the spike of anger began to numb into apathy. The reflection broke eye contact.

Let’s get a move on, Trixie thought, smoothing out some wrinkles on her shirt. Plenty of things yet to do.

She began to gather some of her materials, making sure to keep track of everything she’d need. The paperwork, the cases, the extra rope and auxiliaries, everything was accounted for. And yet, before long, her mind began to wander back to the picture she had seen again. More specifically, it began to wander to the defiant smile that Trixie had worn on her face.

When did I lose that?

Images of portals opening to other words, of a bright pillar of light, of her classmates performing feats beyond comprehension, struggled for attention but she pushed them back.

Ah, right…

And so, gathering the last of her things, Trixie made to leave her apartment. As she did, she passed by the bag she had tripped on when she had first arrived, and recognized it as a donation bag she had been meaning to donate for months now but kept forgetting to take out with her while leaving the house. 

That’s why it was in the way, she thought. Sucks I’m not going anywhere near the place and that my car is going to be full as is. Maybe next time.

Running through a quick mental checklist of the items in the bag, one of them caught her attention and prompted her to look through the contents. After about seven seconds of searching, Trixie pulled out her lavender cloak, the same one from the picture, though one wouldn’t know it by looking at it. 

The rich lavender of the cloak was now a muted gray and the yellow and blue stars had all but disappeared into the background of the fabric.

It seems all things fade, Trixie noted. Dreams. Hopes. Fabric.

She ran her fingers across the frayed cloth.

Some because of exposure to the sun…

She looked around at her apartment, her guitar in the corner, dusty from lack of use. Her clothes all over the floor, not just from that day from weeks of a lack of motivation to clean. Her walls and shelves, upon which not a single family picture could be found. Her hand found its way to the cards in her pocket, which she carried out of habit but had not used in years.

And some because of exposure to a much brighter light.

With a sad smile, Trixie threw the cloak back into the bag, resolving to remember to donate it at the first opportunity.

Maybe somebody can use it to actually keep warm, she hoped. Since all it seems to do is make me feel colder.







The performance was going fine. Adequate.

If one were to ask any of the audience members, Trixie was sure they’d even go so far as to say it was going great or splendid, but that was to be expected. They didn’t know any better.

Atop a dark stage, lit by a single bright spotlight, Trixie took a bow as she finished a complex illusion. The crowd applauded. 

Or at least she thought they were applauding. She could hear the rumble coming from the darkness. But she couldn’t see it, blinded by the light. She couldn’t hear it very well either from this distance. Still, she heard something, so she continued.

“Thank you, thank you,” Trixie said, speaking into the darkness, her voice magnified by the microphone hidden in her shirt collar. “Now for this next trick, I need to tell you all about knives.”

As she said the word, she did a flourish with her hand, producing a knife from thin air. She heard something again. An “aaah” or an “oooh”, she couldn’t be sure. She knew there were at least two hundred people in attendance. Maybe even three hundred.

I should be able to hear them.

“Knives, plural,” she said, producing three more knives, “are an interesting human tool. We use them for cooking, for hunting, for camping, for making tools, they’re very versatile accessories with tons of uses. They can, of course, be used for killing, which is something we will, hopefully, be trying to avoid tonight.”

She heard laughter, she supposed, but it sounded pre-recorded. Canned. Static. Trixie continued to weave her story, tell the explanation, ask for volunteers. The act went fine, but it was wrong. Like a sitcom without the laugh track or a song played in an empty auditorium, there was some lifeless element that tainted everything Trixie did and everything she experienced. 

There was no magic here.

Still, Trixie smiled.

What else is new?

This is how’d she’d always done things, how’d she’d been doing things since her career started. Bellatrix, the magicless magician, forced to perform in more ways than one.

And so she would.

As the trick ended, the three sharp knives were driven into blocks of wood while the one with a blunted edge failed to go into Trixie’s arm as the terrified volunteers yelled in concern, at least until it was clear she was going to be ok. Once again, there was that strange noise as the volunteers took their seat. Trixie continued with her performance.

“Thank you,” she said, as the venue technicians brought out the equipment for her final trick. “Now this trick that follows will be my last trick. First things first, I need a volunteer, someone who really is enjoying my show.”

A volunteer, a young woman with brown hair, was brought to the stage and made to stand next to a contraption of Trixie’s own creation. On one end was a chair with a table next to it with a small metal stand welded to the top. Next to the table was a long metal tube. On the other end was another metal table, lower than the first, with a different stand on it, and way behind that a thick black curtain. Trixie walked up to meet her.

“Please, sit down and put these on,” Trixie said, gesturing to the chair and handing her headphones. “I’m sure you’re wondering what this whole thing you see is. Simple enough, it is an aiming mechanism for this.”

As Trixie had been talking, a production assistant had walked up to her carrying a black case and at the end of her sentence the case had been opened. From within she pulled a six-shot revolver, which she opened up to reveal was not loaded.

“Now, you’re looking pretty nervous,” Trixie said, to which the volunteer nodded. “Do not worry. I have filled out all the proper paperwork for this so we are one hundred percent ok. You have nothing to worry about. As for what I want you to do, I have here a box of ammunition. I want you to pick one at random.”

The volunteer did. Trixie then placed that one bullet in the gun and locked the gun in place on the stand.

“Hands behind your back,” Trixie said, as she walked towards the other side of the tube. The volunteer complied. “I told you earlier that this was an aiming mechanism, and that’s partially true. It’s also a failsafe in case the aiming mechanism fails. See, behind that curtain is a bullet catcher, so as long as the bullet goes through, there will be no ricochets. This metal tube will make sure that if it goes at an angle, it will end up going in that direction no matter what. With me so far? Good.”

Trixie then placed a bottle on the stand atop the other table which put it right on the line of sight.

“Ok, let’s test this,” she said, stepping back from the bottle and putting on headphones of her own. “When I yell ‘clear,’ I’m going to need you to fire that gun. Ok? Good. Clear!”

The volunteer pulled the trigger. The bottle exploded.

“Good! Good!” Trixie exclaimed. “Now, with the help of the assistant, pick out six more rounds and sign them. The assistant will then put them in the gun and then lock the gun back on the stand. In the meantime, I’ll explain what’s happening to the rest of you all.”

Trixie pulled a necklace from her pocket and put it on.

“What’s about to happen is that my volunteer is about to take six shots down the range and before each shot she is going to say one of two things. She will either say ‘bottle’ or ‘Bellatrix’. If she says ‘bottle,’ I will place another bottle on the stand, I will move to the side, and… well, you saw what happened. The interesting thing is what happens when she says ‘Bellatrix...’”

She stood directly behind the table in the gun's line of sight.

