“I didn’t see you come in,” he said.
She smiled. “I didn’t use the door.”
“You just somehow appeared?”
“If you say so.”
“So am I a demon?”
She smiled enigmatically. “It’s one of the infinite number of things you might be, given the choices you make.”
“You’re making about as much sense as Rofocale,” said Raven.
“Maybe you’re just misunderstanding me as much,” she replied.
“Look,” he said, “if I’m not a demon, or not yet one, why is everyone trying to kill me?”
“Think, Eddie,” she exhorted him. “If you saw Hitler as a small boy, if you knew it was Hitler, would you wait for him to grow to adulthood before killing him, or would you save six million lives and kill him now?”
“I’m that evil?” he asked with a sick feeling at the pit of his stomach.
“Calm down, Eddie,” she said, reaching out and gently holding his hand. “It was merely an example.”
“If Lucifuge Rofocale is trying to protect me,” he said, “then maybe I should be killed.”
She sighed. “Not everything is as it appears to you,” she said. “You must trust me on this.”
He stared at her, but said nothing.
“I will help you sort out truth from lies, and greater truths from lesser truths, as you continue your quest.”
“What quest?” he demanded. “And while we’re at it, who are you? Clearly you’re not Lisa.”
“I am also Lisa,” she replied, still holding his hand. “And I have been drawn to you as you have been drawn to me from the first moment that we met almost two years ago.”
“You’re ducking my question,” said Raven. “Who are you?”
“You’re a bright man, Eddie,” she replied. “I should have thought the answer would be obvious.”
And as the words left her mouth she became an exotic Asian girl dressed in a blue velvet gown.
“I am the Mistress of Illusions,” she continued. “Great powers are aligned against you, Eddie Raven. I will help you sort through the maze of intrigue and misdirection they have set in your path.”
Raven frowned. “But why?” he asked at last. “What am I expected to do if I survive?”
“The same thing you would do if you were really the detective you were pretending to be,” she answered. “Put the villains where they can do no more harm. Or if you were Mordred, magic them away. If you were Alan Quatermain, line them up in your sights and pull the trigger. Or . . .”
“I get the picture,” he said. “So am I a hero or a villain?”
“Everyone’s a villain to someone,” said Lisa.
“You’re driving me crazy!” he snapped in frustration. “Can’t I get a straight answer?”
“Not from the Mistress of Illusions,” she replied with a gentle smile that seemed tinged with sadness or regret. As she spoke, she changed form again, this time into a gorgeous peasant girl from the Russian steppes. “You must learn to interpret, Eddie, and to intuit, if you—and all the worlds that coexist with yours—are to survive.”
“Mine, not ours?”
“I don’t follow you.”
“This world,” said Raven. “Isn’t it yours too?”
“It is while I’m on it, interacting with you. And when we are on another world, or in another reality, then that will be mine for as long as we reside upon it.”
“Where’s your real world?”
Suddenly she was Lisa again, and her smile almost made him forget his situation.
“Wherever you are, Eddie.”
He realized that despite all her changes in appearance she was still holding his hand, so he pulled her toward him, leaned down, and kissed her.
“At least you’re not an illusion,” he said.
“I never was,” she replied.
“And that was really you in Casablanca and Camelot and the other places?”
She nodded. “It was really me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It would have been against the rules,” said Lisa.
“Rules?” he repeated. “What rules?”
“The ones that I live by, that govern me.”
“But the rules say you can tell me all this when we’re in the real world—my real world?”
“No, Eddie.”
“But you just told me!” he said, frowning.
“I know.”
“Well, then?”
“I broke my rules, Eddie,” she said. “I did it when I spotted Mako’s killer. After what I said, I didn’t think you would be able to buy that I was just Lisa and no one else.” She smiled a bittersweet smile. “Perhaps I was wrong.”
“What will happen to you for breaking your rules?” he asked.
“Nothing, until we know how this adventure ends.”
“Adventure?” he repeated. “You mean in Manhattan?”
“No, Eddie.”
“This is the beginning of something else, like being an African hunter or a Frankensteinian monster?”
“No, Eddie. The episode in question is your life.”
“My life?” he repeated with a confused frown.
“You must know by now that it’s not a normal life,” said Lisa.
“You make it sound like it’s not a real life at all,” he said, “like I’m some kind of puppet who’s being Eddie Raven this week and will be someone else next month.” He grimaced. “But I’ve been doing that since you and Mako and Rofocale were shot, and I always wind up as Eddie Raven.” He stared intently at her. “So am I me—I mean Raven—or not?”
She stared into his eyes. “It’s a real life, and you’re Eddie Raven.” Then she paused and added, “At the very least.”
“I’d ask you to explain, but somehow I know you’d just give me a bullshit answer that would be more confusing than no answer at all.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Eddie,” she said.
“You’re sorry?” he said with a bitter laugh.
