PART 1

Around the table, crunchy dougnuts and whipped cream have been gobbled up. Coffees and drinks have met the same fate and everyone, looking satisfied with round bellies, is sinking into their armchairs in search of a well-deserved moment of digestive relaxation.

This is when I intervene, holding my deck of cards. I rid the tablecloth of its cake crumbs in an ample movement and – Abracadabra! – magic makes its way into the room. With a perfectly controlled wrist movement, the cards leap free of their wrapping. An additional movement, and they arrange themselves in a fan formation around my hand.

I confidently say:

– As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, this deck of cards could not be more normal.

I execute my favourite distribution, and the cards impeccably align themselves face down on the table under Uncle John’s incredulous eyes. I then add:

– Choose a card, any card. Then put it back in the deck, wherever you like.

Many indecisive hands reach forward, but Grandad’s is the one that reaches the deck first. He picks a card and, as I turn around, proudly shows it all around before placing it back with its friends.

Now I shuffle. It’s the perfect pretext to pull all the stops: Russian, Japanese and finally American shuffles. The cards crackle like dry wood and come and go between my fingers in a dizzying dance. Grandad’s unfortunate card is irretrievably swallowed up. It will never resurface, my bewildered audience must be thinking.

What happens next seems to prove them right: I unsuccessfully pull out card after card from the deck. Luck, apparently, did not get the memo:

– Jack of clubs. Was that it?

No, though it is the right suit.

– Queen of clubs, maybe?

Still no, but I’m getting closer.

– King of clubs, then?

I’m close, but still no cigar.

I stay confident, however, and announce :

– The next one finishes the hand. It will be the right one.

The whole family hold their breath, then let out a disappointed Oooh! as I throw on the table a… three of diamonds! It seems that I completely dropped the ball on this one.

But I don’t give up easily: I ask my cousin Pauline to stand up. She heaves her ninety kilogrammes into a vertical position as best she can and, suddenly, the magic happens: on the seat, exactly where my cousin had placed her princely bottom, the card that Grandad picked, the hotly-awaited ace of clubs, is proudly enthroned!

The impressed audience applauds wildly. My mum grabs me and gives me a kiss. My brother, riddled with jealousy, sticks his tongue out at me. I savour my little moment of glory, all while knowing that it is far from my last: I have many other tricks up my sleeve.

The funniest part is that it wasn’t always like this, quite the opposite. Until recently, I was a completely ordinary girl, whose only notable talent – besides being able to move my ears – was an incredible capacity at accumulating gaffes and catastrophes.

Does this surprise you? So let me introduce myself and explain two or three things:

My name is Charlotte. I am twelve and a half years old. I live with my parents and my nine year-old brother on the first floor of an old apartment building, and I love everything even remotely related to what is called sleight of hand, or, more simply, MAGIC.

My problem is that this tenacious passion was far from mutual: as soon as I tried to practice, the art of magic avoided me like the plague. It didn’t matter how exactly I followed the instructions or how vigorously I practiced, nothing worked: cards would fall out of my sleeves right into the raspberry sauce, my boxes’ fake bottoms fell apart at the worst moment, and foam balls burst out of their cups without warning to hit aunt Louise in the eye. 

Sometimes, my demonstrations even turned into total disasters. I remember, for example, the rope trick where I had tied Uncle John’s wrists together so solidly that we had to call the firefighters to undo the knots. Everyone also remembers the unfortunate time where I accidently set Grandad’s beard on fire during a trick with matches…

As if the humiliation wasn’t enough, Benedict (my little brother) took great pleasure in adding his two pennies' worth:

– Alert! Alert! Everyone take cover! he would shout as soon as he saw me take out my magic kit. It was like clockwork.

Then, he would run and take cover under the armchair in the living room, wearing the sieve from the kitchen on his head as a helmet. Don’t I have a great brother?

All this was therefore not very encouraging. Fortunately, and this is the story I’ll be telling you now, everything changed last Christmas morning, when something extraordinary happened…

(Go to PART 2)