Sweat ran down my face as I watched the man at the table. For the last five minutes, he hadn't moved, simply staring at the deck in front of him. He looked almost impassive, except for his eyes; blazing with focus and intensity. As the minutes ticked by the murmuring crowd slowly quieted, and a sense of expectation hung in the air.
"What is he doing?" I asked, quietly. The mood was oddly reverent.
"Readying the cards." My burly guide replied, his tone patient. He had clearly been asked this many times.
I looked back at the table. The gaze hadn't wavered. Had the man blinked in the time I'd looked away? Logic said yes. My gut said no.
The deck of cards twitched. Slowly, the floated into the air, not the weak wobbling of a low level telekinetic, but a slow rise, speaking volumes of control and power to the trained eye. The entire deck slowly floated in front of him, his eyes staring at the elaborate backs. For the first time I noticed the lacquered surface of the cards, no simple paper, but wood, painstakingly coated and stained.
The first card cracked to the table like a gunshot. The second and third were no less loud. I stood, mouth agape, and watched the stranger play solitaire with his mind.