The morning sun streaked through dirty apartment windows in golden shafts, illuminating two bodies sprawled in bed. Emmanuel stirred to life with a groan, eventually sitting upright with a hand clutched to his head; the price to pay for a late night with too much wine.

When the woman in the bed beside him stirred with a soft sigh, Emmanuel rolled his eyes.

"Why are you still here, Rachel?" The sweet drunken whispers that had coaxed the young woman into his bed the previous night replaced by clear annoyance.

Rachel was half Emmanuel's age. Her round face was still rouged with stage make-up from evening rehearsal and her hair a tangle of light brown curls. She clutched at the blanket to cover her breasts, momentarily stunned by her lover's cool tone.

It wasn't the first time Emmanuel convinced Rachel to come home with him after rehearsal, and just like every time before, he swore it would be the last time. Mixing business and pleasure was turning into a bad habit, and with opening night just a few weeks away he couldn't risk losing another assistant. After Mary Anne was injured during the last stage performance, Emmanuel knew it was going to be harder and harder to find anyone willing to work with him.

"I'm sorry, sir, I'll uh, just gather my things then," she stammered. Emmanuel didn't so much as make eye contact with Rachel as she quietly dressed herself and departed.

Alone at last, Emmanuel rooted through the clothing strewn on the floor. He was pleased to find half a bottle of red wine tucked under a jacket.

"Hair of the dog," he muttered as he took a long pull.The liquid's slightly ashen taste did little to quench his thirst, but he finished it off nonetheless.

From there, Emmanuel proceeded to his usual morning toilet, washing his face and trimming his thick mustache before moving onto the application of fresh pomade to tame the more rebellious curl in his dark hair. He chose one of his better suits for the day; well-tailored black trousers and jacket with his favorite ruby red velvet vest. It was a bold look, but that was how Emmanuel wanted.

Bold and enigmatic, as befits a professional magician, he through as he admired his appearance in the mirror. Emmanuel almost felt as put-together as he looked when, Anthony Tilford let himself into the apartment. Most days, Anthony did not call on his employer until well after the noon hour— especially on the days when he had women over— but today he arrived to spur his employer to get an early start: there were exciting opportunities ahead.

"I hope you're here with something worth my while," Emmanuel said, continuing to preen in the mirror.

"You know I wouldn't bother you if I didn't have something exciting," Anthony replied. "Seems our ol' friend Chester Dolin might have finally redeemed himself."

"I find that hard to imagine."

Anthony flashed a cocked grin at Emmanuel. "I think you'll be surprised. Even I have to admit, I was rather impressed."

Emmanuel raised an eyebrow in genuine surprise. "Now there's something I don't hear every day. What is it?"

"I think you're going to want to see it for yourself."

With Emmanuel's interest piqued, the dual departed for the junk shop. Despite the sunshine, it proved an unseasonably cold morning down in the harbor area where Chester Dolin shop resided.  As the shop and it's large display windows came into view, Emmanuel slowed his pace. Even though it was nearly eleven o'clock, the interior of the shop was black and still.

Anthony tried the door handle first, and when that did not give, pounded several times on the door. When no response came, he proceeded pulled a long knife from within his jacket and slid it into the narrow expanse between the door frame and the lock. The application of a firm jab was all it took for the door to open with ease.

Anthony entered the shop first, instinctively placing his body in front of Emmanuel for protection. Once inside, Anthony secured the door behind them. The entire shop was as silent as a grave.

"Dolin, are you here?" Emmanuel asked.

"Dolin! Answer when Master Emmanuel asks for you!" Anthony bellowed.

The silence remained.

A small crunch sound underfoot brought Emmanuel's attention toward the scattering of broken objects on the ground.

"There may grave reason our good friend, Mr. Dolin, is not answering our calls," Emmanuel mused.

"Be careful, sir." On his guard, Anthony switched into the more primal version of himself. Sweeping a protective arm in front of Emmanuel , he drew his knife drawn in the other.

