Dark Magic

by James Swain

  “I’m looking for some business attire,” Wolfe said.

  “What price range do you have in mind?”

  “The cheaper the better.”

  “How cheap is cheap?” Fami had a voice like a bird. Cheep cheep.

  “I don’t plan to wear the clothes more than a few times.”

  “Try the bins in the back. Those are the cheapest clothes in the store.”

  The sixties motif followed Wolfe down the aisle. Posters of Hendrix, Joplin, Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground, and Jefferson Airplane covered the walls. Wolfe’s memories of the music were as faded as the art work, and he wondered why people like Fami wouldn’t let go.

  The clothes in the back were knockoffs. He grabbed a fifty-dollar suit, a nine-dollar dress shirt, a five-dollar plastic belt, and a three-dollar striped necktie. The Beatles song ended, and he heard Fami making a phone call. The proprietor dialed only three numbers.

  Wolfe’s radar went up. Fami could have been calling information, but hardly anyone used that service these days, preferring to look up phone numbers on the Internet.

  An automated voice answered the call.

  “You have dialed 911 of the New York City Police Department. Your call is very important to us. Please hold on.”

  Wolfe cursed under his breath. Had Fami made him? It didn’t seem possible, yet that was the only explanation. He returned to the front of the store with the clothes. As Wolfe neared the counter, Fami drew a .38 Special from beneath the register, and aimed it at him.

  “Put your arms where I can see them.”

  “Hey, look, I just want to buy some clothes.”

  “Do as I say—right now!”

  Wolfe dropped the clothes onto the counter, and lifted his arms into the air.

  “Mind telling me what I did?”

  “You are a wanted man. The tattoo on your neck gave you away.”

  A smokey mirror hung behind the counter. In its reflection, Wolfe saw how the Order’s tattoo had bled through the makeup. The elders were tracking him like a damn dog.

  “Hey, be careful with that thing,” Wolfe said.

  Fami’s hand was shaking. People who never handled guns were more dangerous than those who did. Wolfe prayed Fami didn’t shoot him.

  No such luck.

  The sound of the .38 discharging sent Wolfe an inch off the floor. The bullet ripped a swatch of fabric clean off the arm of his coat. The startled look on Fami’s face said he hadn’t meant to squeeze the trigger; it had just happened.

  “You shot me,” Wolfe gasped.

  His hand went to his side. The bullet had only grazed him. He pretended it was much worse, and started to moan.

  “Help me…”

  Fami took the bait. He came around the counter wearing a stricken look. Wolfe waited until he was close before knocking the gun away. He threw his hands around Fami’s throat, and began to choke him with the gold peace symbol hanging around his neck.

  “This is 911. What’s your emergency?” came a voice out of the cordless phone on the counter.

  “Help! He’s killing me,” Fami screamed.

  “Hold on! We’re on our way,” the operator replied.

  Two quick blows and Fami was lying on the floor. Wolfe grabbed the clothes off the counter and fled.

  * * *

  The gunshot was ringing in his ears as he entered his hotel room. Every soldier had a preference of how he wanted to die. Getting shot to death by a bloody hippie was not his.

  He sat on the bed, and waited for his head to clear. His laptop sat on the dresser. The screen saver was of the beach in the Seychelles where he planned to retire with Rita. Just looking at the cobalt-blue ocean made him feel better. Without warning, the picture morphed into the Order’s shimmering symbol. It was the elders.

  He grabbed the laptop and logged in. The elders had sent him an e-mail with an attachment, which he opened. It contained photographs of the remaining people on his hit list. The photograph of Millicent Adams had a bright red circle drawn around it, and he guessed they wanted him to take her out next. Bloody idiots. Next they’d be picking his meals for him.

  He signed out of e-mail. To his surprise, the Order’s symbol remained on the screen. When he tried to retrieve the Seychelles screen saver, he discovered that it had been erased. He grabbed the laptop and shook it in a rage.