“...Because that’s when I stand here instead and she takes the shot. Now, the only rule is she cannot do all six shots of ‘bottle.’ Otherwise it would be boring. Other than that, she can choose whatever order and as many of each as she wants, and I have no way of knowing, just like I don’t know which rounds she chose or what order she loaded them in. Pretty exciting right?”

The volunteer shook her head.

“Oh don’t worry. I have this,” Trixie said, holding her necklace. “This is a medallion of protection. It will stop your bullets from hurting me. It wasn’t cheap, let me tell you, but I think tonight it will be worth it. So, let’s play.”

The volunteer hesitated, and Trixie decided to let her stew in her decision. 

“Bottle!”

“Ah, playing it safe then,” Trixie said. “Fair enough.”

She stepped out of the way after placing a bottle on the table.

“Clear!” she said. The bottle shattered. “That’s one down.”

The volunteer looked at the shattered remains of the bottle and then locked her terrified eyes with Trixie, who simply smiled and nodded. The volunteer took a deep breath.

“B-Bellatrix.”

“And now things get interesting,” Trixie said, stepping back behind the table. “Clear.”

The volunteer put her hand on the trigger, but hesitated again.

Trixie gave her a gentle nod. The volunteer pulled the trigger.

A loud bang. A chorus of gasps. 

“There,” Trixie said, dusting herself off. “Told you it’d be fine. Wanna go again?”

The trick itself was ingenious. The tube was actually a very powerful magnet that stopped the specialized bullets before they ever had a chance to get anywhere near the end of it, highly tested for consistency and durability. The bottles were actually being broken by the stand they were put upon and a mechanism that triggered every time the gun recoiled against its stand. Months of development and even longer for approval just to make this one illusion happen, all capped off with the signed and spent bullet shells up her sleeve.

“Bottle!”

“Sure”

After that though, it was “Bellatrix” again. And this time while staring down the barrel she had a thought. She knew her mechanism wouldn’t fail, but what if it did? Accidents did happen. Testing sometimes doesn’t account for everything, no matter how thoroughly it is done. She stared down the tube unblinkingly. 

“Clear!”

Another shot. Nothing. She was okay.

“Bellatrix!”

Shouldn’t I feel fear? she pondered.

“Clear!”

You never do anymore.

“Bellatrix!”

You never feel anything.

“Clear!”

That’s why you keep escalating.

“Bellatrix!”

She stared down the barrel for what would be the last time for the night and tried to place the emotion. Was it fear? Hope? Regret? Longing? Anxiety? Desire? Something could go wrong. Something could go wrong and it would be over. With so many variables there was definitely a possibility. 

So which is it?

“Clear!”

The shot rang out clearly in the venue and Trixie made a show of stumbling back as if struck, only to reveal that she was indeed ok. Because of course she was, there had never been any chance otherwise, and she struggled to know how to feel about that too.

“I believe these are yours,” she said loudly, palming, then revealing four spent bullets from her hidden stash. The volunteer checked them for her signature, and indeed saw a marker line on them and assumed them to be hers. The crowd went wild.

And this time Trixie did hear them, but the applause sounded hollow in her ears. Over three hundred people were clapping and stomping their feet. They were yelling and chanting, lost in the moment. But Trixie was lost elsewhere. After all, this rumble was nothing. She’d heard louder. And would any of them be clapping if they’d seen what real magic looked like? 

Regardless, the performance continues, she thought, taking a bow she knew she didn’t deserve.
> 3 - The Intermission
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Chapter Three 


The Intermission








Brrrng Brrng

Brrrng Brrng

“Uugh… Make it stop…”

Trixie begrudgingly began to awaken, bleary eyes scanning her room for the source of the noise. Her eyes then caught brief flashes of light, which seemed to accompany the soft vibrations coming from beyond the edge of her bed. She shut her eyes as they began to water. She blindly reached her arm over, feeling for her phone, memories from the previous night’s show briefly materializing in her mind, though there seemed to be something wrong with them. 

In her memories, she hadn’t actually been shot by the audience member but, judging by the massive headache she was currently suffering from, that simply could not be accurate.

Cold plastic pressed against one of her fingertips, and Trixie deftly cradled her phone with the rest of her fingers, pulling it up towards her and pressing the snooze button. The buzzing sound ended instantly, and she opened one eye again to find that the flashing of the phone had ceased as well.

Oh good, it got unplugged, she grumbled, noticing the twenty-percent battery life warning taking over the screen. Dismissing that, she came face to face with a log, consisting of a missed message and a missed phone call, both from her therapist. A loud groan emitted from Trixie as she realized that she had missed her appointment. What’s the point of setting alarms if they don’t wake you until it’s over an hour late?

Despite already knowing what it would say, Trixie decided to go ahead and open the message.

‘Hello, Bellatrix. I couldn’t help but notice that you missed our appointment. I was really hoping to hear about how your show went last night and how you were adjusting to the new medication. Text me back and we can reschedule.’

Trixie rolled her eyes and sneered.

“Text me back and we can reschedule!” she mimicked with a small shake of her head before flailing back unto her bed with a frustrated whine.

It wasn’t even that she hated Dr. Lining or anything of the sort. It was hard to hate someone that had been in your life for as long as Silver had been in Trixie’s, after all. But their relationship had changed, not for the first time but certainly in a way that she did not appreciate.

Back when they had first met, Dr. Lining had been a gateway to services that Trixie desperately needed. Referrals for medication, doctor notes and affidavits, Dr. Lining had been an integral part of Trixie becoming who she would eventually be. As she grew, their relationship changed for the first time, but this was not inherently bad. The conversations grew shorter. Their meetings became less frequent. A signature here, an as-needed-basis conversation there, a meeting every six months to make sure everything was still in order. 

It was different, but it worked. Not so much therapy as rubber stamps, but it was what she had needed at the time and both of them had been on the same page about that. 

But things are different now, Trixie thought, hugging her covers unto herself. Ever since Dad left.

	Trixie’s fists clenched under her sheets. She flipped to face the other way on her bed.

“Trixie, you seem distracted. Trixie, you need to open up more. Trixie, it's ok to feel overwhelmed.” If only, huffed Trixie bitterly into her pillow. And of course it just has to be because Daddy left. No one made this much of a fuzz when Mom left but because I’m acting off now around the same time, then that has to be it!

Trixie shut her eyes tightly, wishing more than anything that she could shut down her mind and just go back to sleep. But sleep would not reach her.

And what am I supposed to do? Trixie’s thoughts continued. Explain about magic? Tell her I saw an existence that makes ours completely meaningless? Definitely would love to see what type of medication she’d put me on then!

Instead, they’d gone back to meetings every other week. They’d tried multiple types of medications. And they’d talked in endless circles about nothing of consequence, ever searching for a cure to her disillusionment. Just because Trixie couldn’t keep her life together long enough to convince her therapist she was fine throughout an hour-long conversation.

I don’t even know why I bother anymore.