“Eddie, I wouldn’t be breaking the rules and jeopardizing my safety if I didn’t care for you—and more to the point, believe in you.”
He sighed and hugged her. “I know I’m being difficult tonight, but that answer makes it all okay,” he said, then released her and shrugged. “Well, ninety percent okay, anyway.”
“Just remember, Eddie,” she said. “Whatever happens, I’m on your side.”
“That means a lot,” he said. He glanced briefly at the kitchen. “I’ve been gone so long I think just about everything I have to eat is spoiled. Would you like to go out for a meal?”
But as he turned back, he found that he was speaking to an empty room.
10
Okay, what now? he wondered. What else have you got in mind for me? And more to the point, what are you preparing me for?
There was no answer, of course.
“Well, what the hell,” he muttered. “I’m pretty sure I’m Eddie Raven, but I’m not sure of a hell of a lot else. I may only know two people in this Manhattan, this universe, and one of them just vanished. I suppose I might as well try to connect with the other, even though if I were a betting man I’d give odds against it.”
He opened the door, remembered to lock it behind him (unlike the last few times), and was soon out on the street, walking toward Rofocale’s dilapidated building and even more dilapidated room.
“Hey, fella,” said a voice from the shadows. “You need a little protection?”
“That’s a new pitch,” said Raven.
“But an earnest one.”
“Who are you protecting me against?” asked Raven.
The speaker, all seven feet and four hundred pounds of him, stepped out from between two buildings. “Me,” he said with a smile
that implied he’d be just as happy, perhaps even more so, if Raven turned down his offer.
Not to worry, Eddie, whispered Lisa’s voice in his ear. He’s just a cheap crook, not one of them.
One of whom? thought Raven.
Just trust me. You have nothing to fear from him.
Right, thought Raven sardonically. He only outweighs me by a couple of hundred pounds, all of it muscle.
You’ve faced worse, Frankie. Or should I say Alan? Or Mordred?
“I’m waiting for an answer, Mac,” said the huge man.
“It’s still a pleasant night,” replied Raven.
The man frowned. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
“Since I don’t plan to pay you until Hell freezes over, it means you showed up a few years too early. Now get the hell out of my way before I get really annoyed with you.”
The huge man sneered at him. “Okay, fella—you asked for it!”
He had time to shoot one quick thought off at Lisa—I hope to hell you’re right!—and then the man was upon him, raining blows right and left. But with a speed he didn’t know he possessed, Raven ducked most of them and blocked the rest. He backed up a few feet as the man kept coming after him, and managed to get in two quick punches—one bloodied the man’s nose and the other shut his left eye.
The man stopped swinging long enough to press a hand against his swollen eye.
“Who the hell are you, anyway?” he demanded.
“Someone who doesn’t like to be threatened or attacked by dumb palookas,” answered Raven. “And I’ll tell you something else: There are a hell of a lot of us walking the streets after dark, just waiting to teach bastards like you a lesson. So if you’ve got half a brain, and based on the last few minutes that’s being generous, you’ll find a better way to make a living before one of us gets really mad at you.”
The huge man stared at him. Raven thought for a moment that he was going to extend a hand in friendship. Instead he spat on the street, pulled out a handkerchief, blew his nose, turning the entire fabric red, and retreated to his hiding place between buildings.
Thanks, thought Raven.
What for? asked Lisa.
For your help.
I didn’t help you, Eddie.
I’m not that strong or that fast.
You’d be surprised at what you are, Eddie.
Okay, he thought. What am I?
He could almost see her smiling as she answered him. That would be telling.
And there’s some rule against telling me?
I know you think there isn’t, or shouldn’t be, but remember: I am the Mistress of Illusions. I operate under a different set of . . . well, rules, ethics, principles, whatever you want to call them. There was a pause. Anyway, I’m glad you faced up to the danger.
Let me guess, thought Raven. This was a test?
Not a planned or predetermined one, no, she replied, but a test nonetheless—and it was essential that you pass it, for greater tests lie ahead. Far greater.
I don’t suppose you’d care to enlighten me about them, or why I have to take them at all?
He could almost see and hear her chuckle. Right the first time.
Then, if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way before I face any more tests by guys who are too big to play defensive end for the Giants or the Patriots.
He waited for an answer, and when none came, he examined the contours of his mind and found that she was no longer in contact with it.
He resumed walking, stopped at an all-night eatery for a sandwich, a piece of pie, and a cup of coffee, tried without much success to make sense of the day’s events, and finally left a couple of dollars on the counter, got up, and began walking again.
What the hell is going on? he wondered for the hundredth time. What did the Master of Dreams, whoever he was, have against me? Why has the Mistress of Illusions made me her special project, or even her boyfriend? Why is Lucifer’s right-hand man—or right-hand demon—actually trying to help me? I keep trying to go back over my life, pulling up meaningful incidents, but Rofocale took most of it away from me. I think I was a normal guy, I feel like one, but who the hell knows?
