Within a year of the night Maggie came to his door, Roman Emperor was a fixture on the Spell Circuit and all his peers considered him a threat. People whispered phrases like he could be and the best ever.

His show was electrifying. It was dangerous. He did things with weapons so frightening audience members would leave an Emperor show with a sense of having survived it. His show was sexy, too, in its way. Maggie changed the show from one of introspective meandering to arresting spectacle. Roman was free to concentrate entirely on the magic at last, as Maggie took care of all the things the audience pined for. And for this, for her, Roman’s seriousness came off as refreshing in relief.

At last, people were getting him.

And yet, how long could he expect to carry out real magic before his peers started to ask real questions?

The Spell Circuit grew suspicious. Magicians whispered. Even writers from magazines such as Presto had incredulity in their eyes.

Unrelated articles about cheating appeared more regularly. The history of dirty magic was brought up.

Anything fishy about Roman Emperor to you?

His peers could tell. Of course none of them had the imaginative capacity to piece together the night Roman met his promoter, but in the same way baseball managers can spot the pine tar, the Spell Circuit smelled a rat.

Roman had always been good but it was strictly on a skills level. If one had asked the top names what they thought about him, most would’ve called him competent at best. And while they might have respected his love for the craft, they could look one another in the eye comfortably, knowing that the overcast man with the tight lip wasn’t going anywhere.

Now though…

Now the guys were shifting in their seats and shaking their heads no. Something was up.

Almost all of Roman’s tricks looked impossible. And most of them were brand new; tricks nobody had seen him work out live. And who was the blonde? And where had he found her? It used to be a running joke that, if you needed a quiet place to go, you could get a ticket to the Emperor show.

So…what was going on?

Maybe if the girl was the only thing different about the show…but she wasn’t. Roman was strutting into the club like a soldier, hellfire in his eyes, and he hardly spoke to the other magicians on the bill. This wasn’t protocol. This wasn’t politics. This wasn’t right. Emperor was acting like he owned the circuit and guys were worried he might eventually do just that. Their opinions of him were contorted by envy. And that envy easily led to the two least desirable words in the scene:

Dirty magic.