She knew that her therapist wouldn’t cancel her estrogen or her antiandrogen just because she cut back on her meetings. She knew that as an independent adult with no family ties to speak of, no one could force to do anything anymore. She knew her problems had no solutions.

Happiness wasn’t an option for her. Pretending she hadn’t seen a wider world wasn’t an option. So why was she still bothering?

Habit maybe? Trixie guessed, as she unlocked her phone again, and began thinking of her reply. And yet, before she had a chance to, her snoozed alarm came back to life, interrupting her train of thought. She dismissed it with a wry grin. And I guess, Dr. Lining will have to wait a bit longer. Let’s get this show on the road.

Untangling herself from her bed sheets and comforter, Trixie moved off of her bed and began her lethargic walk towards her bathroom, discarding her clothing as she made her way there. A younger Trixie might have balked at the idea of her expensive vest and slacks, left over from the previous night’s performance, being flung across her apartment floor. Still, all she could currently get herself to think about was the warm promise of a morning shower.

Moving inside and closing the door behind herself, she wasted no time in stepping into the shower and it was not long at all before Trixie found herself basking in the warm cascade. A cozy steam began to develop within the bathroom as well, and as Trixie began to wake up she noted that she had, once again, forgotten to turn on the bathroom fan.

Nothing for it now, she figured, as she began shampooing her hair.

Without the noise of the fan however, and without her phone playing music in the background, the bathroom soon became too quiet and still for Trixie’s liking. She attempted to focus in on the sound of the falling spray but it was too constant, too repetitive. 

How fitting, she thought, rinsing the conditioner and applying her body wash. Repetitive, constant, unrelenting. A metaphor if I ever saw one.

Hadn’t life been like this recently? Hadn’t her thoughts? Just one disappointment after another? Yes, Trixie could definitely see a connection. In her mind’s eye she stared down a metal tube, a loud bang echoing in the distance.

And what’s more, she thought further, slowly putting down her loofah. This seems to be a me problem. Tons of people saw what I saw. Neon Lights saw what I saw. But I’m the only one that’s like this. Just circling the drain, like running water. 

Trixie stared as the suds washed off and floated down the drain, her thoughts rushing back to rips in dimensions and a bright pillar of light. Impossible sights flashed through her mind as repressed memories resurfaced, as if part of a waking nightmare. Trixie saw deep forests and cities of clouds. Trixie saw classmates transform into ethereal beings and demons alike, floating spectres of pure energy glowing with power. 

Time seemed to slow as she felt her lungs grow heavy and her eyes began to sting. Memory after memory replayed, in vivid detail, enveloping more and more of her senses on each recursion. Before long, she felt an uncomfortable chill in the air as well. Closing her eyes she could still feel the thrumming of power through her bones, could still feel the shaking of the ground beneath her feet, could still feel the cold rain on her back.

Wait.. it hadn’t been raining. 

Opening her eyes, Trixie found that the warm mist was gone, replaced by cold water splashing against her back and rebounding off her shower curtain. 

How long have I been in here? she thought, with a slow blink, her eyelids heavy as they struggled against dried tears. She turned the handle on the shower cartridge, but the temperature of the water remained chilly. 

Figures.

Despite the cold now seeping into her skin, Trixie applied shaving cream onto her legs and reached for her razor.

You could skip this part, a voice inside her mind argued.

She began to shave.

You don’t need to do this daily.

She continued.

No one is going to notice.

She switched to the other leg. 

The internal monologue continued for a while, a familiar chorus of logical arguments against the actions she knew she would take. About twenty minutes later, she emerged from the shower, draped in a towel, having shaved her legs, arms, armpits, and face, a ritual long since established and seldom resisted. Even with her towel, she was shaking, her damp hair still clumped around her neck and the humid interior of the bathroom making it hard to breathe. She had to get out, and so she did, turning on the fan and leaving the door open as she did so.

With dripping footsteps she made her way to her couch, where she unceremoniously sat down, catching a glance of her clock on a counter.

“Two hours,” she mumbled. I was in the shower for over two hours.

While not unprecedented, it was definitely concerning. It had definitely been a while since the last time she had lost herself for that long in one of her episodes.

I’m really starting to lose it, she thought, letting loose a shaky laugh. She leaned back on the couch. Okay, what do I need to do today?

After what had just happened, she knew she should definitely set up that therapy appointment. She also had to stop by, either that day or the next, to the plasma donation place or she’d lose her donation bonus, which she really couldn’t afford to do. After that, she would also need to stop by the store and check on the next week’s schedule.

A pang of guilt tore through her as she cast another glance at her clock.

Definitely too late to help them with the album release stuff, she thought, her eyes downcast. Great, the one favor Neon asks me and I can’t even pull through for him. Fantastic. Well, now he’ll know better than to expect something from me.

And yet, she knew that he’d forgive her. He probably wouldn’t even bring it up or think any worse of her. To him, she’d always be the girl in the cloak that had performed a card trick for him that one time.

He really needs to learn better, she thought. Her eyes scanned the living room, finding her donation bag sitting by the door, the bag she knew the cloak could be found in. Probably a good day to get rid of that thing as well.

A bitter taste crept up her throat at the thought, but she choked it back. 

That cloak was the symbol of someone else, and she just wasn’t that girl anymore.

But before anything else, she thought, I have a message to send. Then I should go ahead and take my Spiro and Estradiol, and my Citalopram too... If I’m going to be talking to Silver, I should definitely make sure I’m up on my new meds as well on my old ones. 

And with that plan cemented and a swift wrist motion, Trixie unlocked her cellphone and opened her messaging app.

‘Hey, sorry about. I overslept. Last night’s show was kind of intense. Also, something happened during my last trick, nothing too serious, just some thoughts, but something you should probably hear about, so we definitely need to reschedule. How about three PM on Tuesday?’ Trixie typed, getting up from the couch as she finished her message.

She didn’t even make it to her room before she received a response.

‘Sounds good. I’ll pencil you in.’







A silver sedan slightly hopped onto the curve as Trixie attempted to parallel park in front of the “Once Upon A Riff” Music Store. With a frustrated snort, she lowered the volume of her music, a bargain-bin seventies CD she’d picked up for free at work, and readjusted her rearview mirror before attempting again. It didn’t help.

Oh come on, Trixie growled. Not that she should’ve been surprised. She was still feeling a bit faint from the plasma donation and she always felt off while on her Citalopram. The fact that she had managed to get between the cars around her without hitting either of them had been a miracle in and of itself. I guess this will have to do.

Cutting off her engine, she gathered her phone and purse, casting a quick glance at the donation bag sitting on the backseat of the car. 

One more stop after this and then I can go home.

She opened her door and stepped out of her vehicle.

The store, Trixie noted, looked busier than normal for a Saturday afternoon. That was a bad sign. She scanned the sales floor for Neon Lights amidst the harried employees and eager shoppers, an apology ready on her lips. And yet, for as much as she looked, she couldn’t find him. 

