Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 43 — page 29: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION Abruptly Michel got up and pushed out. As he did so, he heard Bill’s friend say, triumphantly: ‘“There—see? Soon’s I come close ter spottin’ ’im, up ’e gets and aht ’e goes.”’ Michel made his way around to the stage door and ex- plained the situation. The doorkeeper shrugged, and consented to show him along to the conjurer’s dressing room. He knocked. ““Come in,’ said the weary voice he had heard from the stage. He turned the handle and went in. The magician was sitting in a tilted-back chair, with his legs outstretched, smoking a cigarette in quick nervous puffs. At close quarters Michel saw that his face was fine- drawn and his hands lined with blue veins. His skin was like transparent parchment. “Sit down,” he invited, without moving, except to indicate a chair. The. almost unnatural stillness he main- tained, apart from the hand that held his cigarette, his 28 mouth and his quick, dark eyes, heightened the impres- sion of porcelain fragility that had come to Michel even across the glaring footlights. He shut the door and took the seat. “T told you I could help you with your nightmares,” the conjurer began. “Maybe I can. Please don’t hope for too much.” “IT won't,’ said Michel, © dryly. ‘“‘As a matter of fact, you didn’t have to make that promise to lure me around backstage. I would have come anyhow, to ask you how you actually came to know so much about me.” The magician lit another cigarette from the stub of the previous one and offered the packet to Michel. He said, breathing grey-white smoke: “I got it from your mind, as I claimed. I have a power, a quality, call it what you like, which enables me to catch the superficial thoughts of other people. It’s a tremendous strain, you understand—but your mind comicloooks.comnn