The Wizard of Sante Fe

by Simon Hawke

  "You can't be serious!" said Paul. "Surely, you don't think Michael could be the necromancer?"

  "Look, Paul," said Loomis, "by your own admission, you haven't seen him since the two of you were at school together. That's a pretty long time. A lot of things can happen to a man over a period of time like that. And there's the fact that the killing started about the time he came to town."

  "I can't believe it," Paul said. "There's no way that Michael could be the necromancer! It's impossible. Besides, he was with us when the necromancer struck tonight, remember?"

  "Nothing is impossible," said Loomis. "He didn't go along with us on the questioning tonight. He stayed behind in the car, with Sgt. Velez. And Velez said he didn't talk much. Just sat there quietly, as if he was concentrating on something."

  "Oh, for God's sake! He couldn't have summoned up the entity in the back of the car with Velez sitting there!" Paul asked.

  "I'm not saying he is the killer and I'm not saying he isn't," Loomis replied. "But I've known Ginny long enough to know that if she thinks there's something fishy about him, there probably is. Her instincts are good and she's very thorough. I've never known her information to be wrong. I plan to check Cornwall out again, a bit more carefully this time. If he checks out, then he's got nothing to worry about. But if he doesn't, I'm telling you right now, I'm going to come down on him like a ton of bricks."

  Kira watched from the window as they got into the car and drove away, then she ran back downstairs. Broom was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs.

  "What was all that about?" Broom asked.

  "Somehow, that reporter managed to sniff out that Modred wasn't who he claimed to be," said Kira. "She's going to be trouble. Ramses . . ."

  "I didn't move, just like you said. Did I do okay?" asked the enchanted sculpture.

  "You did just fine," said Kira. "Only now I need you to find Wyrdrune and Billy. Look here . . ." She unfolded the map of the city on the coffee table. "They'll be somewhere around here," she said, indicating the area they were supposed to be covering tonight. "Tell them that Loomis was here with a reporter, named Ginny Fairchild. I don't know if she's just nosy or if Modred slipped up somehow, but she checked him out with somebody at Scotland Yard, bypassing Blood, so he couldn't cover for him. She knows there's no record of anyone named Cornwall working for the Yard and that means she'll probably check him out with Bureau registration next, if she hasn't done it already. Loomis is suspicious and wants him to come in for questioning, which means that Loomis is going to do some checking on his own. And as soon as he sees that Bureau agent, it's all going to fall apart. Paul passed me off to Loomis as his girlfriend, but we're not going to be able to use Modred anymore. His cover's blown. What's more, Loomis and Paul have gone back out again to interview adepts. Now have you got all that?"

  "I've got it," Ramses said.

  "Good. Now hurry."

  She went to the door and opened it. Ramses launched himself in a low glide off the coffee table, swooped through the open door, and started flapping his brilliant metallic wings, gaining altitude quickly.

  "So what happens now?" asked Broom.

  "I'm not sure," Kira replied, closing the door. "But knowing cops as I do, you can bet that the minute Loomis gets past Modred's cover story, as that reporter did, Modred will become his number one suspect."

  "So what's the problem?" Broom asked. "So long as Wyrdrune keeps on being Wyrdrune, Lt. Loomis will never find Modred."

  "That's not the point," said Kira. "The point is he's liable to wind up looking for the wrong person. It looks as if our plan has backfired. Instead of helping the police, we're going to wind up sending them off on a wild goose chase. And meanwhile, the real necromancer is still on the loose somewhere."

  "Maybe you should take Lt. Loomis into your confidence," said Broom.

  "I don't know," said Kira. "It would mean taking a big risk."

  "You don't think you could convince him?" Broom asked.

  "Oh, I don't think that's the problem," Kira replied. "I'm sure we could convince him. The problem is, if we tell Loomis, we'll have to bring the Bureau field agent in on it, as well. And if we don't, Loomis will. And the field agent is almost certainly going to communicate the information back to Bureau headquarters and then, before you know it, the whole thing will become public knowledge."

  "Unless you can convince that field agent of the need for secrecy," said Broom.

  Kira nodded. "Maybe," she said. "But we don't know anything about her." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Megan Leary," she said. "All we've got on her so far is just her name. We need her file."