Probably on a lunch break, Trixie thought, nodding at fellow employees as she made her way to the back room. Figures, I don’t even get to apologize to him properly. 

Upon reaching the door, she began to push it open with her left arm out of habit, stopping when a jolt ran through her still weakened arm. She switched sides and let herself in, the sound of a midday rush dying to a quiet murmur as the door closed behind her.  It was always a disorienting experience, shifting from the sales floor to the backroom, which seemed to be soundproofed in some way that wasn’t immediately apparent. Still, as Trixie walked to the front of the bulletin board, she willed herself to at least enjoy the silence.

“Yo Trix! How was the show last night?”

Trixie resisted the urge to groan or wince, and instead forced her best facsimile of a smile onto her face before addressing her boss, who was approaching her from behind.

“It went perfect,” she answered. “Around three hundred people, all eating out of the palm of my hand. Not a trick out of place. Couldn’t have asked for a better performance. How did the release go?”

“Good good,” Jazz Tone said, their toothy smile bright as ever. “Got a bit much there for a bit, but Neon really stepped up and rallied the team. Made me feel real good about putting so much trust in him. Now that things are dying down we can focus on how much money we made, which is bank!”

“Sounds awesome,” Trixie told them, nodding along. “Really wish I could’ve been here to help.”

“Ah it’s all good,” Jazz waved her off. “Gotta chase those dreams right? I’m glad your night went well. Anyway, I’m heading to the sales floor. Next time you see Neon though, make sure you congratulate him, k? He’s super stoked but I’m sure a bit more praise would be appreciated since you weren’t here last night.”

“Will do!”

“Cool cool,” Jazz said, another toothy smile showing, before heading out the door. Trixie watched as the door closed, wondering what exactly she should be congratulating Neon for. She’d been so focused on hiding her feelings from her boss, she’d forgotten to ask them.

I guess I’ll find out, she figured, taking out her phone and snapping a picture of the schedule. And find out she did.

Right above the schedule was a notice dated to the night before altering the employees to Neon Light’s promotion from Sales Associate to Sales Supervisor. 

He’s my boss now? Trixie thought, reading over the announcement. No sooner had the thought clicked in her head, that she began to prepare for the bouts of jealousy that were sure to follow. After all, she’d been working there longer. She could handle the pressure better. She was better organized. Remember that he’s your friend. He’s a hard worker. He earned this position. Be happy for him.

Thought after thought after thought ran through her mind as she braced for the envy, but it never came. And that was a curious realization by itself.

Because he was a hard worker. He had earned that position.

And Trixie hadn’t.

Trixie may have started earlier, but where was she? Still working part time. Still missing in action during important sales events. Not working weekends. Out “chasing a dream.”

The sound of a gunshot rang in her ears.

Some dream.

She ran her fingers over the bandage where she’d been stuck for the plasma donation.

Her magic shows didn’t pay her much. And her props were expensive to design and develop. Working part time didn’t pay much either. At this point, performing was costing her more than it was making her.

I couldn’t even stop donating plasma if I wanted to, she blinked back tears. Not if I still want to make rent. 

And it wasn’t like her magic shows made her happy. The previous night had been proof enough of that.

So why am I still trying?

Her hand instinctively went to the cards in her pocket. Even now they were still there, always within reach, just in case. But when was the last time she’d actually used them? And what, if anything, would change if she threw them all away?

I’d definitely make more money, she wiped a few loose tears off her cheek. I’d work more hours, spend less on supplies. I’d have more time for myself.

But wasn’t magic her purpose?

As if I could feel more meaningless, she scoffed at herself. Besides, it’s not like it’s real magic anyway.

A cold feeling began to grow within Trixie, spreading throughout her being. It was numbing in a way, calming. There was a certain peace in knowing you were giving up everything, after all. She would simply tell Jazz that she wanted to be scheduled for more shifts, including weekends. She would sell her equipment. Throw away the cards. Get her life on track, or whatever approximation of it Trixie was meant to have.

It was time to wake up.

But that can wait for tomorrow, Trixie figured. She was done talking to people for the day. And so she waited in the backroom for a bit, until the tears stopped and she could finally wipe the evidence away. Once her face was clear, she re-emerged onto the sales floor, and made a beeline for the exit.

Or at least, she tried to.

“Hey, Trixie! Hold up!”

Oh, you have got to be kidding me.

Before Trixie could make up her mind on whether or not to ignore the voice, an energetic girl grabbed her by the shoulder and swiftly spun her around to face her, denying her a choice in the matter. And thus, Trixie came face-to-face with exactly who she knew she’d find there. A smiling and energetic looking Pinkie Pie.

“Oh. Hi, Pinkie,” Trixie said, with an even tone. “What are you doing here?”

“Not much,” Pinkie replied brightly, though Trixie did notice Pinkie’s smile faltering for a brief second. “Just here buying a CD.”

Trixie focused her eyes on the CD, the cover of the newest Bichette album jumping out against Pinkie’s pastel attire, familiar as it was from being in the backroom for the past few days. 

Should have figured, Trixie thought at first, before a separate thought caught up to her.

“Well that’s weird...”

“Um… Not really,” Pinkie said, tilting her head. “That’s kind of what music stores are for. You work here! I feel like you should know this, Trixie.”

Trixie’s right eye twitched.

“I meant that it’s weird that you’re buying a CD that your so-called friend should have mailed you for free,” Trixie snapped. “But you know what? I just remembered that I’ve got better things to do right now, so I really don’t have the time for this. Good seeing you! Later.”

“Ah. So you’re busy too, then...” Pinkie trailed off, as Trixie began to step past her, seeming to take no offense at Trixie’s tone. If anything, she just seemed sad as she said, “That’s ok. Maybe some other time.”

A spike of anger surged within Trixie.

How dare she be sad? she yelled within her mind. She has magic, and power, and purpose! How dare she find a reason to mope when she has so much going for her?

She wanted to yell at her. She wanted to push past her into the open air outside the store. She wanted to disappear. And if it had been anyone else, she very well might have. But it wasn’t anyone else. This was Pinkie. The same Pinkie that had always shown her endless patience and kindness. The same Pinkie that had once sat with her against a brick wall as Trixie grappled with her own identity. 

Trixie took a deep breath.

“No. No, I’m not busy,” Trixie said, shaking her head. “I’m just being a bitch. Go ahead, tell me, why are you buying a CD you could get for free if you wanted to?”

Pinkie stared at Trixie in a familiar way, and Trixie wondered what she noticed this time. But Pinkie didn’t comment. Instead, she answered her question.