  The elders were going to harass him until he got the job done. They didn’t care if he lived or died. He was just another dog they were keeping on a psychic leash.

  Wolfe decided that he’d had enough. This would be his last contract for the Order. It was time for him to start a new life.

  He put on his new clothes, feeling better about his situation already.

  24

  Peter and Liza cabbed it to the theater. Peter did not feel like talking, content to hold his girlfriend’s hand while staring out the window at the gusty winds that now accompanied the rain. The weather had been foul for days, and he wondered if the spirits were trying to tell him something. Instead of coming out and saying what was on their minds, the spirits always made it a puzzle, and challenged him to figure it out. It was as if he weren’t good enough for them, and had to prove himself whenever they made contact.

  “Your fingers are ice cold,” Liza said. “I hope you’re not getting sick.”

  He looked down at his hands. The skin had turned blue, and he cupped his hands and blew into them. He was reminded of how cold he’d gotten while confronting Wolfe outside Lester Rowe’s apartment. Was this a sign telling him that Wolfe was lying in wait at the theater? He wasn’t going to take any chances, and he called Zack on his cell phone.

  “Hey Peter’s, what’s up?” his head of security answered.

  “I’m five minutes away from the theater,” Peter said. “How we looking?”

  “The place is packed. Your fan club from New Jersey is here.”

  “I thought that was next week.”

  “Nope. It’s tonight. Hope you’re ready for them.”

  Peter sank into his seat. His fan club consisted of six hundred starry-eyed teenage girls who’d created a Web site where they posted their favorite stories about his shows. Dealing with them was almost as scary as the prospect of the assassin on the hunt for him.

  “Any sign of Wolfe?” he asked.

  “He hasn’t shown his ugly face,” Zack replied. “I tripled security inside the theater, and we’re giving everyone a pat down before they come in.”

  “Is that causing any problems?”

  “Yes. But there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “Stay on your toes. Something tells me he’s nearby, hiding under a rock.”

  “I’m all over it like a cheap suit,” Zack said.

  “I know you are. See you soon.”

  Five minutes later, the cab pulled up to the theater. A line of New Jersey tour buses hugged the curb. As Peter and Liza got out, a squealing teenager slipped out from beneath the canopy in front of the theater, and shoved a giant greeting card into Peter’s hands that had been signed by every member of his fan club.

  “We love you, Peter,” she said breathlessly.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Sophia. I’m the president of your fan club. Your tricks are so cool.”

  Sophia had braces and looked no more than fifteen. She had braved the elements to meet him, and deserved a reward.

  “Would you like to see a trick, Sophia?” he asked.

  “Would I! That would be totally awesome.”

  What kind of trick would she like to see? Something with lots of color and flash, he determined. Cuffing his sleeves, he plucked a blue scarf out of the air, and made it magically tie itself in knots while held at arm’s length in front of his chest. Rolling the scarf into a ball, he tossed it into the air, where it turned into confetti that scattered harmlessly at her feet.

  “You’re amazing! Wait until I tell my friends!”

  Squealing with delight, the teenager hurried inside. Peter r
emained on the sidewalk with Liza. The coldness in his bones had not gone away, nor had the feeling that danger was lurking nearby. He looked up and down the quiet block. Wolfe was preparing to strike. But where?

  “You’re shaking,” Liza said. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine,” he said.

  “Let’s go through the back entrance. Don’t want your fans to see you like this.”

  They walked around the theater to the rear entrance. At the back door Liza stopped, put her arms around his waist, and brought her face up so their noses were nearly touching.

  “Please tell me what’s going on,” she whispered.

  “Something’s happening to me,” he whispered back.

  “What do you mean? You have to open up.”

  “I’m changing. My powers were never like this. I didn’t anticipate things, or feel strange premonitions coming on. It seems like my powers are out of control.”

  “I’ve known you for two years. You’ve never acted like this before.”

