by Simon Hawke
"It's the strength of the emanations," Modred replied. "It has to be black magic."
Loomis stared at him through narrowed eyes. "Why do I get the feeling you know something you're not telling me, Cornwall?"
Before Modred could reply, the radio in the car crackled to life. Screams had been reported in San Francisco Street, in the vicinity of the plaza. Units were responding.
"Shit," swore Loomis. He turned to the driver. "Hit it!"
The driver turned on the flashing lights and hit the siren, then put the accelerator to the floor.
"It's only a few blocks," said Loomis, turning around. "We oughtta make it in . . . What the hell?"
The backseat was empty. Loomis and his driver were alone in the car.
The young people in the plaza were milling around like frightened cattle as the first police car came hurtling down East Palace Avenue and turned left on Lincoln. Officer John Baker, behind the wheel, followed the pointing fingers of the kids crowding together on the plaza and gunned it down San Francisco Street. Beside him, Officer Rosario Sanchez sat buckled into the passenger seat, talking on the radio.
"Get the spot, Rosie," Baker said, slowing down as they headed down San Francisco Street.
The screams had stopped. The street appeared deserted. In the distance, they could hear rapidly approaching sirens as other units converged on the area. Sanchez played the spotlight along the sidewalks, the beam stabbing into the shadowed recesses of doorways and narrow alleys. Another patrol car was coming down the street toward them from the opposite direction. It, too, had slowed and began to play its light along the street.
"Stop!" said Sanchez suddenly.
They had drawn even with an alley. The spotlight beam illuminated what was clearly a dead body lying in the middle of the alley, about ten to fifteen feet from the entrance. Farther down, there was a dark, robed figure bending over what appeared to be another body.
"You! In the alley! Freeze!" Sanchez shouted over the car's PA.
Baker grabbed the mike. "All units, all units, Car Seventeen requesting backup. Suspect spotted in the alley between Galisteo and Sandoval, off San Francisco! Seal off the back entrance on Palace Avenue!"
The other police car coming from the opposite direction suddenly picked up speed and raced toward them, coming to a stop inches from their front bumper. Both officers inside piled out, weapons held ready. Meanwhile, Sanchez saw that his challenge had been totally ignored by the robed figure illuminated in the spotlight's beam. He was still bent over the body, apparently doing something to it.
"Son of a bitch!" swore Sanchez, throwing the door open and drawing his 9-mm semiautomatic.
At the other end of the alley, which opened onto Palace Avenue, Baker saw another patrol car pull up sharply, blocking the exit. He quickly spoke into the mike.
"Attention unit blocking the alley on Palace! Looks like we've got dead bodies in there! Stay back out of the way, guys! Watch out for crossfire! Give me a roger on that!"
"That's a roger, Seventeen," the speaker crackled. "We'll keep back. If he comes out this way, we'll get him."
The cops from the other unit facing them took up position by the wall to the left of the alley entrance, one holding a revolver, the other a riotgun. Sanchez was out of the car and on the sidewalk in the middle of the entrance to the alley, crouching on one knee, his pistol braced.
"Get up!" shouted Sanchez. "Hands above your head! Now!"
"Rosie! Get back, goddammit!" Baker yelled to him.
Even as he shouted to his partner, Baker saw the robed figure in the alley straighten up and turn toward them. There was a hellish red glow in its eyes and it had a face that wasn't even remotely human. It opened its lupine jaws and gave out a deafening bellow that echoed through the alley and before anyone could react, twin red bolts of thaumaturgic energy shot out from its eyes and struck Sanchez squarely in the chest, penetrating through his back.
"Jesus!" Baker exclaimed. He grabbed the mike. "Officer down! Officer down!"
He threw the mike down and bolted from the car, drawing his weapon as the other two officers opened fire. The creature gave out a deafening, bloodcurdling howl that echoed through the alley.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor in his darkened, candlelit room, Wulfgar's body jerked as the demonic entity was struck by the policemen's fire, but his eyes remained tightly shut, his jaw muscles clenched, a vein throbbing in his temple as he fought to maintain his concentration.
