Shifting Them [NOOK Book]

Chapter One

Jester Stevens, all six feet two inches of him, was spending Saturday afternoon stuffed inside a small box, buried deep under the fragrant earth. Chains had been wrapped around the box, padlocked, triple-checked for authenticity by the Chief of Police.

He'd gone in as a man, but was coming out as a tiger, and if Brody didn't move his ass a little faster, the first thing Jester was going to do when he got free was to show Brody his appreciation by eating him.

Not in the good way, either.

Come on, Brody! Get on with the spiel and get me the hell out of here, already! Jester thought. He was hungry, starving, and wanted nothing more than to finish their act and get his butt into a booth in the nearest IHOP so he could drown himself in Old-Fashioned Maple Syrup.

The air tank in the box provided more than enough oxygen for the hour or so he had remained buried, but the temperature inside the wooden box was stifling, compounded by the heavy pelt he now wore. He growled, muscles twitching along his flanks. Ten more minutes, that's all he was giving Brody. If Jester didn't feel the cool surface air against his whiskers by then, he was going to transform into a beetle, eat his way through the wood, burrow his way through the dirt to the surface, change into a man again, and kick Brody's Irish ass from Vegas to New York and back.

Then he heard it; the distant, dull thwump of shovels striking the ground above him. It took another twenty minutes for them to reach his box, and another five for the crane to lift him out. Jester felt the world tilt as the box swayed on its chain, hooked to the crane and held twenty or so feet in the air.He heard the grinding whine of machinery and felt a jarring jolt as the crane none-too-gently set the box on the ground.

Showtime, he thought, readying himself. His powerful muscles bunched, ears flattening to his head, long tail swishing from side to side, hitting the sides of the box. He took a breath and held it. He heard the chains rattle, then the lid creak as Brody lifted it. Bright light flooded the box, making his eyes smart.

Springing out of the box, he roared, the reverberating sound echoing back to him along with the screams of the audience. He landed with all four paws on the ground, teeth bared.

Ta-da! Jester thought as he scanned the audience for the cameras. Finding them, he centered his attention there, crouching low, tail out, still swishing, a ferocious snarl rumbling in his chest.

The audience stumbled back several feet, some grabbing up their children, wide-eyed at his appearance.

Worked every time, Jester thought smugly. The stunt, called the "Manimal Illusion" because he varied his shape to keep things interesting--tiger, lion, panther, cheetah, alligator--whatever he chose, it was always impressive. He'd done a rhino once, but they'd decided it took too long to dig the huge box up, and people got bored waiting.

Then Brody snapped on Jester's collar and leash, yanking him back and away from the box, so that the cameras could document that Jester-the-man was no longer in it, or hiding in the hole. No one had ever been able to figure out how they pulled off the illusion, mostly because no one suspected Jester hadn't really gone anywhere--he was right there in front of them, albeit a lot shaggier and toothier than when he'd gone in.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this was but a small taste of the mystery, the magical marvels, the phenomenal prestidigitations that await you next month at the Coronado Theater, where myself, Brody O'Malley, and my--for now--missing partner, Jester Stevens, will be performing every night in our all new Vegas show!" Brody waved at the audience with his free hand. He ignored the shouted questions from reporters, his other hand pulling Jester's collar as he led him toward the large, custom bus waiting on the asphalt lot of the park where they'd pulled the stunt.

A sign read "O'Malley and Stevens, Masters of Mystery" in large, airbrushed letters across the entire right-hand side of the vehicle. Inside, there was a long, plush living area, complete with plasma screen television and wet bar, and a luxurious master bedroom and bath at the rear. The windows were covered with vertical blinds and thick, black-out curtains.

As soon as Brody closed and locked the door behind them, Jester transformed back into himself, plopping naked on the sofa. "You do that on purpose, don't you?"

"What?" Brody asked, heading for the bar. He took out a bottle of vodka, ice, and a pair of glasses.

"Procrastinate, that's what! Every time I go down in that fucking box, it takes longer and longer to pull me back up!" Jester grumbled.

"I wasn't procrastinating. I was building the drama," Brody retorted, tossing ice cubes into the glasses and pouring them each a couple of fingers.

"Showboating is more like it. Hogging up the camera time."