Arthur's cheap suit squeaks against the plush chair as he settles in for the show. To his right a woman coughs loudly into her handkerchief, while the man on his left loudly complains about ticket prices. Arthur manages to block them out as the lights come down, the familiar thrill of the theater taking over. He's been here many times, and yet always gets the same goose bumps along his arms and quiver down his spine.

Tonight the feeling is even stronger. Tonight is the first time he'll be watching Alfred the Amazing, the Merlin Club's newest performer and its most talked about in recent years.

When Arthur asked his colleagues to specify what exactly made the young magician different from all the rest, eloquence vanished. "His shows—they're different. It's like they're real!" was a common refrain, yet one he always dismissed. When the lights came on and the curtain closed, even the most skilled magician's show seemed fake, a willing illusion shared between the man on stage and the audience that vanished once they stepped out into the cool night air. And yet almost every night Arthur would seek out these performances and hope for someone whose magic would seem real outside the theater, tricks that could be carried all the way home and pulled out to scrutinize in broad daylight.

Whether Alfred actually fit this description would remain to be seen.

The audience waits for the curtain to part, a few people growing so impatient they begin to check their pocket watches and tap their feet. The curtain; however, never does part. Instead it begins to subtly ripple, like a pond with a single pebble dropped into its center. The impatient members of the audience stop their fidgeting and watch as the ripples grow faster and then, without warning, stop.

The audience holds its breath until the curtain begins moving once more. This time it folds in on itself until the stage is revealed.

The next surprise—only noticeable to a regular like Arthur—is the color of the spotlight. Replacing the customary blinding white lights is a single spotlight aimed at the middle of the stage in alternating blues and reds. Its target remains empty.

Someone in the crowd lets out a strained cry and everyone's necks snap to attention. A man is standing, jumping up and down, but it is not yet apparent why. All is revealed when the blue and red spotlight travels over the audience and illuminates the gentleman's hat floating up and over the crowd as it makes its way to the stage. The man sits down in the face of such futility as his hat bobs and weaves to the platform.

The eyes of the crowd are all so focused on the hat's journey that they do not see the magician step from the shadows onto the stage. He waits patiently for the spotlight to return and for the hat to reach its destination—his outstretched hand.

The magician is younger than Arthur expected, with a more gregarious face. Arthur was more accustomed to newcomers with stony expressions and stilted movements, rookies that tried to build a wall between themselves and the audience, but Alfred was welcoming them all in with open arms and an easy smile.

"A lot of magicians like to pull rabbits from their hats, but I thought I would try it out with someone else's," Alfred says as he slides his gloved fingers over the hat's velvet brim. With mock effort he reaches inside, but instead of pulling out a rabbit the crowd watches as the hat swallows everything up to Alfred's shoulder.

"Now, where did I put that rabbit?" he says, sticking his tongue out and puffing up his cheeks. "I might need two hands for this."

He places the hat on the floor and kneels down next to it, plunging in both arms. Eventually he sticks his head inside as well. A couple of kids in the front row giggle, while the adults crane their necks to try and spot the trap door.

"Well, I couldn't find your rabbit!" Alfred calls out from inside the hat, his voice seeming to echo throughout the crowd.

"But maybe you can," the magician says, pulling his head out of the hat and clapping his gloved hands together. The hat immediately appears on the gentleman's head, the face underneath its brim red and bewildered. The woman next to him shrieks as it begins to quiver and she pulls it off his head, revealing a little white bunny underneath.

"Well, looks like you're a better magician than I am," Alfred says with a wink. The gentleman's face drains of all color.

"Now, what's next? Maybe I ought to take requests," he says smoothly, walking back to the center of the platform. "Let's see, what's another cliché we can tackle tonight, folks?"

The crowd titters as Alfred looks out at them expectantly. Arthur feels his face grow hot even though the magician isn't looking at him, nor addressing him specifically. His blush deepens as the man next to him raises his hand.

"What about them birds?" the man calls out. "Have 'em pop out of your sleeve, somethin' like tha—"

Arthur doesn't want to pry his eyes off the illusionist, but when his neighbor's request ends in a sharp squeal, Arthur turns in his seat. The man next to him has both arms raised like a scarecrow, the sleeves of his jacket bulging in various spots. Eventually a canary pops out from underneath the man's cuff and the crowd watches as the bird flies over to Alfred.

