But Maggie never lost track of the days they were supposed to refresh Death, send new bodies to Roman’s always eager promoter.

By the time they pulled into Goblin the next morning, Roman behind the wheel of his signature used black Mercedes, Roman Emperor considered himself to be the greatest magician in the world.

As he passed between the giant Sherman topiaries of George Carroll and Jonathan Trachtenbroit, he smiled.

“There have been eighty tickets sold for this one already,” he told Maggie. “I’m sure she’ll be happy with her cut.”

15

Pete was at Mr. Bench’s shop when he saw the black Mercedes drive by. He couldn’t see the driver, but he was positive the blond woman in the passenger seat, looking up through the glass at Goblin, was Maggie.

He’d read every single magazine and paper Mr. Bench gave him. He knew as much as someone could about Roman Emperor. So when the Mercedes passed, Pete’s only thought was to follow it.

“What is it, Pete?” Mr. Bench asked, sensing Pete was distracted.

“Um, I’m gonna run to the Transistor Planet for a second.” His mind raced. “There’s a new game out about witch hunts. Brian at school told me about it. Said they might have it already.”

“Witch hunts, huh? My, how games have changed.”

“I’ll see you, Mr. Bench!”

Then he was out the door.

He searched the streets, looking for the car and peering in every storefront he passed. He moved fast, covering three blocks in a hurry, and headed east. He stopped at a light, Lily and Neptune, and saw Emperor’s Mercedes parked a block away.

Pete’s body stiffened.

The light changed and he had to tell himself to cross the street. Legs like rubber, he passed the black car, hardly able to believe it was here, in Goblin, in person, and he was so electrified that he looked for them everywhere, it seemed, at once, until all of downtown was a shimmering steel blur.

He found them sitting in a booth in Davey P’s Diner.

Pete was stupefied. Rooted to the sidewalk outside. This was a Presto magician. And yet the man looked so lifelike, so alive. Unlike the photos Pete had seen, Roman Emperor’s face moved when he blinked, his hands moved when he brought the fork to his lips, and when a cloud passed in front of the sun, it turned his hair from dark to black.

A raindrop fell from the sky and Pete recalled, vaguely, that it was going to be a boomer of a rainfall tonight. That’s what Mom called it. Said people in town were preparing themselves for a flood. But the only flood Pete was worried about right now was the possibility of wetting his pants as he stared at the two legends beyond the glass.