Trumps of Doom Read Online Free PDF Page A

glass.
    “I appreciate everything you told me.”
    He raised the bottle.
    “Have another drink?”
    “No, thanks.”
    He shrugged and topped off his own.
    I rose.
    “You know, it’s really sad,” he said.
    “What?”
    “That there’s no magic, that there never was, there probably never will be.”
    “That’s the breaks,” I said.
    “The world would be a lot more interesting place.”
    “Yeah.”
    I turned to go.
    “Do me a favor,” he said.
    “What?”
    “On the way out, set that sign for three o’clock and let the bolt in the door snap shut again.”
    “Sure.” I left him there and did those things.   The sky had grown a lot darker, the wind a bit more chill.   I tried again to reach Luke, from a phone on the corner, but he was still out.
     
    We were happy.   It had been a terrific day.   The weather was perfect, and everything we did had worked out right.   We went to a fan party that evening and afterward had a late dinner at a really good little place we’d stumbled upon by accident.   We lingered over drinks, hating for the day to end.   We decided then to prolong a winning streak, and we drove to an otherwise deserted beach where we sat around and splashed around and watched the moon and felt the breezes.   For a long while.   I did something then that I had sort of promised myself I would not.   Hadn’t Faust thought a beautiful moment worth a soul?
    “Come on,” I said, aiming my beer can at a trash bin and catching hold of her hand.   “Let’s take a walk.”
    “Where to?” she asked, as I drew her to her feet.
    “Fairy land,” I replied.   “The fabled realms of yore.   Eden.   Come on.”
    Laughing, she let me lead her along the beach, toward a place where it narrowed, squeezing by high embankments.   The moon was generous and yellow, the sea sang my favorite song.
    We strolled hand in hand past the bluffs, where a quick turning of the way took us out of sight of our stretch of sand: I looked for the cave that should be occurring soon, high and narrow .   .   .
    “A cave,” I announced moments later.   “Let’s go in.”
    “It’ll be dark.”
    “Good,” I said, and we entered.
    The moonlight followed us for about six paces.   By then, though, I had spotted the turnoff to the left.
    “’This way,” I stated.   “It is dark!”
    “Sure.   Just keep hold of me a little longer.   It’ll be okay.” Fifteen or twenty steps and there was a faint illumination to the right.   I led her along that turning and the way bright- ened as we advanced.
    “We may get lost,” she said softly.
    “I don’t get lost,” I answered her.
    It continued to brighten.   ‘The way turned once more, and we proceeded along that last passage to emerge at the foot of a mountain in sight of a low forest, the sun standing at midmorning height above its trees.
    She froze, blue eyes wide.   “It’s daytime!” she said.
    “Tempus fugit,” I replied.   “Come on.”
    We walked through the woods for a time, listening to the birds and the breezes, dark-haired Julia and I, and I led her after a while through a canyon of colored rocks and grasses, beside a stream that flowed into a river.
    We followed the river until we came, abruptly, to a precipice from whence it plunged a mighty distance, casting rainbows and fogs.   Standing there, staring out across the great valley that lay below, we beheld a city of spires and cupolas, gilt and crystal, through morning and mist.
    “Where are we?” she asked.
    “Just around the comer,” I said.   “Come.”
    I led her to the left, then down a trail that took us back along the face of the cliff, passing finally behind the cataract.   Shadows and diamond beads .   .   .   a roaring to approach the power of silence .   .   .
    We passed at last into a tunnel, damp at first but drying as it rose.   We followed it to a gallery, open to our left and looking out upon night and stars, stars, stars.   .   .   .   It was an