The two men crept beyond the bright light of the storefront windows, descending into the darkness of the shop. As they passed the shelves and artifacts along the way, it became difficult to ignore the evidence of a struggle. Broken objects littered the ground and mud smeared the path below their feet. When they finally arrived at Chester's living quarters at the back of the shop, the light from the window above illuminated a grisly scene.

Chester's lifeless body lay slumped against the side of his bed. Anthony crouched in front of Chester's face, making a disgusted face all his own to match the dead man's ghoulish expression. Streaming from Chester's open mouth and both nostrils was a thick, dark paste.

"What on earth is that?" Emmanuel asked. He clutched a handkerchief to his nose, aghast at the pungent, earthen smell hanging in the air.

Anthony peered closer, cocking his head to the side.

"It looks like mud," he said, taking his knife and cautiously poking the substance.

The knife plunged into the blackness with ease, coating the blade like a gritty tar. Anthony gave the substance a good look before wiping the edge of the blade off on the dead man's shoulder.

"Looks like the old man choked on the stuff. Hell of a way to die," he muttered.

"It's certainly creative," Emmanuel replied, crossing his arms. "Where is this thing you were talking about so we can get the hell out of here?"

Emmanuel knew Chester didn't have any friends or family, but he had numerous clients; any which could stop by the shop to discover the grisly sight and draw their own conclusions. They would need to act quickly and depart without notice. Emmanuel did not wish to complicate his life with involvement with the police, let alone the person capable of doing such a bizarre thing to another man.

Anthony went over to Chester's bed where the wooden chest sat. He pointed at the thing with the blade of his knife.

"That's it there, that chest."

"That?"  With a wary expression, Emmanuel took a few tentative steps toward the trunk. It was dim and unfashionable with deep grooves scratched into the lid. It wasn't exactly the sort of thing Emmanuel would dream of putting on stage.

"Chester was convinced the thing possesses real magic," Anthony replied.

Emmanuel smirked. "Chester would believe in anything if it meant a few extra bucks."

Running his fingers over the harshly carved concentric circles on the lid, Emmanuel felt the sudden intrusion of a voice.  Like a bolt out of the darkness, it hissed in his mind.

I see you.

Emmanuel ripped his hand away from the trunk and staggered backward. Anthony shot him an odd look.

"Something the matter, sir?"

Emmanuel's face turned red.

"Of course! Is there a key for the damned thing? I want to look inside."

Careful not to touch any of the putrid black fluid on Chester's body, Anthony rummaged through the dead man's tattered vest until he located the silver key from the previous night. "Old man said he never left it unlocked," Anthony said, handing the key to Emmanuel.

"Lot of good it does the ol' chap," Emmanuel quipped.

Emmanuel sunk the key into the lock and turned it until there came a satisfying click. Heaving open the lid to view its yawning emptiness, Emmanuel ran his hands along the inside to feel for any compartments or other customized mechanisms. Ducking his head inside, he swore he could almost hear a noise like a sigh. Thankfully, whatever the strange voice Emmanuel heard at his first touch did not return.

Emmanuel's hands did eventually detect a series of thin, shallow grooves along the inside of the lid. Tilting the trunk into a shaft of light, Emmanuel tried to get a better view to decipher their meaning. Watching intently over his shoulder, Anthony offered up his own interpretation of the marks.

"They look like claw marks," he remarked, "like something was trying to get out."

Emmanuel closed the lid, unable to shake the strange attraction he had for the ugly thing. The claims of it being real magic seemed dubious, but even he had to admit there was something odd about the trunk. Something decisively wrong.

"Perhaps we can find a use for it," Emmanuel said at last, snapping the lid closed. "Take it to my dressing room back at the theater."

Anthony nodded, but stopped short of touching the trunk. He turned to Emmanuel with a concerned look.

"I think it best that you lock it up first," he stammered. "You know, just for good measure."