Damn it all! I’ve already had a demonstration of how Rofocale can tamper with my memory. So what is the truth?
And the only truth he could be sure of was that he didn’t know.
11
He wandered aimlessly for a few blocks, realized that such behavior in Manhattan verged on suicidal, headed over to Rofocale’s building, tried the door of the demon’s apartment, and found it locked.
Well, at least you’re walking, he thought, which was preferable to the alternatives that Rofocale could extend his arm from the bed to the door handle, or that he had died and the landlord had locked the door after disposing of the body.
Raven went back out onto the street, turned to his right, walked up to the corner, and was waiting for the light to change when he was approached by an old lady holding a batch of helium-filled balloons by their strings.
“Evening, mister,” she said in a hoarse, very tired voice.
“Not interested,” said Raven.
“You’re not interested in evenings?” she said. “I don’t blame you. I prefer sunlight.”
Raven smiled. “I mean, I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling.”
“Without even knowing what it is?” she said. “What if it’s a trip to the wildly exotic Bahamas?”
“You’re not going to believe it, but I’ve been to more exotic places in the past couple of days. Much more.”
“Then it’s lucky for both of us that I’m not selling trips to the Bahamas, isn’t it?”
“I’d have to agree,” said Raven. He smiled. “And I’m still not interested.”
“In what?”
“A lot of things—including balloons.”
“What makes you think I’m selling balloons?” she said. “Maybe I’m selling Mitzi, my kid sister.”
“Are you?” he asked, looking around.
“No. But if I was . . .”
“I’d politely decline,” said Raven. “The light’s changed twice since we started talking. Why don’t you make your sales pitch, and then we can both be on our way?”
She reached into a pocket and withdrew a glowing blue marble, about the size of a wisdom tooth.
“I haven’t played marbles in twenty years,” said Raven.
“I haven’t played marbles in sixty years,” she replied. “But this isn’t for playing. It’s a good luck charm.” She stared intently at him. “You strike me as a man who could use one.”
“Oh?”
She nodded her head. “It’s a very unusual charm, for very unusual dangers.”
“What kind of dangers do you think I’m going to encounter?” he asked.
She smiled. “I’m just a poor saleswoman, sir, not a prognosticator.”
“But you’re enough of a prognosticator to know I need a good luck charm?”
She smiled again. “Not I, sir. As I said, I’m merely a saleswoman. It was the charm that selected you.”
“Could you explain that, please?” said Raven.
“Probably not,” she replied. “At least, not in a manner than you would accept.” She looked at her naked wrist. “My goodness, it’s getting late. Please pay me and I’ll be heading home.”
“How much?” asked Raven.
She frowned. “What’s it worth to you, good sir?”
He reached into a pocket, withdrew his wallet, pulled out a five-dollar bill, and handed it to her.
“Acceptable?” he said.
“I would have thought your life was worth more than that,” she said. Then he shrugged. “But what the hell—mine isn’t. Yes, we have a bargain. May it protect you in time of need.” She turned away from him and
began walking. “But not before I get home safe and sound.”
He watched her for perhaps a minute, then crossed the street. He considered the past few minutes, had a difficult time believing he had actually experienced them, and stuck a hand in his pants pocket, grasping the marble.
“Were you watching, Lisa?” he said softly as he walked down the empty street. “Was this your idea, and can you give me a hint about what the hell I’m going to need it for?”
But there was no answer.
Still restless despite the late hour, he headed toward some lights, found a small tavern open, entered, and sat down on a stool at the bar.
“What’ll it be, fella?” asked the bartender.
Raven shrugged. “A beer, I guess.”
The bartender walked to the tap and activated it. There were some spurting sounds, and he frowned. Finally he pulled the half-filled glass away and carried it over to Raven.
“Ran out of beer until the five a.m. delivery,” said the bartender. “No charge for less than a full glass. This is your lucky night, fella.”
“Thanks,” said Raven. Silently he added, I hope it brings me better luck than that. “I’ve been out of circulation for a few days—so what’s new?”
“Mets lost another one. Knicks are fighting their number one pick over his salary, or their offer of his salary, or something. Anyway, it’s got to do with money. Aqueduct’s coming up fast tomorrow, and Can’t Miss looks pretty good in the fourth race.”
“Any news that doesn’t concern sports?”
The bartender grimaced. “Nothing’s changed. They still want to raise taxes, they still overpay everyone in the mayor’s office and still underpay all the cops, they still haven’t figured out how to pay for another tunnel under the East River.”
“Could be worse,” said Raven. “A red-tinted demon could walk in the door, looking for someone to carry off.”
“Wherever he takes ’em, it can’t be any worse than here,” said a man whom Raven hadn’t seen before sitting at the far end of the bar.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said another man who was seated alone at a small table in a corner. “Hard to believe that Hell isn’t a little bit worse.” He paused. “’Course, they ain’t got no beer in Hell.”
The Mistress of Illusions Page 8
