After an entire day of deliberation, Richie finally mustered his resolve. He waited for his father to return from Chester and met him at the exit of the hall.
"Good evening, Father."
"Hi, Richie. Did something happen?"
"Dad, we need to talk… without any prying ears."
"If it's important, then let's go to my study."
Father and son made their way to Gerald Grosvenor Sr.'s study and settled into the guest armchairs placed opposite each other.
Noticing his son's agitation, Gerald asked with concern,
"Richie, what's wrong?"
"Dad, I have to tell you something…"
"What?!"
Richard drew a deep breath, exhaled, and said,
"Dad, I'm a wizard!"
Gerald's reaction was not much different from how any other reasonable adult would respond to such a declaration from a child. He laughed good-naturedly.
Seeing the boy frown, his father decided to reassure him.
"Son, you're certainly not a bad magician, but you're hardly a wizard."
"What if I say that I don't know a single trick, and all my stunts are done using supernatural abilities?"
"I won't believe that," Gerald replied kindly. "Richie, you need to understand—don't confuse reality with fiction. Hmm… Perhaps I should take you to see a child psychologist."
"Dad, I'm not crazy!" Richard protested. "I can prove it. Pick an object you wouldn't mind losing."
Gerald decided to play along with his son. He took a hefty humidor full of Cuban cigars from the corner of the desk, laid the cigars out on the table, and placed the box in front of Richie.
"Dad, look at the box—or better yet, put your hand on it."
"All right."
Gerald was in high spirits, expecting yet another trick performed by Richie.
The boy habitually wound up his emotions and spoke the activation word:
"Abracadabra, disappear!"
Richard had figured out the use of activation words after a series of experiments. With them, using magic became much easier. Abracadabra had become a universal key word, helping him achieve the right emotional state. After that came the command, which the supernatural ability was meant to carry out.
The humidor vanished, and Gerald's hand, having lost its support, slapped against the tabletop with a dull thud.
Grosvenor Sr. was stunned—and delighted.
"Richie, that's an incredible trick!" he exclaimed cheerfully. "You're turning into a real illusionist. Well done. Care to share the secret of the trick with your father?"
"No tricks," Richard muttered darkly. "Dad, this is magic! I really did make the box disappear!"
"Ha-ha-ha-ha!" Gerald burst out laughing. "Yes, the trick is fantastic—but I don't believe in magic."
"Dad, wizards exist!" Richard said with firm conviction. "That's a fact. They hide from ordinary people, live in reservations. They even have their own currency and a secret autonomous ministry. When a child with magical talent turns eleven, representatives of the local school of magic and wizardry come for them. A young wizard is required to study at that boarding school for at least five years."
"Richie, you have an excellent imagination," Gerald smirked, naturally not believing a word of it. "I expected nothing less from such a genius."
Richie began massaging his temples with his fingers and took several deep breaths, silently counting to ten. After calming down a little, he looked at his father attentively and said in a sad tone,
"Ah… I didn't think this would be so hard. Dad, as far as I understand, the heads of state must know about the existence of wizards. If you don't believe me, ask Uncle Charlie. I assume he should know about the Ministry of Magic."
"Ha-ha-ha!" A broad smile never left Gerald's face. "I'll be sure to tell Charlie about the wizards living in reservations, hidden from ordinary people. He'll get a good laugh out of that!"
"And I also think," Richard continued after a heavy sigh, "that my mom was actually a witch, not a foreign spy. And she used love potions on you—not chemistry."
Gerald laughed so loudly that he doubled over, clutching his stomach.
"Oh! Son, I also think your mother was quite the witch—but I never imagined you shared that opinion!" the duke managed to say ironically once he caught his breath.
"Nooo…" Richard groaned, pressing his right palm to his face. "I expected this to be difficult… but this difficult?!!!"
In response, Mr. Grosvenor simply laughed again.
Richard decided to prove the existence of magic to his father with something on a larger scale—especially since the emotions he was feeling now were genuine, a whole cocktail of different sensations. In a burst of feeling, he shouted,
"Abracadabra, damn table—fly!"
The massive solid mahogany table shot up to a height of nearly five feet. It hovered there for a couple of seconds, then crashed to the floor with a terrifying Bang! The walls shook, and the armchairs bounced slightly. Cigars and writing implements scattered across the room.
Richie wearily leaned back against the chair and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"Well then, Dad—do you believe me now?!"
Mr. Grosvenor was impressed. Very impressed.
"You don't say, Richie," he replied in amazement, with a note of admiration. "That was an incredible trick! You must have spent ages learning how to do it, huh?"
Richard groaned and closed his eyes. He felt utterly hopeless and wanted to howl at the top of his lungs.
"My God!" the boy exclaimed. "Dad, you're impossible!"
"You bet!" Gerald said proudly. "For me to believe that these tricks are actually magic, something truly unbelievable would have to happen. But you tried, son. I understand you wanted to prank me. As consolation, I'll say this—you almost succeeded."
(End of Chapter)
P@treon: /SadRaven
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