  “I’ve never felt this way before,” he admitted. “It started when Wolfe attacked me on stage the other night.”

  “What started? Come on. Be more specific.”

  How could he explain the strange metamorphosis taking place inside him? It took a moment before the right words came out. “I used to be a bystander. I would do séances, and see things in the future, and try to figure out what they meant. The mind reading was the same way. I’d read people’s thoughts, and try to make sense of them. I’m not a bystander anymore.”

  “Then what are you?”

  “I’m part of it.”

  Liza didn’t understand. Her frightened eyes pleaded with him to explain.

  “The spirit world is like a river with an unbelievably strong current,” he said. “It’s always moving, and never slows down. Before, I was standing on the side of the river, watching things flow past.”

  “What are you doing now?”

  “I’ve been pushed into the river against my will, and I’m being pulled along by the current, heading downstream to some strange place that I’ve never been to before.”

  “Is it scary?”

  “It’s scary as hell,” he said.

  “Do you think it’s permanent?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  His cell phone vibrated, and he pulled it out of his pocket. It was Snoop.

  “Hey, you lovebirds, we’ve got a show to do,” his assistant said.

  Peter looked into the eye of the surveillance camera perched over the back door. “Are you spying on us?”

  “How do you think I got the name Snoop?”

  “We’ll be right in.”

  He folded his phone and put it away. Liza did not let him go.

  “I’m so sorry you’re going through this,” she said.

  He had made it a point to never read Liza’s mind. It was not fair to their relationship, or to her. But now he cheated, and took a tiny peek at her thoughts. What he saw made the cold leave his bones and his heart race. Liza loved him with all her heart, and all her soul. If he was going to survive this, it would be with her by his side.

  They kissed, and headed inside.

  * * *

  The curtains rose to a theater filled with squealing teenage girls. For the next forty-five minutes, Peter put everything he had into making his young fans happy. It wasn’t easy. He could not rid himself of the haunting feeling that Wolfe might strike at any moment. The first half ended to a long ovation, and he stood in the wings as the stage was prepared for the next portion of the show. Zack spoke to him through his earpiece.

  “No sign of Wolfe.”

  “Did you check outside the theater?” Peter asked.

  “Sure did. The security company I hired has two guys patrolling the street. They radio in every few minutes. Everything’s quiet.”

  “Tell them to be on the lookout.”

  “Peter, he’s not here. Trust me.”

  “I can feel him in my bones, Zack. He’s out there, waiting for me.”

  “If Wolfe enters the building, he’s mine. I’ve got a score to settle with that guy.”

  Zack was ticked off. Peter had never questioned his head of security before, and realized how strange it sounded. “Sorry, Zack. Guess I’m just being paranoid. Thanks for checking in.”

  “Talk at you later,” Zack said.

  The second half began with Peter standing on the empty stage, ready to take requests from the audience. It was the most difficult part of the show, for he never knew which routines his audience might ask him to perform. The house lights were raised, letting him get a clear look at the sea of eager young faces. A dozen hands shot into the air.

  “I see that we’re all ready,” he said with a laugh. “The pair of twins sitting in the second row, please stand up, and tell us your names.”

  A pair of identical twins rose in their seats. Both had pigtails and faces filled with freckles. In a squeaky voice, one of them said, “Hi. My name is Lorna, and this is my sister Lauren. We’ve been to your show ten times.”

  “Ten times? Then I bet you know how every trick is done,” Peter said.

  “I wish!” Lorna replied.

  “What would you like me to do, Lorna and Lauren?”

  “Read our futures.”

  “At the same time?”

  “Yes,” they chorused.

  “That’s quite an unusual request. I’ve never read two people’s minds at the same time. Let’s give it a try. I want you to hold hands, and concentrate. Are you ready?”

  The twins clasped hands and squinched up their faces. Reading the minds of children was easy compared to adults, children having experienced so little in their lives. Peter looked into their minds and saw two futures filled with hope and promise.

