A Spiritual Guru has been leading on her clientele with tales of a mysterious master who seems always just out of reach. Yet as her tricks of hiding cigarettes and magically “repairing” plates, she hatches a plan to have a fake “master” appear in the window to mollify her marks. And it works, his silhouette enough to keep them in awe and paying her. Only…the man she hired to do the deed tells her that he never made it that night… -- Deathshead419
Her acolytes called her Suma Loma, a name that Mavis had made up after a five minute wiki walk into things that looked mystic enough. Her remarkably profitable cult of soul magic hinged on her merely being a student of the entirely fictitious Yogi Upadya Nirmanka. Represented by a symbol rather than a portrait, because of course, photography captured a part of the soul and diminished the power of the student.
Mavis could demonstrate, with the help of her voluminous robes and sleight of hand, how she could instantly repair a broken ceramic plate from the complex, turn wine into water, or make lit cigarettes appear and disappear.
Naturally, cameras were forbidden, so people could only trust the evidence of their own eyes. Which, Mavis knew from years of grifting, were easily fooled. Swift movements, distracting flaps of fabric, a certain level of flexibility and a great love of hidden switches and compartments. And the fact, of course, that the complex's ceramics were identical and purchased in bulk.
And then some clever little shit decided to use a marker on their broken fucking plate.
Things started fraying right there. She needed a little extra oomph. Something to keep them enthralled just long enough for her to arrange a mystical vanishing with as much loot as she could stuff in her gear. Travel real light. Three changes of clothes, a toiletry bag, and all the fungible tokens she could get away with.
Not all big bills, naturally. Those got too much attention. Too much notice. They were easily portable, but hard to shift in person. Better to break those at an automatic checkout that took cash.
Meanwhile, the other important D's: deny, delay, and distract.
"Of course your lack of faith and testing the strength of my soul disrupted my energies, I could feel it," Mavis invented. "Perhaps it was wrong to use duplicity rather than cancel the miracle, but you must understand that the faith of thousands outweighs the anxiety of one woman." Now to play humble like a virtuoso. "I am, as always, a mere student of the Great Yogi Upadya Nirmanka. I must meditate on my errors and regain my spiritual contact with him." Thus, she went into seclusion. Secure in the knowledge that that smartass little shit was going to be persona non grata in the compound while she was locked away, allegedly in meditation.
What she was really doing was searching Craigslist on the compound-forbidden internet, looking for a low-price beginner actor who would believe a spiel and accept an envelope of cash. That, and a little script-writing for the actor's "breakout role". Mavis could feel sorry for the lamb, but he was definitely going to get paid handsomely.
Date set. Appointment made. Travel arrangements for the actor arranged via several proxies. Mavis put herself in shapewear to make herself look thinner inside her robes, and returned to her normal routines. Gracious and humble. Apologising to everyone, even the little shit with the marker.
There were three weeks between that incident and her planned vanishing. Plenty of time to seed her flock with the idea that her time was limited, and pick a decent enough lickspittle to carry on in her absence. The one amongst her flock who had swallowed all her bafflegab wholesale.
The one she'd renamed Mikya. Yes. Delightfully delusional and perfect for her cause. Well. Perfect enough to run the cult into the ground after she was gone. She gave him all her writing
In her last week, the actor was due to appear. Mavis staged a Summoning to get the Yogi Upadya Nirmanka to appear unto them for guidance.
Four hours into the chanting in the growing dark, a figure appeared at the window near Mavis' stage. Right on time. The screaming. The upset. People jumping up and running for the proper doors as the figure vanished. Mavis remained perfectly calm, knowing that her actor had used the panic to book it for the secret way out of the entire compound. They'd never figure out where he came from or where he went.
A miracle to keep them guessing about before her final one.
Five days later, she went to meditate in the evening in her locked seclusion house. Good old locked room mysteries. Always a favourite.
Knowing that they would break in, she made sure the place was spotless of 'sins'. Leaving her costume as if she'd discorporated from the middle of it, and then out through the secret tunnel to vanish without a trace.
A week later, she met her actor in a cafe with the envelope of large bills.
His first words, "Sorry I couldn't make it to the thing, there was a mix-up with the Uber and the subway. Was the night shot ruined or did you get an understudy?"
That gave her a momentary pause, but a lifelong grifter can go with the flow. "We managed just fine, but I did agree to pay you." She slid across the envelope. "This should help you with your rent."
Mavis tried not to wonder about it for the rest of her career.
[Photo by Samuel Giacomelli on Unsplash]
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