In the alley, the entity staggered for a moment, then straightened up and roared as bolts of energy lanced out from its red, glowing eyes. The beams of thaumaturgic force struck the building wall behind which two of the officers were braced in shooting position. The corner of the building exploded in a rain of concrete and stone fragments. Both officers were hurled backward, their faces and bodies lacerated by flying pieces of the building wall.
"Holy shit!" said Baker. He ducked down behind his car and reached in through the open door, grabbing the radio mike. "Officers down! Officers down!" he shouted. "Jesus Christ, we need some help here and we need it now!"
He dropped the mike, braced his gun on the hood of the car, and emptied it. The night was filled with the bestial roaring of the creature in the alley and the sounds of police sirens as other units came hurtling down the street. And suddenly, from just behind him, Baker heard the sounds of galloping hoofbeats. They were almost on top of him. He turned just in time to see two white unicorns bearing riders coming at him at a dead run, their iridescent horns gleaming in the night. They leapt and Baker ducked down with a yell as the beasts sailed over his car and bolted down the alley.
Other police cars had pulled up and armed officers came running out, but Baker yelled at them to hold their fire. Question were shouted at him, but he didn't know what the hell was going on. Those riders had come from out of nowhere. He shined the spotlight down the alley.
It was empty.
"It's over," said a voice beside him. "For now."
He turned and saw that cop from England, Cornwall, and Professor Paul Ramirez standing by his car. The other officers stood around, confused, their weapons still trained uncertainly at the entrance to the empty alleyway, while several others ran to check on their fallen comrades.
"Where the hell did they go?" asked Baker, staring down the alley in a daze.
Another car came pulling up fast, siren blaring and lights flashing. Loomis got out and came over to them. His quick glance around the scene told him it was over. He saw the bodies of the fallen officers and his lips tightened into a grimace.
"What happened?" he demanded.
Baker stood there, shaking his head, a confused expression on his face.
"Dammit, Baker, I asked you what the hell happened!" Loomis snapped at him.
Baker moistened his lips and swallowed. "We . . . uh . . . we spotted someone in the alley . . . that is, Rosie did . . ." He gazed down at the body of his fallen partner, lying on the sidewalk in a sea of blood. "Oh, Jesus . . ."
"Come on, Baker," Loomis said, his tone softening. "Come on, man, pull yourself together."
Baker drew a deep breath. "Rosie spotted someone in the alley, bending over one of the bodies, and ordered him to freeze over the P.A. while I got on the radio and called for backup. Henry's unit pulled up about the same time. While I was calling it in, Rosie got out of the car. Henry and Seavers took up position at the corner of the building over there." He pointed. "I was on the horn to the guys at the other end of the alley, telling them to keep back and watch for crossfire. Then I saw Rosie taking up a shooting crouch position at the mouth of the alley. I yelled at him to get back and . . ." He took a ragged breath and let it out slowly. "And that . . . that thing in there straightened up and turned around . . . Christ, I never saw anything like it in my life."
Modred went around the car and started heading down the alleyway.
"Wait a minute, where the hell are you going?" asked Baker.
"It's all right, Joe," Paul said,
watching as Modred approached the body of the entity's first victim and crouched over it. "He knows what he's doing."
"Well, at least that makes one of us," said Loomis tightly. He glanced at Baker. "Go on."
"It wasn't human," Baker said. "That face . . . Its eyes were glowing, like red lights, and then it howled and these two beams came shooting from its eyes. Got Rosie right in the chest. It happened so fast! He never even had a chance to shoot. Henry and Seavers opened up. They must've hit it. It staggered, then straightened up again and shot those beams at them. The whole wall at the corner of the building came apart. I was behind the car, braced over the hood, and I emptied my piece at the damn thing, but I don't know if I hit it or not. And the next thing I know, I hear these hoofbeats coming fast and I turn around and see these two riders bearing straight down on me on two white unicorns. Looked like they were going to slam right into me. I yelled and ducked down and they went sailing right over the car and down the alley and then . . ." He shook his head. "Next thing I knew, they were just gone."
