Buster Greenheart never looked his publicist in the eye.
Paracosm, an epic fantasy franchise, had taken the film industry by storm. In five short years, it had grossed over $11 Billion and there was no end in sight for its planned sequels and spin-offs. As its leading man, Buster Greenheart had spearheaded an epic fantasy craze in popular culture. There were competing franchises and knock-offs, all wildly successful in their own right, and, despite how much money they spent, people were bored. Fantasy fatigue had set in, and it wore Buster Greenheart's face.
Buster knew he would never get any real accolades. The Paracosm trilogy had won awards for its innovative effects, costuming, make-up, sound, and score, but it still wasn’t recognized as cinematic excellence. In fact, people were starting to say that Paracosm was the death of art. It was a bombastic hype machine for mediocre, formulaic stories, and it was now the gold standard of success.
There was a myth that Buster was a genius, a narrative that fans never questioned because they were inundated with this idea whenever his name came up. It was all marketing. Morgan, his publicist, carefully manufactured it all to promote Paracosm and Buster’s profile. His filmography was brief. He had only appeared in the Paracosm trilogy, and now that they were the highest grossing films of all time, no one else could afford him. He thought he had peaked, but the “genius” talk just generated a never-ending buzz. And, of course, for every voice praising his genius there was one of dissent, there was Buster the plastic doll, Buster the stooge of capitalism. He wondered if anyone actually believed he was a genius. It could have all been the publicist planting this crap online every day. She worked hard. She seemed to be everywhere he went, too. Premieres, press junkets, parties, interviews; Morgan was always present, at a safe distance, demure and unassuming.
But Morgan was some kind of witch. Years ago, she had granted him all this success as a wish. Madame Morgan, she had called herself. She had a little business as a fortune-teller downtown. Buster had wandered in one day, and abracadabra, bippity-boppity-boop, his life changed forever. She even warned him of the catch, the consequences of magic, she prophesied that the success would come at the price of his artistic merit. He would be celebrated, but it would be empty. He would be an imposter.
The whole thing wrung Buster’s brain out. It was magic, but it wasn’t magical. Everything played out as they had discussed, but there were never any fantastic lights, she didn’t demonstrate anything supernatural, she just inserted herself in his life and created the situation. He paid her as his publicist, but she hadn’t asked for anything at all when he made the wish. It cost him nothing.
Today, he wished he could undo it all. He had just learned of a fourth installment in the Paracosm series. He couldn’t say no, he had signed a contract. Paracosm was the death of art, and Buster was stuck dancing on its grave. He walked the downtown streets with a cap over his eyes and his beard thick.
Madame Morgan’s was apparently still operating. He couldn’t believe it. He cautiously walked up the stairs and found her at her gimmicky little table of cards.
“Oh, there you are, Buster!” she said.
●
“What…” said Buster. “What the hell is this?”
“Thursday,” said Morgan.
“You're still moonlighting as a psychic?”
She laughed. “And you're disguised as a pedestrian. What do you need, Buster?”
He made eye contact. “I want out.”
“Contracts can be negotiated. We'll figure it out, honey.”
“No.” Buster shook his head. “I wish it all away. Paracosm, the money, ‘Buster Greenheart is a genius,’ all of it. I want my old life back. Exactly as it was before I first came here.”
“Well!” Morgan slapped her lap. “That's a big ask. Time travel, for one, plus the zeitgeist erased, thousands of livelihoods undone. All for you, huh?”
“Can you do it?”
“Of course.” She shrugged. “Just seems petty. You have it made, kid. I told you there would be a downside. Maybe you forget the real struggle. You really want to go back to your former self?”
“Please!”
“Oh, fine. Just wipe that pathetic face off. It's unbecoming.”
Buster nodded. “So what do we have to do?”
“What do you mean? It's done. I did it. You have your life and integrity back. It's 2020 again. Wear a mask.”
“That's it?”
“No. This isn't a gift. You'll have to pay me."
“What! The last wish cost me nothing!”
“That was a promotional offer. A typical wish comes true at $250 thousand."
“You're not serious!”
“Oh, I'm sorry, is that too much for the life-altering spell I'm casting for you?”
“Oh my god,” said Buster. “You know what? It's fine. Money is no object.”
“Well, actually, Buster, it is. You just wished it all away.” Morgan laughed. “I told you to stop making that face. Do you not have anything of value?”
Buster shrugged.
“I guess you can’t afford me,” said Morgan.
“Then I take it all back. We’ll figure something else out.”
“Ok.” Morgan gave a thumbs up. “It’s still 2025, you’re a multimillionaire again. I’m sorry.”
“Shut up,” said Buster. “You tricked me.”
“You know, I can teach you a few tricks, if you want. You can cast all your own spells, undo reality to your heart’s desire.”
“What’s the rub?”
“Time. It takes time. Twenty years, seventy years. It depends how devoted you are to study and practice. And your reputation will be affected. People will catch on that you’re into…the occult, as it’s known.”
Buster sighed. “They’ll probably still find a way to call me a genius.”
“Oh, I’ll make sure of it.”
“Alright. I’ll do it.”
Morgan pulled a card from her pocket. “Do you have a pen?”
“I don’t,” said Buster. “What is that?”
“It’s a library card. You need to sign it.”
“You’re sending me to the library?”
”I told you, you have to study. I will give you a list of necessary texts and grimoires. Good luck finding any of them.”
“What!” Buster took the card. “I’m paying $250 thousand to get a library card.”
“$750 thousand.”
“What!”
“I zapped us to 2020, I zapped us back, and now I’m giving you the key to the mint, baby! That’s your three wishes.”
“It better be worth it,” said Buster.
“It will,” said Morgan. “If you live long enough.”