Vivian

The rain pelts my face as I weave through the bustling crowd on the Santa Monica Pier. My heart pounds in sync with my footsteps, echoing the urgency of my situation. The cheerful atmosphere is a stark contrast to the fear gripping my chest.

Families huddle under colorful umbrellas, their laughter mingling with the sounds of carnival games and the distant roar of the ocean. Any other day, I’d be here, performing my “magic” acts, earning honest money.

But not today.

Today, I’m running for my life.

I dodge a group of tourists, their excited chatter about the Ferris wheel is a distant buzz in my ears. The scent of funnel cakes and cotton candy blends with the salty sea air, but I can’t appreciate it.

Not now. Not when danger looms so close behind.

A glance over my shoulder confirms my worst fear—they’re still on my tail. Two men in dark suits pushing people out of the way. They don’t belong here among the people enjoying their summer afternoon.

But then again, neither do I.

Not anymore. Not since Dad disappeared and left me to fend for myself in a world that doesn’t understand what we are.

I sprint past the carousel, its cheery music a mockery of my predicament. My sneakers splash through puddles, soaking my socks. I wish I could use my magic now. If only I knew how to teleport far away from here.

But I can’t. Not in front of all these people.

Not when the very thing that makes me special is what I need to hide the most.

As I run, memories flash through my mind. Weeks of searching for Dad, of performing our acts alone, my voice hollow as I announced each trick to diminishing crowds. The worry gnawing at my insides, growing with each passing day of his absence. The desperation that drove me to slip my fingers into unsuspecting pockets, guilt warring with the need to survive.

Dad always said our magic was both a gift and a curse. Right now, it feels more like the latter. If only he were here. . . but he’s been missing for weeks. And now, because of his debts, I’m the one paying the price.

I remember the day he first showed me how to make a coin disappear—not with sleight of hand, but with actual magic. I was seven, wide-eyed and amazed as the quarter vanished from his palm in a shimmer of blue light.

“This is our secret, Viv,” he said, his eyes serious despite his smile. “The world isn’t ready for real magic. We have to be careful.”

We would laugh as we practiced our “street magic” acts, passing off our abilities as simple tricks. Our magic kept us close after Mom died. I watched in awe as he levitated objects “with invisible thread,” knowing full well that it was actually his telekinesis.

And I beamed with pride when he praised my illusions, each one a tiny spark of magic disguised as smoke and mirrors.

But those happy memories feel like a lifetime ago as I dodge a group of skateboarders, nearly losing my balance on the wet wooden planks of the pier. The sound of heavy footsteps behind me grows closer. I need to think fast.

I spot a gap in the crowd near the edge of the pier and dart through. The wind whips my shoulder-length honey brown hair into my face, and I brush it away impatiently. For a moment, I consider jumping into the churning waters below.

At least there, I might have a chance to use my magic without being seen. But the waves look angry and unforgiving, a roiling mass of gray that matches the ominous sky above. I’m a strong swimmer, but in this weather? It would be suicide.

Before I can decide, a strong hand grabs my arm, yanking me backward. I spin around, coming face to face with one of my pursuers. His grip is like iron, his eyes cold.

“Thought you could run, eh?” His voice is barely audible over the crashing waves and the din of the crowd. “Your old man’s debt is due, and someone’s gotta pay.”

I struggle, my mind racing. I could use my magic now, consequences be damned. But the pier is packed with witnesses. If I reveal what I can do, I’ll be trading one danger for another.

The second man catches up, panting heavily. “Boss wants to have a word with you,” he says, reaching for my other arm.

I close my eyes.I’ll have to risk it all and use my magic.

As I feel the familiar tingle of power at my fingertips, I silently apologize to my father wherever he is. I’m about to break our most sacred rule, but I have no choice.

Just as I’m about to unleash a spell, a scream of laughter comes from around the corner and they both look away for a moment. In that split second of distraction, I make my move. With a strength born out of desperation, I wrench free and plunge through the crowd, disappearing into a sea of umbrellas and raincoats.

