The Wizard, the Gnome, and the Infernal Machine
The boy came to magic at a young age. He was an orphan who did coin tricks in the bazaar to survive. One day, a passing witch stopped to watch the boy’s act, and noticed that the tricks he performed were no charlatan’s sleight of hand, but real magic. The copper pulled from behind the ear was a simple parlor trick. The silver piece appearing in the pretty girl’s shoe was nothing but clever misdirection and daring cheek. But the changing faces on the steel coin was something else.
Elma, the witch, knew the scent of demons, and the steel in the boy’s fingers stank. She waited for the act to end, and when the last onlooker had gone, she took the boy aside. “I know what you’re doing, boy. Do you?”
“It’s just a trick,” he replied.
“No, boy. It’s a contract.” She knelt and held his shoulders, not unkindly. “What did you give it, for the sake of your tricks?” she asked.
The boy’s eyes darted around, like all children’s eyes do when they know they’re in trouble. “My name,” he admitted. “I’m an orphan, so I don’t need one.”
Elma sighed. “An unfair bargain. You’ve been swindled, boy.” She held out a hand expectantly. The boy gripped the steel coin tightly at first, but Elma held his eyes with a steady stare, and he gave it to her.
With a thumb and forefinger, she flipped the coin high in the air. As it reached its apex, it hung there, motionless. She pointed her wand—elm, of course—at the hanging coin. White light swirled around the steel, and the changing faces all grimaced. “Come out, thief,” she commanded. The boy looked on with wonder. “I would have words with you.”
The coin suddenly fell, but curiously did not bounce and roll away. Instead it made a heavy clang, like a hammer hitting an anvil. When it hit the ground, an imp of a demon tumbled out, landing flat on its ever-changing face. It looked up at Elma. “Bother,” it sighed. “A witch.”
She glared down at the imp, arms crossed. “Yes. A witch. Someone far more familiar with the proper rates of exchange when it comes to making deals with you lot.” She gently pushed the boy forward. “His name: return it. A coin trick is a pittance compared to what you’ve taken.”
The changing faces all made the same sheepish expression. “Can’t,” said the imp. “Already ate it.”
“Ate it?!” Elma barked. She shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.
The boy looked from the demon to the witch, confused about what it meant to have one’s name eaten. She gave him a sympathetic look. “A name holds great value, boy. For a demon to…eat it, of all things,” she explained, giving the imp a withering glare. “It must offer you more in exchange. It’s only fair.” She rested her hand on his small shoulder. “What do you want?”
“Wait!” cried the imp, its faces changing between guilt, annoyance, and petulance. “Made a deal with the boy, not you. Why do you get to change the deal?”
The boy saw something in Elma’s eyes flash red. The imp saw it too, and it remembered it also knew the scent of demons.
This scent was not its own.
It gulped. “Oh. Never mind. Carry on.”
Elma looked to the boy with a kind smile and asked again, “Well?”
The boy scratched his head and thought for a moment, nose scrunched in concentration, and sighed. “I…I like doing coin tricks,” he said. “Maybe…maybe I could do better tricks?” he offered.
Elma raised a brow. “So it’s power you want,” she said. “To conjure, banish, immolate, extinguish, and charm. This is what you need, isn’t it? To do better tricks?”
The boy nodded nervously.
Elma clapped her hands together once. “Then power you shall have. And,” she added, “I will teach you.”
“You will?” asked the boy and the imp in unison, both stunned.
“Yes. An entire name’s worth of magic isn’t a thing left to self-study.” She spun her wand, and the imp was lifted into the air. “And someone needs to enforce the terms of the contract. Back into the coin, now.”
The imp struggled for a moment against white strands of light before shrinking into a ball and dropping back into the steel with a clunk. Elma picked up the coin and handed it to the boy with a satisfied look.
“My name is Elma, Witch of Tree and Shadow. What should I call you?”
The boy took the steel and gave it a thoughtful look, watching the sunlight glint off the metal, and tossed it from left hand to right. The steel vanished, replaced with the copper and silver. He clapped his hands and they doubled, tripled, and vanished again. He smiled at Elma.
“Coins,” he said. “You can call me Coins.”
