He picks it up, but there’s nothing there. He sticks out his bottom lip in a pout and draws his fingers down his cheeks to indicate tears. Too bad, he is saying. So sad.

He writes, Try again, setting the cup back down.

I point to the one on the right. There stands a miniature bottle of peppermint schnapps. The glass is the color of a traffic light—green for go—and the label is black and white, like his face. He picks it up and sends it spinning into the air high above our heads. I watch it tumble end over end over end for an unnaturally long period of time. I glance at the man, and he taps his wrist and fakes a yawn. Then his face brightens suddenly, and he points up.

I manage to look up in time to see the bottle finally fall. I catch it just before it hits the concrete and shatters. I’m not sure I like this game.

He points to me with a sweet smile. For you. Then he bows, and I tuck the bottle safely in my pocket before he can send it spinning again.

There’s more. Want to see? he writes, all three cups replaced on the table

I nod even though I don’t really want to see. It’s more that I can’t look away. I notice the red-and-yellow sash tied around the band of his top hat.

With a flick of his wrist, he grabs his raven-topped cane and twirls it over one of the cups—the goblet to the right. He smiles at me and grabs the cup by the neck, overturning it. Beneath it lies a key: one of those old-fashioned, skeleton-key types with a twirly top and a fancy, one-sided end to slide into the keyhole. He points to me again. Take it.

“What does it open?” I ask, reaching for the key as if I expect it to bite.

He draws a question mark on his board and gives me a sly smile. He waves the cane over the goblet now in the center, and turns it over with a speedy twirl of his fingers. Beneath it is a card. And not just any card. It’s a tarot card exactly like the ones in my deck. But it’s not one of my cards: it’s the missing card—the Moon. Instinctively, I reach for it, but he slams the goblet back down, nearly clipping my fingers.

I snatch my hand back. “Hey! That’s mine. How did you get that?”

He grins at me. When he pulls the cup up again, it is gone.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Who are you?”

His answering expression is quizzical and innocent, as if I am the crazy one for asking.

“Did he send you?” I wiggle the green bottle of schnapps at him.