“I do actually already have this album,” Pinkie confessed. “Dashie sent it three months ago, signed by the band and everything. But I still wanted to buy it on release day. I don’t really get to see her and Shy anymore, so I feel like this is the only way I get to connect with them these days. And hey, their day one sales are going to be one person better now right? So, I’m still helping them a little bit, even if they don’t know it.”

Trixie listened, sure. But more than that, she watched Pinkie as she talked. Specifically, Trixie focused on her eyes. 

Trixie had stared into Pinkie’s eyes on plenty of occasions. Bright blue, wide, sparkling and full of wonderment and joy, they stuck out of a crowd like sapphires in a spotlight. Those eyes had been there when Pinkie had helped Trixie set up her very first show, shining with excitement. Those eyes had been there when Pinkie had promoted every event at the school, passionate and determined to make sure every event, every dance, every party, every show was a resounding success. Those eyes had been present at every performance that Trixie had put on back in the day, a beacon for Trixie to look to when in need for a willing participant or a satisfied audience member. 

Trixie knew what Pinkie’s eyes were supposed to look like, as vibrant as that endless smile, and filled with a fervor for life.

But as she focused on Pinkie, those eyes were not present. Worst still, the ones she saw in their place were still, in fact, recognizable—familiar.

Those were the eyes she saw in the mirror in the morning. The eyes she saw reflected on polished glass. The eyes she had seen in her rearview mirror not ten minutes ago. And they did not belong on Pinkie at all.

Something within Trixie shuddered at the sight.

“Anyway, I’m sorry if I interrupted you,” Pinkie apologized, an unsteady smile on her lips. “I’m sure you have things to do, so I won’t keep y—”

“Pinkie,” Trixie interrupted, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t we go to the park? Maybe get some ice cream? My treat.”
> 4 - The Act of Opening
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Chapter Four 


The Act of Opening








The roar of Trixie’s sedan was not a great loud thing, and thus didn’t do much to fill the silence left between the two girls as they drove down the road towards the Everton Arboretum. Buildings and trees passed by in quick succession through Trixie’s peripherals as she kept her eyes on the road, casting a furtive glance at her passenger every so often. Pinkie, for her part, had her seat partly leaned back and was staring out the window, open eyes reflected by the glare off the glass.

Those same melancholy eyes.

She’d originally turned off the music so the two of them could talk. Now that the moment was here, however, Trixie found herself at a loss on what to say. It surely didn’t help that even though she wanted to talk, she certainly didn’t feel like talking, a fact that Pinkie had no doubt picked up on, if her silence was anything to go by. After all, she could try to cheer Pinkie up all she wanted but, at the end of the day, it would all end up being meaningless platitudes. How often had she herself heard such things, the smell of cheap carpet cleaner in her nostrils as some overpriced therapist told her things would get better? Now she was even getting it from Silver as well. Was she really about to do the same thing to Pinkie?

I can’t even convince myself, she thought, switching lanes. I was longing for an accident last night. I’m about to walk away from magic. I– No– Who am I to be giving her advice?

 	She turned on the air conditioner as a distraction from her thoughts, her stale air-freshener trying and failing to carry through on the artificial breeze. Her hands were shaking, she noted, so she doubled the tightness of her grip as she returned them to the steering wheel.

But you can’t ignore those eyes.

Trixie risked another glance to the side, watching Pinkie reflected on her passenger window again. It just didn’t square with the image she had of her old classmate, almost as if the translucent visage was indeed some spectre, devoid of the color and vitality that made Pinkie… well… Pinkie. Without that spark, that translucent reflection did indeed look lifeless.

The thought made Trixie highly uncomfortable.

You’ve got to do something! Trixie thought, in between furtive glances. And yet, as she was about to look back towards the road, a peculiarity of the reflection caught her attention. Pinkie’s eyes did indeed hold that same sadness in their reflected state. However…

Shouldn’t they be moving?

As the world passed by the window, cars and buildings alike, those eyes stayed fixed at a single point in the distance, locked on a target. They were studying something, or someone. And in fact, if she didn’t know any better, it would almost seem as if they were looking directly at h—

Shit, Trixie cursed, turning her attention forwards in a snap. Good, now she thinks I was staring at her or something. Though she was looking at me too…

	And it was a look she definitely recognized.

I wonder what she read from me this time.

Deciding to give up on conversation for the time being, Trixie reached up to her car’s audio system and turned it back on, resuming play of her earlier CD. The soft melody and especially the masterful harmonies of the track, did a lot to brighten her mood, and would definitely make the rest of the car ride more enjoyable. Ironically, however, this move was apparently what was needed to draw Pinkie into a dialogue.

“Oooh, this is really pretty,” she said, turning to face the console. “Who is it?”

“Smooth Groove,” Trixie replied, keeping her eyes forward as she drove. “He was a one-hit-wonder in the seventies, but put out a bunch of albums. This is one of those albums.”

“Really?” Pinkie nodded along as another song started. “You don’t really strike me as a seventies R&B sort of girl. Always thought you were a metal and rock type. Ooh I know! I know! Was it your dad’s and now you listen to it as a way to stay close to him because he’s no longer around?”

“Pff! As if,” Trixie scoffed. “The store has this bargain bin of discount CDs that no one wants. Once they’re marked down below a certain point, they’re basically free to employees with our discount, so Jazz just lets us have them for free if we want them. Helps clear out the bin faster and gives us some free music that we might not have listened to otherwise.”

“That’s pretty smart.”

“Yeah, they do have some pretty good ideas here and there,” Trixie agreed. “And no, I’m not really a seventies R&B fan, but some music is just special, like listen to this guy here.”

Pinkie leaned forward, closer to the console, as Trixie turned up the volume slightly.

“He’s a pretty good singer, sure, but fairly average for the time period,” Trixie continued. “His band is also ok. But the arrangements put them on another level. Like right now it sounds pretty good, but wait for the chorus when the back up singers come in with the harmonies, the whole thing jumps up in level, and then they stay for the second verse, the whole thing is just amazing.”

Pinkie nodded, swept up in the excitement as she waited. As promised, the chorus then hit, and the melodies of the back up singers began to mix with those Smooth Groove. Perfect harmonies, intricate arrangements. Magnificence. Trixie chanced a quick glance at Pinkie and was pleased to see a small “oh” of surprise upon her lips. And yet, her eyes showed something Trixie couldn’t quite place, something like understanding or comprehension—of what she could only guess. Most disturbing still, Pinkie’s attention was no longer focused on the console, or the speakers, or even the outside world, but on Trixie herself. But Trixie had to look back at the road before she could analyze Pinkie any further.

No matter, she figured. I’ll probably find out soon anyway.

“So…I don’t know how you’re gonna take this” Pinkie said softly, two songs into their listening session. “But you do know those were the Dazzlings right?”

“What?” Trixie squawked, the name almost causing her to swerve. Almost. She paused the music halfway through a chorus. “No, they weren’t! That’s ridiculous.”