  "Only you don't have a computer and modem," Broom said. "And you know how Paul feels about your using his to access Bureau files."

  "So we'll do it, only we just won't tell him," Kira said.

  "Wait a minute," Broom said. "What do you mean, 'we'? I've heard that tone of voice before. What's on that sneaky little mind of yours?"

  "We're going to break into Paul's office at the college and use his computer and modem to call Archimedes and get a download on that Bureau agent," Kira said.

  "Oy!" Broom exclaimed, flinging up its hands. "I'm not listening! Do you hear me? I don't want to hear this, I'm not listening!"

  "I'm going to get dressed," said Kira. "Then you and I will head on over to the college."

  "No! Absolutely not! Forget about it, I'm not going!"

  "Yes, you are," said Kira. "I'll need a lookout."

  "Why me? Why can't you take Gomez?"

  "Because Gomez isn't here," said Kira. "He went out again, otherwise I would take him, but you're all I've got, so you're elected."

  "What happens if we get caught?"

  "We'll be arrested and you'll spend the next five to ten years sweeping out the Santa Fe jail," Kira said.

  "I knew it," Broom said. "I just knew it! I just knew the minute I left New York, bad things were going to happen. Oh, vey is mir?"

  "Come on, Broom, pull yourself together," Kira said. "I'm going to write a note to Wyrdrune after I get dressed, telling him where we're going to be, just in case anything happens. Find some paper and a pencil. I'll be right down."

  She ran upstairs.

  "Terrific," Broom said, hunting around for some paper and a pencil to write a note with. "It's not enough I work my bristles to the nubs and slave over a hot stove all day, now I'm going to be a burglar! I can see it now. They'll send me to prison and paint stripes on my pole and I'll spend the next ten years behind bars, looking like some kind of meshugge candy cane! I should've never left New York!"

  I blew it. I, Catseye Gomez, all-around hardcase and troubleshooter, the smartest thaumagene in Santa Fe, the cat who came up the hard way and learned in the school of hard knocks and smelly dumpsters, stupidly blew it. I felt almost as dumb as the day I decided to fight it out with a mangy, skinny old dog over a few choice pieces of steak tossed out by a restaurant because the meat had passed the expiration date. Only the skinny, mangy old dog who looked as if he couldn't lick his own shadow was actually a wild coyote, lean and tough and meaner than a junkyard dog. Much meaner. And much more dangerous, too. I almost had my head torn off. After I got away to lick my wounds, minus the steak, needless to say, I felt really, really dumb. Well, this time, I felt worse.

  I'd always prided myself on having a lot of street smarts, but when it really counted, I hadn't come up with any more savvy than a common, catnip-addled house cat that finds endless fascination in playing with a ball of yarn. I've let Paulie down. And despite all my efforts, I wasn't able to save those two young people from taking the big sleep. Mike Hammer would never have been so stupid. And though Marlowe had made his share of dumb mistakes, he'd never pulled off any that were quite as dumb as this.

  The show was already over by the time I made it to the scene. Most of the police cruisers had already left. They'd loaded up the bodies in the meat wagon and taken them on that lonely trip down to the morgue, where the indignity of a sliding slab in a
cold storage drawer awaited them, a sad and impersonal conclusion to two young and happy lives. I sat there, in the shadows, crouched behind a battered old dumpster in the alley, and watched the boys in blue draw their chalk marks to indicate where the victims had fallen. I watched them string their tapes, those little ropes with the signs on them that said, "Crime Scene, Do Not Cross," and I watched the lab team combing the alleyway for evidence, though I knew they wouldn't discover anything that would be of any help to them. I sat there and felt like a complete moron for having totally misjudged the situation.

  I heard a sound behind me and turned to see Blaize come trotting down the alley from the entrance on Palace Avenue.

  "I heard about what happened," Blaize said, "and I came right down. I figured you'd be here."

  "Yeah," I said. "Only I got here much too late."

  "Don't blame yourself, Gomez," said Blaize sympathetically. "What could you have done?"

  "I'm not sure," I said, furious with myself for being so stupid, furious with the killer for taking two innocent young lives, furious with the whole damn world for being the kind of place where things like this could happen. "I could have done something, damn it. Maybe I could have leapt at the killer and distracted him, given those two kids a chance to get away."

