The Art of Disappearing by Ivy Pochoda (top non fiction books of all time TXT) 📗

was ringed with holly crowns, the other with ivy.

“I have no idea,” Toby replied.

“The two most important winter plants. I think you should be the Holly King.” He held out the arm with the holly.

“Are you sure?” Toby asked.

“He’s jolly and playful. A vegetation god. He’s part of the seasonal cycle, and you’re a magician. It’s all about transformation.”

The magician fingered the holly crown.

“And the ivy?” I asked.

“The cold gloom of winter. But evergreen nonetheless.”

“I’ll take ivy,” Toby decided.

“You’ll take the gloom of winter?” I asked.

Christoph wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “There are no bad choices. The ivy brings both good and bad luck. Although some say it represents mortality, the most common belief is that the ivy is eternal life and resurrection.”

“Resurrection?” Toby said, reaching for one of the ivy crowns. “The ivy.”

“I will, too,” I said.

“It’s the contradictions that appeal to you,” Christoph said, kissing my cheek. “It also represents wine, ecstasy, and bacchanalia.”

I returned his kiss.

“So when will the great show take place?” Christoph asked, turning to Toby.

“What is a bacchanal without magic?”

Toby looked around the tent.

With a synchronized stomp of their feet, the Finnish quartet began a waltz. A couple dressed as druids took to the floor.

“It looks like the last thing you need around here is magic,” Toby said.

Christoph clapped his hands, and the wreaths tumbled down his forearms. “Magic is exactly what we need. Tonight there will never ever be enough. We need to keeps the lights burning as long as possible. And from what I recall, you are the man who can play with fire.”

Toby smiled. “True.”

“We are all at your command,” Christoph said, bowing and stepping into the crowd.

The braziers roared and flickered. People were waving banners and dancing in circles. Toby and I accepted cups of hot wine from a man with elf ears and pointed shoes with bells. Another elf handed us skewers of meats on small plates.

“Beef spiced from Africa,” the second elf explained. “You might as well eat frankincense and myrrh.”

Toby laughed. “I’ll stick to cardamom and cinnamon.”

“Me, too,” I agreed. We left the elf.

“After all, we are not the baby Jesus.”

“That is what you sign up for with Leo. You get the true freaks, the fake freaks, and those who simply relish the hidden pleasures of the everyday.”

“The elf,” Toby said. “A little over the top.”

I nodded.

The Finnish quartet was replaced by a motley band of a drummer, accordion player, flutist, and fiddler who were roaming the lawn playing gypsy music. Toby and I linked arms, and together with Leo we joined a group of dancers who had formed a circle on the grass. As we spun and twirled, Olivia appeared at our side and took Toby by the arm.

“Where are you going take us tonight?” she asked.

“I don’t know what Mel has told you,” Toby replied.

“Everything and really nothing,” Olivia said.

Toby looked at me.

“She’s exactly right,” I said, reassuring him that I had kept most of his secrets.

Toby took two cups of the mulled wine from a passing tray, handing them to us. Then he clapped his hands, and a third cup appeared in his palm.

Olivia stood on her tiptoes and kissed the magician before twirling away into the crowd.

The tempo of the music escalated. I could feel the lawn pulsing beneath my feet. Toby grabbed me and headed toward the heart of the party. I followed. He walked with his palms clasped together. When he opened them, a burst of fireworks shot upward. He spun his arms over his head, spinning streamers of silk from his fingers. I struggled to keep up as he proceeded down the lawn.

“A magician,” someone said, falling into step behind us.

Toby waved his arms, and the streamers came together, taking the form of a Chinese dragon that flew upward, then disappeared into the sky.

More people began to follow. Toby quickened his pace.

He reached up into the air, palms opened wide. Two large multicolored balls descended into his hands. He tossed the balls up. When he caught them, they began to unravel into bright ribbons that trailed behind the magician and got tangled in his growing crowd. As they unwound, the ribbons changed to vines of ivy that flew from Toby’s hands and wreathed his audience. The partygoers gasped and walked faster, hoping for more.

Toby was moving toward the river.

“More,” someone from the crowd cried.

He didn’t turn around. He simply reached back and began to withdraw more objects from the sky—golden candlesticks, a censer, a bough of rosemary and holly—passing each one to the crowd.

“Quick,” he whispered to me under his breath.

The dance and jingle of the audience and their delighted cries were closing in behind us.

“Quick,” he said. He tossed a handful of golden coins over his shoulder.

We were running now, outstripping our pursuers, who were caught up in drink, dance, and Toby’s magic. “The real show will come later,” he shouted to the throng. He reached into the air one last time and, in one of those pockets visible to him alone, found a large brass ring. He twirled it; then he tossed it high into the air. As it rose, it became a ring of fire that soared away into the longest night.

Now the magician wrapped his arm around my waist, and we continued our tumble forward until we’d almost reached the river with its fairy lights.

“What will you show them later?” I asked.

Toby shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

At the water, we turned left and walked in silence, letting the tumult of the saturnalia recede. Eventually we came upon a long wooden dock I had never seen before. It extended far out over the river. Toby leapt onto it, then offered me a hand. At the end of the dock, we sat dangling our feet over the river.

Even in the dark, I could tell he was smiling. The light of the party in back of us illuminated the sky. But as I pulled close to Toby, I felt a familiar tingle. I held up