“Okay, then who are they?”

“I don’t know,” Trixie said, reaching under her seat. She pulled out the CD case and handed it to Pinkie who began looking through the insert booklet. “Some nameless session singers hired to sing back up for the album, just like the guitarists and the saxophone player. Back then they wouldn’t always get credited unless they were super famous. Laws were awful like that. Cause it was the seventies.”

“Hm…” Pinkie hummed loudly. “Well if I was a siren who was only good at singing and who never aged and I wanted to earn money without letting people know about me, this does sound like the type of thing I would be totally up for. Oh! Sorry! That’s not to say that Adagio is only good at singing. She might be good at plenty of things. I know you had that crush on her and if you’re still listening to her music then—”

“We do not talk about that,” Trixie interrupted sharply, with a snap of her fingers in front of Pinkie’s eyes. She could already feel a blush growing on her cheeks, so she took a few deep breaths to cool down before continuing. “And there’s no way that’s the three of them. Even if I believe the whole immortal magic siren bit, which I’ll admit isn’t off the table considering the things I’ve seen, it would still be a huge leap to think they just decided to become session singers as a way to make money. Not only that, but the idea that I’ve been listening to them for months without noticing is ridiculous.” 

She punctuated her last sentence with a humph of what she hoped was finality, before pressing play on the CD again. But when she did, she found she really wished she hadn’t. 

The song played right where she had paused it, a part with harmonies. This was one of her favorite parts of the whole CD actually, a tapestry of gently woven vocals. But, now that Pinkie had pointed it out, the voices were unmistakable. She’d certainly never quite forgotten one of those voices.

In one swift motion Trixie pulled over to the side of the road, slammed on her brakes, and opened the passenger window. 

“Woah, what’s going on?” Pinkie questioned, but Trixie was ignoring her, too busy getting the album out of the player. Once out, she pressed it between her palms, adding pressure until the CD snapped in half. Satisfied, Trixie then threw both halves and the CD case out the window. Then, she wiped her hands against her clothes, raised the passenger side window, and rejoined the flow of traffic.

“Well, that takes care of that,” Trixie said brightly to no one in particular as she took out a different CD from her collection and placed it into the player. “This one is some Motown from the 50’s, so definitely no need to worry about them showing up here.”

And yet, as the album began to play, Trixie couldn’t help but notice the almost heavenly backup singers, the uncredited trio of familiar sounding session singers, or the way that Pinkie was pointedly avoiding eye contact by staring out the window, a knowing smile showing in her reflection.

But I really like this one, she whined within her mind, before a darker thought came to her. Slowly, she thought about her collection of albums, stashed away in binders in the back and in cases underneath her seat. How many of those have a trio of uncredited female session singers?

She made some mental calculations and found she didn’t really care much for the answer.

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.







“So.. Whatcha want?”

That’s what it comes down to, isn’t it? 

What Trixie wanted used to seem so clear, once upon a time. But then, things had been so much simpler then. The world had been so much simpler then. Trixie knew better now, and there was no getting around that. What she wanted was so insignificant in comparison to the scope of what she’d seen. And if her aspirations were so miniscule now, then what was she?

Stay in the moment, she reminded herself. You know you want to help Pinkie. That’s a start. Figure it out from there, decision by decision, starting with this one. The rest can come later.

“Vanilla,” she finally said, with a decisive nod. If the ice cream vendor found the amount of time it took her to come to that conclusion odd, she chose not to comment, nodding instead and parsing out two spoonfuls unto a waiting disposable bowl.

“Here you go.”

Trixie offered her thanks as she paid, eager to leave the chilly interior of the parkside ice-cream shop. Stepping outside, however, offered little relief, the direct sunlight grazing her skin doing little more than prickling against the goosebumps on her arms. Squinting across the way, she noticed Pinkie taking lazy spoonfuls from her ice cream while staring at a family from a wooden bench.

“What flavor did you get?” Trixie asked as she stepped closer, eventually taking a seat next to the girl.

“Birthday cake and marshmallow,” Pinkie answered, eyes still trained on the family a few ways away. “I’m guessing you got the caramel?”

“Vanilla, actually.”

That seemed to get Pinkie’s attention, as the girl finally turned to stare at Trixie, or more specifically Trixie’s cup.

“Something the matter?” Trixie asked indignantly, taking a spoonful of the ice cream. The cold feld good against her tongue.

“No…” Pinkie said slowly. “Just different, is all.”

As she said it, however, Trixie could see Pinkie’s brain turning, analyzing her in some way she couldn’t understand. Pinkie’s eyes went from the ice cream to Trixie’s own eyes, and gave a questioning tilt of her head.

A small breeze passed by, and Trixie didn’t feel like eating ice cream anymore.

This is ridiculous, she thought, placing the bowl next to herself on the bench. It’s not like I had a favorite flavor back in school and even if I did, it’s not like she would honestly remember what it was after all this time.

A restless part of her mind argued that she couldn’t be sure of either of those statements. It unnerved her.

Trixie could almost feel a bit of that old bravado well up inside of her, a response to the uncomfortable situation she found herself in, but Pinkie turned to look back at the family before she could use it to any extent. A held breath dissipated without a sound.

And I still don’t know what to say, Trixie thought, as she looked between Pinkie and the object of her seeming interest. She tried to think of how Silver would handle this, or any other therapist she’d gone to, but came up blank. Not that they ever got me to open up in the first place.

A memory suddenly crossed her mind. It was an old memory, involving Pinkie, Trixie, and a night when words seemed just as difficult and scarce. The memory gave her an idea, one she didn’t particularly like. She glanced back at Pinkie, then at the ice cream by her side. Then she took a breath.

“It’s all tasteless anyway.”

Pinkie rapidly turned her head towards her companion, startled by the sudden declaration.

“What—”

“That’s why I got vanilla,” Trixie continued. “I mean. Not tasteless, I can obviously taste flavors but they're not really enjoyable anymore. Nothing really is and it hasn’t been for a while. It didn’t really matter what flavor I got, so I didn’t really think it through. I just… picked one? I didn’t even want ice cream! I know you liked it and I figured you wouldn’t say no to it, so getting it was more of a thing to do than something I really put a lot of thought into.”

“Oh,” Pinkie answered, giving Trixie her undivided attention.

“Nothing has been enjoyable for a while,” Trixie near whispered, her palms grazing the wooden grain of the bench. “Nothing has been fulfilling. So I’ve been making decisions this way for a while. Anyway, I told you what was on my mind, so…”

And as she finished, Trixie nodded towards the family that Pinkie had been staring at since they’d gotten there.

Pinkie creased her brow in confusion before seeming to make the connection.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Oh! Oh! Right! It’s only fair. Um…”

Trixie watched as Pinkie bit her thumb, presumably putting some thought into what she wanted to say, and waited in silence. After a minute or so, it seemed Pinkie was ready.

