Archive of Our Own ^beta

From the moment he saw him, J.G. was mesmerized. It didn’t take any card trick for him to feel it. He was drawn to this man as though he had been leashed.

He would be the death of him.

J.G. hadn’t come to Destiny Park for him. He’d come for a girl—of course he’d come for a girl. He knew himself to be a fool, more often than not. Naima was sick—no, Naima was dying—and here he was at a carnival park, desperate for a girl who hardly noticed him.

Instead, he’d met him. Or, not met, really. Saw.

He was tall. He was beautiful. His smile was large and sinister, as though he knew some great secret. As though he was lying to all those who flocked to him. As though he delighted in it.

J.G. followed the crowd to the small theater, took a seat in the back. And the man? He did magic. 

Not the paltry tricks of a carnival park. No, J.G. knew it wasn’t that. He was no expert, but he knew enough to recognize this as different, as something…tangible. Real. 

And the man looked at him as though he knew J.G. knew. As though he wanted J.G. to know.

How he went from a back seat in the theater to being pressed against a dressing room wall by the magician’s slick body, J.G. couldn’t precisely recall. What he did remember, however, was that he was not charmed, was not bewitched by the stranger. Despite the current dynamic, he had not been seduced. He had been the seducer.

And the magician had let him, that J.G. knew. This man was far too smart not to know when power was being given, when it was being taken, and he had allowed it. Something in his smile told J.G. that he was still playing right into his hand. Even so, J.G. knew he held something, some sliver of something here.

Something he fully intended to cash in on.

As J.G. lay on the dressing room floor, naked and panting and in half-bliss, the magician began to tug on his pants. J.G. caught his wrist.

“You have to save my sister,” J.G. said.

The magician’s expression did not change. He tugged his wrist away and kept dressing. “I have to, you say?”

“I know your magic is no illusion,” J.G. said. “Please.”

“Ah. Is that what this was about then?” He looked J.G. over and then smiled. “No, I think this was for you.”

“I—please.”

“You fancy yourself selfless, hm?” He tugged on his jacket. “We will see.”

“Can you—”

“Get up,” the magician said, not offering any assistance. “Get dressed.”

J.G. complied, almost as though he was moving without willing himself to do so. When he was dressed, the magician slipped his yellow tie around his throat, tied it neatly. His hand lingered at J.G.’s throat.

“What would you give to save her?”

“Anything.”

“Everything?”

J.G. paused. “I can’t let her die.”

“Why can’t you?”

“I…who could? Who could let anyone die?”

“Millions die each day, sweet.”

“You know that isn’t what I meant.”

“Do I?” The magician cracked his knuckles. “Would you let others die, if it meant saving her?” J.G. pursed his lips, and the magician smiled. “I see. I may have something for you, then. Close your eyes.” J.G. did not. “No? Hm, very well.”

The magician made a show of reaching inside his jacket. He pulled out an empty popcorn bag, held it out to J.G.

“What is it?”

“Something that will give you precisely what you want.”

“Will it save her?”

“It will help Naima’s pain,” the magician said, “yes.”

“But will she live?”

“Until she dies.”

J.G. hesitated. Some part of him knew better. Some part of him knew this wasn’t all it appeared to be. But some other part of him whispered that he wanted, oh, he wanted so much more than this. He wanted more than struggling to support his mother and siblings on his own. He wanted more than being constantly overlooked. He wanted more than enough to get by. 

He wanted the life he deserved.

No. No, he wanted Naima to live. He didn’t want to fail his family like his father did. He wanted Naima and Basil and his mother to be safe and happy, even if he had to give and give and give, even if he had to work himself to the bone.

He wanted them to have the life they deserved.

He wanted.

J.G. grasped for the bag, but the magician pulled it away. “I need something from you first.” He produced a thin knife. He turned the popcorn bag this way and that, turned it inside out and right again. It was empty, and blank. “See? It’s nothing, without you.” He held out the knife.

“I don’t like to make deals without knowing the conditions.”

The magician laughed. “Yes, you’ll find great success, between that attitude and what I have to offer.” He waved the knife. “Don’t fret, sweet. You’re not signing away your soul. Yet.”

J.G. narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

The magician shrugged. “I’m everything. You knew that, surely, when you decided you’d have me.”

J.G. slowly extended his hand, unfurled his fist. Before he could think any further, the knife had sliced across his palm. He hissed. The magician payed no mind, turning his palm over and running it across the popcorn bag, before handing the bag over. J.G. stood perfectly still, too stunned to even wipe his bloody hand off on his pants. So the magician wiped his jacket over the blood, and the skin seemed to stitch back together.

“Mephisto,” the magician said. “That’s what you may call me.”

“You tell me this now?”

“For next time,” he said as he lingered in the doorway. “The next time you see me, you’ll tell me what it is you really want. And I’ll take what it is that I want.”

“There will not be a next time.”

“Oh, sweet,” Mephisto said with a growing smile, his teeth showing. “We’ve only just begun.”

He left, letting the dressing room door swing closed behind him. J.G. was alone.

He looked down at the popcorn bag in his hand. It started to change before his eyes, green writing appearing where it hadn’t been before. A list. Instructions. No.

A recipe.