That night, he paced back and forth, muttering to himself.

"When I set out to create a killer piece of artwork, I really do it up big, don't I?" he mused. "Key word: Killer!"

He stopped and stared at the glass.

"OK . . . so, the tiger killed Loretta, and the dragon disabled the brakes on Uncle Buck and Aunt Tess's car somehow. I can even accept that the moon killed the curator. But, how the hell did it get there? What did it do, just roll down the street? And, no one saw that?"

"Of course not," the Magi answered, and Wayne stared dumbfounded as he stepped neatly out of the glass.

"They do not have to get anywhere," he explained. "When they are needed somewhere, they simply are there."

He walked past. . . the speechless artist to lean against the side of a small couch.

"Oh, I do so wish you had been a wood carver. Glass is just so . . . dull!" he sighed, gesturing to his body.

"What . . . who . . . ?" Wayne sputtered.

"You are the new Master Carver," the Magi said, simply. "You own The Book."

"The pattern book?"

"Exactly. Each time The Book passes to a new carver, I remain with him for eternity . . . or, until someone else buys The Book. I am here to do all that is needed," he concluded, with a theatrical bow.

"'All that's needed,'" Wayne repeated. "So, you felt it was necessary to kill the curator?"

The Magi dismissed it, with a wave of his hand.

"He was an arrogant bore! His taste was all in his mouth, don't you agree?"

"That may be true. But, to just . . . kill him . . . " Wayne stammered.

"It solved your problem. And, the new curator begins Monday morning. Hopefully, he'll be more inclined to appreciate your talent," the Magi said.

"And, Loretta?"

"She was just a silly, high-toned twitch, ordering you all over the place," the Magi pointed out. "It was time for you to find someone new, anyway."

"So, if you decide something's bad for me, you just replace it with something you approve of, is that it? What about my Aunt and Uncle?" Wayne asked, angrily. "What are you going to replace them with?"

The Magi looked at him through narrowed eyes.

"You are my creator, and I am bound to you for all time," he said. "I will do what is necessary to ensure your survival."

"For all time? Don't you mean, until I die?" Wayne asked.

"You will not die," the Magi stated simply. "I am here to ensure that. Your body will age, but you will never die."

In Wayne's mind, he could see the ancient couple he had spoken to, the day he got lost. They had directed him down the alley that led to the strange bookstore. Were they the last Keepers of The Book?

"Yes," the Magi answered, reading his thoughts.

"What about the shopkeeper at the book store?"

"He was the one who first found The Book. He tried to weasel his way out, by giving it to the couple. When he was caught, he elected to try to sell The Book, rather than face the consequences."

Wayne turned to look at the Magi. He was beginning to understand.

"How many of the couple's friends and family had to die?"

"All"

"Why?"

"They were trying to help the couple destroy The Book," the Magi said, letting the implied threat hang in the air.

Many, many years later, a young couple stood on the sidewalk, watching through a plate glass window, while an old man sandblasted a piece of stone.

"See, honey?" the husband said. "That's the kind of thing I'm learning to do. The sandblaster carves out the pattern, while the resistant material keeps it from going outside the lines. The only difference between what he does, and what I do, is that I use a laser instead."

They turned to continue on down the sidewalk.

"The old ways are certainly nice, but they're much too time consuming and — look at that!" the man cried, pointing to a sign in the window. "He's selling his pattern books! 'Ten books for $10!' This is too good to be true! Doesn't he know how expensive those books are?"

Excitedly, the man pulled his wife into the shop. While he dug through the books, she wandered around, examining the artwork.

"Honey, look at this," she called, standing in front of the life-sized Magi. "Will you be able to do work like this?"

"Oh, yes," the man replied. "In fact, I have the book with that pattern in it, right here. See it on the cover?"

"Are you going to buy it?"

"Yes, I think so . . . and several others, if I can," he added, hopefully.

"Yes, of course you can," she said. "You know I can never deny you your hobbies."

Smiling, they approached the old man.

"I say, may we purchase these books?" he shouted, in order to be heard.

The old man, moving with painstaking slowness, shut the machine down and removed his hood. The couple gasped, involuntarily retreating a step.

The man before them was the oldest human being they had ever seen. His wrinkled skin was as tough as leather, and his skull showed through his skin, like a skeleton.

The only part of him that seemed alive was the eyes. They were clear. Bright.

And, tired.

"You young folks want to buy these books?" he asked them, in a gravely voice.

"Yes, sir," the man said, recovered from his shock. "I'm planning on going into the engraving business for myself. These books are sorely needed."

"And, you're buying this book?" he asked, slightly lifting The Book out of the pile, and glancing at the glass Magi.

"Definitely!" the man agreed. "You've done a marvelous job on that pattern. I can't wait to have a go at it myself."

The old man nodded, satisfied.

"Ten books; ten dollars, please," he said, and the man handed him a ten dollar bill.

His wrinkled face pulled into a hideous smile, and the couple hurried to escape the sight.

When they were out of earshot, the man said, "Did you ever see anyone that old in your life?"

"Gracious, no!" his wife replied. "And, I hope I never do again!"

The man wiped his brow, and remarked, "Like the song says, 'Hope I die before I get old!'"

From the little shop behind them, there came a peal of laughter, followed by the sound of a sledgehammer going through a large sheet of glass.