“That girl is having a birthday party with her family and some friends that ran off to play in the park,” Pinkie said finally, turning her gaze back to them. “Must be what? Sixth grade? It got me thinking of me at that age. My family was really close back then. And then later I met the girls, my other family. And then for years afterwards I got to spend some of the scariest, most stressful, most wonderfullest times ever with them. I planned dances. I helped out in a shelter. I modeled dresses. There were so many things I got to be a part of… It wasn’t all good, of course, but I was a part of it.”

Pinkie stopped for a good while there, staring at that family again, at the girl in particular. Trixie wondered if she was supposed to say something, but chose to wait instead.

“I wonder what she’s going to be a part of?” Pinkie said finally. “I was picturing the many things she might do. And there’s so many, Trixie. I guess I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous.”

“You?” Trixie asked in hushed tones, unable to hide her surprise. “You are jealous of some kid? You have arcane powers and intimate knowledge of other realms. You can transform at will and use that form to fight against evil monsters. You have actual, honest-to-goodness magic!”

“You’re not wrong,” Pinkie said, eyeing Trixie in a way that very much implied that she was. “I mean, I’m not actually sure that I have those powers still, haven’t needed them in a while. But, even if I did, yeah, I guess I am still jealous.”

“How?”

“Why,” Pinkie corrected, shaking her head. “Magic for me was always more about doing things for other people. Even the powers, they were there to help when I was needed. Helping made me feel special, and the powers let me help more than I ever could before, which made me feel even more special. That’s what magic was to me. But…”

“But,” Trixie prompted, unwilling to let Pinkie lapse into silence again.

“But,” Pinkie continued, “I’m just not needed anymore. Everyone who needed me is gone. Caramel likes me but doesn’t really need me. Sunset went back home. Maud is in college. Limestone is living with her girlfriend. Rarity is in Paris. Dashie and Shy are all over the world. AJ never asks for help. Really, the only one left is my sister Marble and she’ll move out soon as well. And then it’ll just be me. Which is fine. I mean, it should be fine. Everyone grows up, right? Everyone leaves. So what if they take their magic with them?”

Trixie watched as tears pooled around Pinkie’s eyes, and was at a loss for words as Pinkie wiped them.

“What I would give to be her age again,” Pinkie said, nodding at the girl, before letting her head drop. “But, that’s not how the world works. I guess I was just having some silly thoughts.”

“You’re wrong.”

Trixie surprised herself at her outburst, the words leaving her mouth before she’d even planned on a response. And yet, they felt right and did not take them back. Instead, she waited for a reaction, any reaction, from Pinkie at her statement. When she got none, she continued.

“First of all, they’re not silly thoughts. They’re just thoughts. Wishes. Musings. And who doesn’t wish they could do the good parts over again? I know I wish I could. Wishing to have something back that you miss isn’t silly. It’s human. Hell, I would go back just to tell myself not to fall for Adagio.”

Trixie waited for a response, yet again. She hoped for a chuckle or a comment, but got nothing. She continued.

“As for this ‘everyone who needed you’ business? Please! Everyone at that school needed you. You really think it was just those six? That whole place was hopeless and I know for a fact that most of those idiots still live nearby if you wanted to reconnect. Or did you forget about all the dances that wouldn’t have happened without you? All the parties and fundraisers? All the catering for the special groups and events? I’m pretty sure everyone there owes you. I certainly wouldn’t have been able to get started without your support. Or kept going without you always willing to help. If those morons were dumb enough to move away from you, then that’s their loss. And I do mean, their loss.”

Trixie continued to stare, waiting for anything, almost jumping to her feet as Pinkie slowly, hesitantly, raised her head to meet Trixie’s gaze. Pinkie’s eyes had changed slightly. Most probably wouldn’t have noticed, but Trixie had. There was a spark, a glimmer of something awakening within Pinkie. More telling, perhaps, was the smile adorning her face, framed by drying teartracks.

That spark was still a small and fleeting thing, not enough to catch, but Trixie could now detect an ember where before she’d been afraid she’d seen nothing. And strangely enough, as Pinkie continued to stare at her with that smile, she thought that maybe she could feel that same ember within herself as well. 

“Where is that clown?!”

The yell came from fairly far away and was not particularly loud, and yet both Pinkie and Trixie immediately turned their attention to the balding man on his cellphone. From there, their gaze went back to the family they had been watching who seemed to be growing more and more frustrated by the moment, as the kids gathered for a show that was apparently not happening.

“Tsk tsk,” Pinkie clicked her tongue, “Kinda feel sorry for them. Still though, clown was a bad call for kids that age anyway. Too old, don’t you think?”

“Definitely,” Trixie agreed. “Some music maybe, a magician, or maybe a balloon animal artist, but one of those classy ones. Definitely not a clown for a sixth grader.”

“You know… We do have a magician on hand here. You could swoop in and fix everything. The vigilante magician coming out of nowhere!”

“Yeah right,” Trixie replied with a wry smile. “Let me just get my knife collection out of my trunk. No one’s going to raise an eyebrow at that. Maybe I should just have her shoot me.” 

A moment of silence passed.

“It’s a new trick I do,” Trixie added hastily. “I’m fine at the end.”

“...Right,” Pinkie blinked rapidly. “But I meant more like a card trick? You still carry those in your pocket, right?”

And suddenly it was Trixie’s turn to hesitate before answering. Her hand absentmindedly traced the deck of cards against her thigh through her pants as she thought of her response.

“I do…” she began, “But I don’t really do that anymore. I was going to throw them away today, actually. And if we’re being totally honest, I probably won’t be performing at all before too long.”

“Oh,” Pinkie frowned. “That’s sad to hear. You don’t have to tell me, but… Can I ask why?”

Whatever reaction Trixie expected, this was not it. Still, she nodded.

“Back during the Friendship Games, I got to see real magic up close. I saw what you and your friends could do. It was my first time seeing it without mind control, without that filter that makes it all foggy and hard to remember. I saw the world was so much bigger than I thought, and that magic, real magic, was not only a thing but so much more than I could have ever imagined. And in the face of all of that was useless little me, holding cards and tricking people into believing I was more than I really was. I– I just can’t. Not when I know how small I am.”

Trixie gave off a sharp laugh.

“My magic is overrated anyway. A cheap copy of the real thing.”

“You’re wrong.”

Trixie felt Pinkie place a hand on her shoulder, and chose to focus on that hand rather than the person speaking to her for the time being.

“I get why you feel that way,” Pinkie said. “I do. I have been at the center of a lot of Equestrian Magic, and it is just as big and… well big as you say it is. So I get it. But I’ve also seen your shows up close a ton of times. And really, seeing you up on a stage, giving it your all, seeing everyone react to everything you do, seeing you in your element… well– that’s as real as magic gets. I would know.”