"What do you mean, 'just gone'?"' asked Loomis.
"I mean, they all disappeared. The creature in the alley, the two riders . . . suddenly, they just weren't there."
Loomis stood silent, staring down the alley. The flashing lights of the police cars were strobing off the building walls, lighting up the street in a cacophony of color. The noise of police radios echoed in the night. A crowd was starting to gather behind them, across the street and on either side of the parked police cars. People were staring out the windows of the upper stories of the surrounding buildings.
One of the officers came over to Loomis. "Seavers is dead," he said flatly. "Henry's alive, but he's hurt bad."
"Damn it to hell," said Loomis. He glanced around. "Get those people back." He turned to Paul. "Come with me."
They went around the car and started walking down the alley. Loomis paused briefly at the body of the nearest victim, lying roughly in the center of the alley, on his back. His shirt had been torn open and his chest was mutilated, bloody runic symbols carved into it. The skin around the wounds was torn, as if the symbols had been cut into the flesh by some sort of rough instrument . . . or a claw. But the eyes were what Loomis couldn't stop staring at. They were completely bleached out. They looked like opaque, milky white marbles.
"My God," said Paul.
Modred was crouched down over the second body, farther down the alleyway. Loomis approached him and Paul followed. The stone in Modred's forehead was glowing brightly as he straightened up and turned around to face them, his expression grim.
"I tried to warn them," he said. "They should have fired immediately, while the entity was still involved in its ritual. That might have disrupted the necromancer's concentration and given them a chance."
"Is that so? And suppose it was just some bum, going through the pockets of the victims after the killer had already gone?" asked Loomis. "Dammit, Cornwall, I don't know how the hell you people do things in England, but we have to follow procedure!"
"Your procedure just got two of your officers killed and one seriously injured," Modred replied flatly. "When are you going to understand that your damned procedure is useless in a case like this?"
"They did what they were trained to do," said Loomis angrily. "If they'd just started shooting, they might have killed an innocent bystander, for God's sake!"
"A risk you're simply going to have to take, if you don't want more of your men to die," Modred replied.
Loomis stared at him. "What the hell kind of a cop are you?"
"I will repeat," said Modred, "standard police procedures are utterly useless in dealing with a necromancer. From what your officer said in his report, the killings had already occurred by the time they had arrived. The first victim was certainly dead, and this one was probably in the process of dying. There was nothing that they could have done to save them and, unfortunately, Paul and I had not arrived in time to be of any use. The best they could have done was try and save themselves."
"What do you know about these riders?" Loomis asked him.
"Riders?" Modred asked. "What riders?" He had not heard the latter part of Baker's report.
"Baker said two riders on unicorns rode up behind him, jumped over his car, and came barreling down this alley," Loomis said. "And now, they're gone, too."
"Your guess is as good as mine, Lieutenant," Modred said, although he had no doubt as to who those riders must have been. "But if two riders came down this alley and disappeared, then the obvious explanation is that they must have teleported, along with their mounts. It's possible that they were Bureau agents."
"On unicorns?" said Loomis.
"Thaumagenes, obviously," said Modred. "Perhaps, lacking other transport, they commandeered them."
"You're not telling me everything, Cornwall," Loomis said. He glanced down at the girl's body. "What happened to their eyes? The other victims weren't like that."
"They were blinded by thaumaturgic beams," said Modred. "The killer must have realized their screams would bring the police and he had to work quickly to absorb their life energies before his concentration could be disturbed, so he blinded them first. The pain must have been excruciating and it would have effectively immobilized them. He must have blinded the young man first, and while he was writhing on the ground in agony, the killer caught the girl, burned out her eyes, then went back to his first victim to finish the job. He must have been finishing off the girl when your men arrived."
"Officer Baker said they fired on the entity and hit it," Paul said. "But it only slowed it down for a moment."
"I thought you said that would break the necromancer's concentration," said Loomis.