  "Right," said Blaize laconically. "You would have attacked a necromancer, a demonic entity? That's rich. There would've been nothing left of you but a few bloody clumps of fur. Everybody knows you're a tough guy, Gomez, but nobody's that tough."

  "I screwed up, Blaize," I said.

  "Hey, come on. Don't blame yourself. You tried. We all did."

  "Yeah, but we've been going about this thing all wrong," I told him. "And I should've realized that right from the start, only I didn't and two people wound up getting killed for my mistake."

  "What mistake?" asked Blaize, cocking his head at me.

  "I put out the word to all our friends to watch the streets," I said. "Only I stupidly never realized that it wouldn't do any good at all. As soon as the cavalry showed up, the killer simply disappeared. Poof, gone, like a puff of smoke. How the hell do you follow that?"

  "You don't, I guess," said Blaize. "But how were you supposed to know that the killer would disappear like that?"

  "I'm a sorcerer's familiar," I replied, feeling like a fool. "An advanced adept can teleport. And a necromancer capable of conjuring up a demon can just as easily allow the spell to dissipate and then we're left with nothing. Not even a cold trail. Nothing. Just a whisper on the wind. And bodies in the street."

  "So what are we supposed to do?" asked Blaize.

  "What we should have done in the first place," I replied. "What we would have done, if my brain had been working like it's supposed to. Pass the word. We all meet tomorrow, in the plaza. In front of the obelisk, at sunset."

  "You've got a plan?" asked Blaize.

  "Yeah, I've got a plan. Let's just hope it works. Because if it doesn't, I'm fresh out of ideas."

  "There 'as to be an easier way of doing this," said Billy plaintively. "Ole Merlin may know 'ow to ride all right, but it's me bum what's gettin' sore."

  "Stop complaining, you young whelp," Merlin replied, and instantly, Billy's entire manner and posture changed. The tired expression left his face and he sat up straighter on the unicorn's back, instead of slumping over like he was before. In an instant he went from looking like a small boy out for his first pony ride to someone who rode as if he'd been born on horseback. "Small wonder you're getting sore, sitting the way you are. Egad, you ride like a sack of turnips!"

  "If you two would stop arguing and start concentrating on what we're supposed to be doing, maybe we'd get somewhere," said Wyrdrune, his voice sounding weary. "I'm not exactly a cowboy myself, you know. My body isn't used to this, either."

  "You're both doing fine," said Champion, the unicorn Billy was riding. "Just relax, Billy, and let Merlin do the riding. He knows what he's doing."

  "Look 'ere, Champ, don't go gettin' the wrong idea," Billy said. "We appreciate the 'elp an' all, but truth is, I'd feel a lot better if we 'ad a car. No offense, y'know."

  "None taken," the unicorn replied. "Frankly, Tony and I would much rather be back in our stalls at the stable, getting some sleep."

  "Are you picking up any trace emanations at all?" asked Tony as they rode along at a brisk walk.

  "Nothing," Wyrdrune replied. "I'm sorry. We don't seem to be making any progress." He gave the unicorn a pat on the neck. "We've just about covered this sector. If you guys are tired, maybe we should pack it in for tonight."

  "Don't mind Champion," Tony replied. "We'll be just fine. You two just do what you have to do. We've got to find that necromancer."

  "Yeah, but the only trouble is, we'll never cover the entire town at this rate," Wyrdrune said. "Not by Friday, anyway. And what if the Dark One isn't in Santa Fe? We haven't even considered that. He could be holed up somewhere outside of town. If that's the case, then we're just wasting our time."

  "As long as we're doing something, we're not wasting our time," said Merlin. "And right now, there's nothing else we can do."

  "I know," said Wyrdrune. "It's so damned frustrating! I feel completely helpless! Two people died tonight and there was nothing we could do to stop it. And tomorrow night, it'll be the same. The Dark One's getting stronger while we're just wearing ourselves out."

  "You two! On the unicorns! Pull over!"

  The voice came over the P.A. of a patrol car that had silently pulled up behind them. The driver had turned on his flashing lights.

  "Now what?" said Wyrdrune. "What the hell did we do, run a stop sign?"