  “You both wish to become fashion designers and create your own line of clothes, although one of you also would like to be an actress on Broadway,” he began. “I’d tell you which one, only you look too much alike for me to be sure. You have an aunt who lives in the south of France who would like you to come visit this summer. One of you wants to go, the other doesn’t. I see you both going, and having a wonderful time. How am I doing so far?”

  “Incredible,” Lorna said.

  “Awesome,” her twin chorused.

  Peter wished he had a dollar for every time a teenager told him his magic was awesome. As he started to continue, he noticed that the twins looked different. Their faces had changed, and were now bruised and bloodied, while their cute pigtails had grown into full heads of hair. He swallowed hard. They had turned into Milly and Holly.

  It was a sign from the other side. But what did it mean?

  Then, he noticed their eyes. Lifeless.

  They were both dead. Something dropped in the pit of his stomach. Wolfe was about to kill his friends. He had to get off the stage.

  “That’s all I’m seeing. Thank you very much,” he said.

  “Tell us more,” the twin that looked like Milly begged.

  He couldn’t concentrate, and shook his head. “Sorry.”

  “Please!” they chorused.

  “Come on, everyone. Let’s give them a big round of applause,” he said.

  The audience started to clap. The applause had a strangely hollow sound. To his horror, he realized that every member of his fan club had also changed. Rows of dead Millys and dead Hollys confronted him, their clapping motions stiff and awkward.

  “What’s wrong?” Liza asked through his earpiece.

  “The spirits are communicating to me,” he whispered into the mike in his shirt collar. “I’ve got to get off the stage.”

  “But this is your fan club. You can’t let them down.”

  He wasn’t thinking straight, and couldn’t have continued if his very life depended on it.

  “I can’t.”

  “Peter. These are teenage girls. They’ll be crushed.”

  “I’m freaking.”

  “Do it anyway. Finish the r
outine, damn it.”

  He gave it his best, and stepped to the foot of the stage. “Who’d like to be next?”

  “Take me!” A young man wearing a ridiculous fake moustache stood in the aisle in the very back of the theater. Snoop to the rescue. When tricks in the show broke bad, his assistant had been trained to jump in, and salvage the routine. It was an old ploy developed by Houdini, and had stood the test of time.

  “Your name,” Peter said.

  “Jerry Smith, and I want my future read,” Snoop said.

  “Very well, Jerry. Please concentrate. I see a shiny race car. Is it yours?”

  “Why, that’s amazing. Yes, it is.”

  “Formula One?”

  “Yes—how did you know that?”

  “You don’t look like a NASCAR kind of guy. You race cars for a living, which is something you’ve wanted to do since you were a little boy. You’re visiting New York with your family, celebrating a race you just won. In a few days you’ll fly off to Europe, where you plan to race in all the major events.”

  “That’s impossible. How did you know that?”

  It was crude to use Snoop as a plant like this, but Peter had no other choice. The sea of dead faces stared at him with morbid fascination.

  “I see a long future for you in car-racing. One day, you may own your own team. I’d tell you good luck, but I don’t think you’re going to need it.”

  The hollow clapping began. Peter signaled that he wanted the stage lights turned off. Hurrying into the wings, he spent a moment composing himself. Then, he pulled out his cell phone. Holly’s number was the first he called, Milly’s the next. He left messages on voice mail, telling them their lives were in danger.

  “What are you doing?” Liza appeared beside him.

  “Wolfe is going to attack my friends, Milly and Holly.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I just had a vision. I have to warn them. Please go out there, and make up some story that I’ve fallen ill, and that the show is cancelled.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  Peter took his girlfriend by the shoulders. “The face of every girl in the audience turned into Milly and Holly. They were both dead. He’d killed them.”

  “No, they didn’t. It’s just a bunch of giggling teenagers.”