“Do you still doubt my identity?” asked his tormentor.

“All I know is that you’re nuts,” said Jack evenly, surprised to discover he had regained control of his arms and legs. He suspected, however, that a mad dash for the entrance was hopeless. “Anybody can use a mind-controlling drug. Nothing supernatural about that.”

“And you inhaled it as a fine mist in the air upon entering the room,” said the old man, shaking his head in mock dismay. “Amazing the advances made in chemical warfare these past few years.”

Smiling gently, he stretched out his hand. “Perhaps this will change your opinion,” he said. Softly, he muttered a few words that Jack couldn’t hear. Bright lights flashed, and out of nowhere, a McDonald’s cheeseburger—or at least so the wrapper proclaimed—rested on the man’s palm.

“Hungry?” asked the magician, tossing the sandwich to Jack. “Go ahead. Take a bite, then explain that away.”

Jack drew in a deep breath. If he was hallucinating, this dream was astonishingly realistic. With a shrug, he wolfed down the hamburger. It was still hot. His belief in magic increased with each mouthful.

“Okay,” he concluded, wiping his lips, “I’m willing to concede the possibility that you might be Merlin the Magician. But, before I’m fully convinced, there are sure a hell of a lot of questions that I want answered.

“First, though, can you use that same trick to materialize something to drink? The cheeseburger made me thirsty.”

Chuckling, Merlin again spoke a few words, and a large McDonald’s cup filled with Coke appeared on his desk.

“How do you do that?” asked Jack, reaching out for the drink.

“A simple teleportation spell,” said Merlin. “It only works on small objects. There’s a fast-food restaurant down the street. I reach out with my mind and snag what I want when no one is watching. A few dollars transported to the cash drawer pays my tab. Merlin of Camelot,” he concluded a bit haughtily, “is not a freeloader.”