  "That looks like the same police car Kira and I jumped back at the alley," Merlin said, glancing over his shoulder.

  "Terrific," Wyrdrune said. "We can't afford to answer any questions about that."

  "We'll have to teleport," said Merlin.

  "I'm not sure I can teleport both the unicorn and myself," said Wyrdrune. "Modred's already teleported twice tonight. My energy's down. If it wasn't for the runestones, I'd be flat on my back."

  "And I still haven't recovered sufficiently to teleport us all," replied Merlin, who had teleported himself and Kira and both unicorns only a few hours earlier. "Champion, will you and Tony be able to get back on your own?"

  "Don't worry about us," the unicorn replied. "We'll be just fine. Go!"

  "I said, pull over! Now!" the officer in the police car repeated.

  Both unicorns came to a halt at the curb. The police car pulled up behind them, lights flashing. The driver started to get out.

  "I'll see you back at the house," Merlin said, and disappeared.

  Wyrdrune quickly spoke a teleportation spell and gestured down at himself . . . and in the next instant, he dropped about four feet to the ground, landing painfully on his tailbone as the unicorn beneath him vanished.

  "Ow! My ass!"

  "Hold it!" the cop shouted, going for his sidearm. "Hold it right there!"

  Champion kicked out with his rear legs and struck Officer John Baker in the chest. Baker grunted and went down. His 9-mm semiautomatic fell from his grasp.

  "Come on!" said Champion, prodding Wyrdrune with his horn. "Come on, get up! Hurry! Climb on!"

  Painfully, Wyrdrune swung himself onto Champion's back and the unicorn broke into a fast gallop. Behind them, the stunned Officer Baker struggled to his feet, retrieved his weapon, then lurched back toward his car.

  Wyrdrune held on to Champion's mane for dear life as they raced down a side street at breakneck speed. It was all he could do to stay astride the beast as Champion galloped full out, like a thoroughbred coming down the home stretch.

  "Oh, jeeez!" he shouted, grimacing with pain as his teeth clicked together and he bounced on his sore coccyx.

  Officer Baker swore as he turned the steering wheel sharply to the left and the car banked around the turn, heading down the side street. He grimaced with sudden pain as he reached for the radio mike. It felt as if a couple o
f his ribs were cracked.

  "Car Seventeen to all units in the vicinity of Agua Fria and Osage," he said. "Am in pursuit of unicorn heading east on Kiva Road. Request assistance, over!"

  "Car Seventeen, say again ?"

  "I'm chasing a goddamn unicorn down Kiva . . . hell, he just turned down San Jose! He's really haulin' ass! I need some help here!"

  "You're chasin' a what?"

  "A horse with a goddamn horn on its head, all right?" snarled Baker. "A thaumagene! Looks like one of the riders who was in the alley tonight! He's heading south on San Jose! Somebody cut him off at the pass, for God's sake!"

  "Roger, Seventeen. Car Twenty-one, responding. I'm comin' down Cerrillos, I'll cut him off."

  Wyrdrune was turning green as the unicorn hurtled down San Jose Avenue at breakneck speed, its iron-shod hooves shooting sparks from the street. His tailbone felt as if it were about to splinter. His vision blurred with pain and he couldn't concentrate. He could barely stay on Champion's back. As they galloped out across Cerrillos Road, another patrol car came racing toward them, siren wailing. A collision seemed imminent.

  "Oh, shit!" shouted Wyrdrune.

  "I'll handle this," Modred said, and Wyrdrune disappeared as the shapechange took place in the blink of an eye. Modred's powerful legs squeezed the unicorn's flanks and Champion leapt as the driver saw them at the last instant and tried to brake. They went sailing over the car's hood. Modred quickly found the rhythm of the beast's racing stride as they sped across Cerrillos Road and headed south down Fifth Street. Behind them, the police sirens wailed and suddenly there was a loud crash as Car Seventeen, speeding down San Jose, came out across Cerrillos and plowed right into Car Twenty-one.

  "Where did Tony go?" gasped Champion as he galloped away at full speed.

  "That bumbling idiot probably teleported him right into Paul's living room," said Modred with disgust. "Turn right up ahead and we'll double back. I think we've lost them."