Free The New York Magician by Jacob Zimmerman

Brasserie."
    On the way uptown, I turned to my companion. He was breathing hard, but visibly recovering from his ordeal. "Are you well?"
    "I shall be. What was that terrible device?"
    "A lie detector. Give them grace - they didn't intend you harm. It does no hurt to humans."
    "A lie detector?"
    "Yes. It is a technology based on disbelief."
    He shuddered again and turned to look out the window as the grey buildings flowed by. We rode in silence until the cliffs of midtown drew to a halt outside the cab. I paid and ushered him out of the car into the restaurant. Although I expected at least a question, he seemed too weary to care; when we slid into two empty seats at the long bar which curved its way through the basement space of the Brasserie, he slumped forward. I waited, not disturbing him; eventually, one of the bartenders noticed us and nodded. I nodded back and waited.
    When he arrived, he offered me an elegantly inclined eyebrow. "Bourbon. Hirsch 16 if you have it," I stated. "And if Msamaki is here, tell him France wants to see him." I put a twenty down on the bar. "Run the tab."
    The tender nodded again, respectful of the tip. I took my hand off of it, and he performed the bartender magic of making it vanish without bringing his hands near it. "For your friend, sir?"
    "He'll order when we see you again."
    "Very good." He slid off. I like the Brasserie for two reasons. One, it's open twenty-four hours a day. Two, and as a result, the staff is actually fairly competent if you know how to find the right ones.
    My companion's shoulders shook. It looked as if he was weeping, but I didn't ask or interfere. Two minutes and fifteen seconds later, my drink appeared, a walking-dead bourbon from a time long past; I sipped it appreciatively and let it relax my shoulders.
    "I don't know why I am here." His voice was unremarkable, even muffled by his forearms. In fact, most of him could have been described as unremarkable, sitting there. I sipped again and looked at the figure that had screamed its agony into New York's nightmares.
    "What is the last thing you recall?"
    He lifted his face from his crossed arms and blinked at me. He had, indeed, been weeping. "I was standing on the banks. There was new growth. I remember birds."
    I was distracted by someone approaching behind the bar. I turned, but it was Msamaki, whom I had expected. His face opened as he recognized me. "France. It is good to see you."
    "And you, Maki. I need your help."
    "What can I do for you?" Msamaki looked good, standing before me in the Brasserie's slightly overdone uniform. I had helped him past some overly aggressive minor ifrit when he arrived, immigrating from the town of Bani Suef. In the ten years since, I had consulted him a handful of times when I needed help with Egyptian lore, as I did now. I nodded to my companion.
    "Him."
    Msamaki looked over the other carefully, frowning slightly, and offered " Ahlan wa sahlan ."
    My rescuee looked up briefly and shook his head. Msamaki tried again, his face more interested. " Em hotep nefer? "
    The other's eyes brightened slightly, and he nodded. Msamaki sucked in his breath and looked carefully at the figure, then reached under the bar and pulled out a glass. Without looking, he waved the bar wand over it and placed it in front of the other, who sat up and took it with a short bow of thanks.
    As he picked it up, it slopped over the side. I stared at it, because Maki had only filled it halfway. On the way to his lips, it spilled several cups. After he placed it on the bar, water slowly and quietly began to well up over the rim and spread down the surface. I lifted my arms off the countertop. Maki swept the glass off the counter and clasped the other's hands in both of his, pulled them to his mouth and kissed the man's clenched fist.
    Well, that answered one of my questions.
    I let them talk urgently in what definitely wasn't modern Arabic for several minutes. In fact, I let them talk until I'd finished my Hirsch,