My lungs burn as I push myself harder, searching for an escape—I know those loan sharks are going to find me. But I need to put as much space between us as possible.

My mind races back to the moment this nightmare began. It was just another day of performing on the pier, my hat on the ground collecting meager tips as I went through the motions of our act when I saw them.

Two men in suits, out of place among the beach-goers and tourists. They were scanning the crowd, and I knew instantly they weren’t here for the sights.

I had seen their type before, back when Dad was around. He always managed to smooth-talk our way out of trouble, to buy more time.

But Dad wasn’t here now, and as their eyes locked onto mine, I knew my time had run out.

I barely had time to grab my hat, stuffing the bills into my pocket. Then I was running, pushing through the crowd, my heart in my throat as I heard one of them shout, “Hey! Stop!”

Now, as I veer off the pier and onto the streets of Santa Monica, my lungs begin to burn. The streets are slick with rain, causing me to nearly lose my footing while rounding a corner. Quickly ducking into a nearby alley, my heart pounds while I pray I’ve lost my pursuers.

The alley is narrow, the buildings on either side looming over me like silent sentinels. Dumpsters line the wall, and I briefly consider hiding behind one.

But no, they’d find me in seconds. I need to keep moving.

Running deeper into the alley’s network, my mind wanders to Dad again. Where is he? Why did he leave? Was it to protect me, or had his debts finally caught up with him?

Not knowing is almost worse than the danger I’m in now.

I round another corner and my heart sinks.

It’s a dead end.

The alley terminates in a tall brick wall, too high to climb, with no convenient fire escape or footholds in sight. The men appear at the alley’s entrance. I spin around, and press my back against the wall.Their suits are drenched as they stalk toward me.

“You’re a slippery thing,” one of them calls out, his voice echoing off the walls. “But looks like your luck has run out. It’s time to pay for your old man’s mistakes.”

As they advance, my mind races. I’m out of options, out of tricks—at least, the kind they’re expecting. A memory surfaces—Dad’s voice, stern and worried, as he forbade me from ever attempting the disappearing act.

Years ago, not long after Mom died,we were practicing in our small apartment, and I asked to learn more advanced magic.

“The disappearing act isn’t like other tricks we’ve done, Vivian.” His voice was uncharacteristically serious. “It’s not just an illusion or a simple manipulation of energy. It’s dangerous, unpredictable. Promise me you’ll never try it.”

I promised, of course. But he also demonstrated it once, so I’d understand the gravity of his warning. One moment he was there, and the next he vanished completely, reappearing seconds later across the room, pale and shaken.

“This is why we never use it,” he gasped. “You never know where you’ll end up, or if you’ll come back at all.”

Now, as the men close in, those words echo in my mind. It’s too risky, a voice that sounds like Dad’s warns me.

But what else am I supposed to do?

“Nowhere left to run,” the second man sneers, now close enough that I can see the raindrops clinging to his eyebrows. “Boss wants to have a word with you about your father’s debts. Come quietly, and maybe we won’t have to get rough.”

I close my eyes, silently apologizing to Dad wherever he is. I’m sorry, Dad. The men are only feet away now. It’s either the disappearing act or facing whatever grim fate they have in store for me.

With a deep breath, I concentrate, calling upon every ounce of magical energy within me. I’ve never attempted this before, but the memory of Dad’s demonstration guides me as I focus, willing myself to vanish.

For a terrifying moment, nothing happens. I can hear the men breathing and smell the mix of rain and cologne.

My eyes fly open. It didn’t work. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Then, suddenly, I feel a tingling sensation spreading from my stomach to the tips of my fingers and toes.

It’s like every cell in my body is vibrating, humming with an energy I’ve never felt before.

The sounds of the alley begin to fade away—the rain, the footsteps, the thugs shouting their surprise. The last thing I see before everything goes black is the look of utter disbelief on my pursuers’ faces.

Then, the world around me disappears, and I’m engulfed in darkness.