"Apparently, we're dealing with one who has great powers of mental discipline," said Modred. "And that only makes it worse."
"So what are you telling me?" asked Loomis. "There's nothing we can do to stop him?"
"That's precisely what I've been trying to tell you," Modred replied. "Your men would be far better employed in keeping people off the streets at night. I would suggest a curfew."
"A curfew," Loomis said. "You've gotta be kidding. I can't put this city under martial law, we're not at war."
"Yes," Modred replied, "we are. And until you realize that, more people are going to die. I strongly suggest you cancel the upcoming fiesta, as well."
"I can't cancel the fiesta," Loomis said. "For one thing, the chamber of commerce wouldn't stand for it. For another, I haven't got that authority."
"Then find whoever does and convince them to cancel it," said Modred. "Your chamber of commerce will hardly be well served by a mass murder. In any case, with the exception of these unfortunate two, the city should be safe for the rest of the night."
"What, you don't think he'll strike again?" asked Loomis.
"No," said Modred. "He's expended a great deal of energy tonight, so the necromancer will rest now. I suggest you do the same."
"Won't he be stronger from having absorbed the energy of these two?"
"Yes," said Modred, "but he won't cast any more spells tonight. He will rest and allow the energy he has absorbed to replenish him. If I were you, I'd make good use of the time to get some rest yourself. I intend to do the same. Then first thing tomorrow, find whoever you need to talk to and convince them to cancel the fiesta."
Loomis sighed. "All right. I'll try. But I don't think it'll do any good. The businessmen of this town stand to lose too much if the fiesta's canceled. And we've got a lot of people in town who've come especially for that. I just don't think they'll understand. They'll say it's our responsibility to make sure the streets are safe."
"Maybe if you could make a statement to the press," said Paul. "Call a press conference. Tell them exactly what we're dealing with."
"And cause a panic?" Loomis said. "Have every adept in town suspected of being a killer?"
"It's already happening, Joe," said Paul. "There's nothing you can do about it. He's right. The smartest thing to
do would be to cancel the fiesta. I'll go along with you tomorrow. I'll help you convince them how serious this is. In a situation such as this, they're not going to be unreasonable."
Loomis shook his head. "You're dreaming, Paul. You guys may know your magic, but I know people. No, they're not going to be unreasonable, but where money is concerned, they're just not going to see it. They'll convince themselves that we're exaggerating the threat. They're going to be afraid of lawsuits if the fiesta's canceled and they're going to think about the loss of revenue. It's not that they'll be callous, but they just won't want to understand."
Modred nodded. "You may be right," he said. "But I still think you should try. For the sake of your own conscience, if for no other reason. Then at least you'll be able to tell yourself that you did everything you could."
Loomis looked at him for a long moment. "What's going to happen, Cornwall? You know more about this than you're telling me."
"I've told you all I know," lied Modred. "If these killings follow the same pattern as the others, and so far they have, the situation will only continue to escalate. If you cannot succeed in canceling the fiesta, it will turn into a nightmare, mark my words. Unless we can stop the necromancer before then. I'm going to get some rest. If you have any sense, you'll do the same."
He turned and walked away from them.
"Cornwall!" said Loomis. "Wait, I'm not through with you!"
Modred walked several more steps, spoke a teleportation spell, and disappeared.
"God damn it," said Loomis angrily. He turned to Paul. "I don't know about your friend, Paul. He's not telling us everything he knows, I'm certain of it."
Not knowing how to respond, Ramirez merely shrugged. "We're all tired, Joe," he said. "He's right, you know. We need to get some rest."
"Rest?" said Loomis. "I've got two murdered citizens here. I've got two men dead and one more who's badly injured. And we're no closer to getting this bastard than we were yesterday. You and I are going to get back in that car and keep going down that list all night and I don't give a damn if we have to drag every adept in town out of bed and grill them! And in the morning, you and I are going to get on the horn to the Bureau and the goddamn I.T.C. and burn their ears until they send us some goddamn help!"