"How many canaries are you hiding in your jacket, sir?"

The crowd begins to count as the birds pop out one by one. Their voices grow louder and louder as the number grows and by the end everyone's throat is hoarse as the last number—fifteen—rings out.

"All right, all right. Don't tire yourselves out," the magician teases. The birds are all perched along his shoulders and arms, but suddenly he claps and they're gone. A shower of gold coins rains upon the stage in their place.

"Thanks for letting me borrow your birds," he says as the coins vanish. The man next to Arthur reaches down to touch the pockets on his jacket now heavy with money. The man lets out a low whistle and glances over at Arthur, the whites of his eyes on full display.

"Now how about a volunteer? You won't be paid, unfortunately," the illusionist calls out.

The kids in the audience scramble to their feet and wave their hands in the air wildly, several hopping from foot to foot. But Alfred's eyes bypass all the children. Instead they fall squarely upon Arthur.

"Ah, yes, the thick-browed gentleman giving me a peculiar look. You're up," he says, beckoning Arthur with a slim gloved finger, but Arthur remains motionless in his seat.

"No? Oh, but it'll be fun! And if you don't come willingly, I'll just have to transport you here myself," Alfred says as he rubs his hands together. Arthur lingers in the audience, his face pale and his mouth slightly agape, his wide-eyed gaze fixed on Alfred.

And then, suddenly, it's not.

Arthur is under the watch of the blue and red spotlight, facing the audience. It was an instantaneous journey from his chair to the stage, not one of trapdoors or clever obfuscation. His colleagues were right—this man's magic was real, or at least it certainly felt so.

"Now, ladies and gentleman, you'll see this man's visage morph before your very eyes! Gone will be that petulant scowl, those heavy brows…", Arthur looks up at the grandstanding magician and shoots him an icy look, "…replaced instead by this!"

Arthur feels his face grow warm—not from the spotlight, nor from embarrassment. It's a dull and pleasant warmth, like he's lying near the dying embers of a fire. He closes his eyes as he fights the urge to nod off. The collective gasp of the audience shocks him awake.

"How's that for an improvement?" Alfred calls out, tossing a small mirror onto Arthur's lap. "Too bad it can't be like this all the time—well, actually I suppose it could…" the illusionist says, his voice trailing off as his eyes scan the audience. No one is looking at him or listening to him. They're all staring at the man onstage whose morphed before their very eyes.

Arthur's hands shake as he lifts the mirror to his face.

In the reflection he sees Alfred—dark blond hair, blue eyes, wire spectacles. He lifts a hand to his face and feels the fabric of a glove. "A nice touch," he whispers so quietly only the magician can hear him, but Alfred doesn't reply.

"Now, what else can I do with him folks? Maybe a little levitation?" As Alfred says the words, Arthur begins to rise from his chair. A woman in the audience screams and a few men hoot and holler. Arthur watches his legs dangle beneath him like a marionette.

The magician turns his back on the audience, his attention fully on Arthur. "You afraid of heights?" he asks, his palms balled into fists. Arthur shakes his head, but he feels his body being lowered back to the chair. The familiar warmth from earlier returns to Arthur's face and he guesses that Alfred restored him to his former appearance.

"Everyone give a hand to my lovely assistant!" the illusionist exclaims, turning on his heel to face the audience once more. The crowd erupts into applause, a few people even rising to their feet. Arthur blinks and suddenly he is back in his chair surrounded by standing ovations. He rises to his feet as well.

"Unfortunately, it's time for me to go, but have no worries! The Great Gilbert is up next," Alfred announces as he waves to the crowd and takes a deep bow. The spotlight begins to change rapidly—red and blue, red and blue. It flashes so quickly that it takes the crowd awhile to realize that Alfred the Amazing has disappeared.

A/N: I meant to put this up a long time ago, but I kept editing it and I'm still not satisfied. D: But I promised to start a new AU, so here it is! Also I'm not too sure of the categories. Is magic supernatural, or fantasy?