Trixie raised her gaze from Pinkie’s hand to her eyes, a determined stare meeting hers. She tried to respond but found her throat dry, and focused instead on suppressing a cough.

“Real magic is inside you,” Pinkie pressed on. “What you do for others? What you’re excited about? What you share with others? Acts of caring? That’s real magic, and you’re one of the most magical people I know. And right now there’s a kid who could use some magic on her birthday. So come on, we’re going.”

Without further warning, Pinkie grabbed Trixie’s arm and began dragging her towards the family. Trixie uttered various noises in protest and began to pull back. Strangely, she found that she could.

She’s not actually forcing me?

However, despite now knowing she had the ability to snap free from her grasp, Trixie did not actually do so. Pinkie’s words continued to float through her mind, as she continued her forward walk, as if compelled by actual magic, to the point that she might have been afraid that was the case had she not known for a fact what that experience was like.

“Can we help you?” the mom asked, as the duo stepped closer with clear intent to approach. Pinkie nudged Trixie in front of her, much to Trixie’s displeasure. Still, Trixie was nothing, if not a performer.

“Actually,” she spoke airly, “we were hoping we could help you. We could not help but overhear your husband’s outburst a second ago. I happen to be a passing magician with some time between shows and my assistant and I could simply not bear the idea of a young girl lacking for entertainment on her special day. I know I’m no clown but, perhaps a bit of free magic might do?”

The mom looked unsure but the decision was ultimately out of her hands. The second Trixie had said “magic,” the kids behind them had all perked up.

“Please, Mom?” the birthday girl begged. “Just one trick, please?”

The mom smiled and nodded, stepping to the side. Suddenly, the kids at the party, as well as a bunch of other kids that had been nearby rushed forward, taking a seat on the ground. The birthday girl took a seat at the front. Trixie gave one last glance at Pinkie, who gave her a thumbs up. She then removed the cards from her pocket and took a deep breath.

“Well, if I only get one trick, then I better make this one count,” she said, making a show of thinking to herself. “How about I gift you some magic of my own? It is your birthday after all.”

“Really? You’d do that?”

“I think so,” Trixie smiled. “I don’t do it very often. I have to recover afterwards. But, it is a special day. What’s your name?”

“Ruby.”

“Ah yes. Definitely a name worthy of power. Let us begin.”

Trixie made a show of shuffling the deck while all the kids murmured and whispered in awe at her dexterity, the crisp snap of the cards creating a counterpoint to their staggered rhythm. She ended the shuffling with a clap of her hands, the small boom causing all the kids to jump in their seated position. At first they giggled at the shock, before the sound of awe rang out again as they saw that in Trixie’s hands, the deck of cards was now completely fanned out. She asked Ruby to pick a card and show it to her friends.

“Now, the normal version of this trick is one I’m sure you’ve seen before,” Trixie began, taking the card and shuffling it into the deck. “It’s quite simple. You pick a card. You put it in. I shuffle the deck. I pull out your card. No one knows how. Applause.”
 
From the deck she drew Ruby’s card to a chorus of excitement. With a smile she put it back into the deck and began to shuffle it again.

“The problem is that this trick has been done. There’s no challenge to it. No nuance. So I wanted to change it a bit. Here’s what I’m thinking. What if I could get you to draw the card instead? Infuse you with magic for long enough that you, without any training, could pull the right card? Wouldn’t that be something?”

Ruby’s eyes went wide at the prospect, a small nod of her head as a response. Trixie fanned the cards out again.

“Now, what I need you to do is to maintain eye contact with me, to form a connection, and draw blindly from where you think your card is. As long as our connection remains strong, you’ll make the right choice. Then put your card up to your chest and don’t look at it.”

Ruby took a deep and solemn breath as every other kid present held theirs. Then, she locked eyes with Trixie. Trixie nodded at her and kept her eyes locked on Ruby as well, letting her peripheral vision do the work. Ruby drew her card and quickly, almost violently, pressed it against her chest. Trixie, who had been kneeling to maintain eye contact, stood up and pretended to examine the back of the deck before giving off a dramatic sigh.

“What’s wrong, Ms. Magician?”

“Oh, nothing,” Trixie said, “The trick got a little messed up is all. You should have told me you already had magic of your own. Could have saved me the trouble.”

Ruby looked around in confusion, obviously afraid of having done something wrong. The other kids, however, had picked up on what Trixie had said. Whispers of “Ruby already had magic?” started circulating around her.

“What do you mean?”

“What I said. You already had magic, so when I gave you mine, you became too powerful for our little trick. The real problem is that I wasn’t clear enough. I asked you to draw your card, not the card you had drawn before, but to draw your card. And so you did. This is the card you drew before.”

Trixie drew from the deck the same card Ruby had drawn and showed it to the crowd. She then placed it back into the deck and pocketed the whole thing.

“What you have there,” she said pointing at the card Ruby was holding, “is your card. It’ll make more sense if you turn it over.”

The other kids gathered around Ruby as she flipped the card to reveal the Queen of Diamonds.

“The Queen of Diamonds for Ruby,” Trixie said, still not having seen the card. “A gem for a gem.”

The kids lost it.

Clapping. Yelling. Cheering. Jumping.

A part of Trixie worried that they might accidentally rip the card, but it was only a small part.

I can always get another.

In the end, she did get her card back, along with a heartfelt thank you from both Ruby and her mother, as well as two slices of cake, which Pinkie and Trixie were now beginning to dig into, over on their bench.

“You know,” Pinkie said, with a mouth half full, “I’ve always liked that trick. I remember when you did it to Rarity. I think you gave her the same card too!”

“Somehow I think she’ll manage,” Trixie said, licking frosting from her spork.

“You have no idea,” Pinkie giggled. “She’s very generous like that. But, it’s a little different than I remember.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Pinkie said, putting her spork down for a moment and looking at Trixie earnestly. “Pinkie feels like something is missing from it. Something really special and wonderful that made the whole thing come together. She really hopes Trixie puts it back again.”

Trixie expected Pinkie to go back to eating her cake after that, but instead she kept her gaze focused on her. And so, Trixie stared back into those eyes.

It wasn’t every day that someone had a close encounter with magic. Some went their entire lives looking for that spectacle, that enchantment that blurred the line between reality and disbelief. Very few ever found it. Trixie had come across magic before, that awe inspiring dwarfing energy, and had been overwhelmed with it’s absence ever since. And yet, as she stared at Pinkie, she felt its presence again. 

There were no lights this time, no wings, no equine ears, no hair extensions, no earth shaking displays of might. Instead, there was just a gentle nod, a lively smile, and a hitch in Trixie’s breath. But it was unmistakable, a magic as real as Trixie had ever felt.

It was not every day that someone had a close encounter with magic. Luckily for Trixie, she had Pinkie Pie.