Dark Magic

by James Swain

  Decisions, decisions.

  Most psychics would have looked down their noses at such behavior. Psychics were not supposed to steal, even if playing Robin Hood. Reggie saw the situation differently. The casinos and horse tracks were supposed to lose every now and then. Why not redistribute the wealth to the people who needed it most?

  The phone continued to ring in the kitchen. He ignored it. The only people who ever called were the charities that he’d given money to. He didn’t feel like talking to them right now, or anyone else.

  He went to the window to check the weather. It was still raining like there was no tomorrow. That settled it. He’d dance with Lady Luck in Connecticut.

  He pulled his overcoat off a hanger in the closet and started to put it on. He had company, and he heard himself gasp. The garment fell from his hand to the floor.

  “Hello, Marie,” he said. “How wonderful that you came by.”

  “Hello, Reggie,” his guest replied.

  Madame Marie sat on the couch in his living room dressed in one of her elaborate Gypsy costumes. She looked just like the last time he’d seen her. It was not uncommon for the newly dead to drift for a few days, as if in a spiritual fog, yet that didn’t lessen the surprise.

  “As they say in the old movies, fancy meeting you here,” he said. “Are you all right?”

  “I suppose so, considering I’m dead,” she replied. “I’ve been saying good-bye to friends and loved ones. I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss you.”

  “That was awfully nice of you.”

  “You were my favorite among the Friday night group. You always came wearing your best clothes. I like that in a man.”

  “Can I get you something?”

  “There’s nothing I need anymore. In that regard, being dead is rather pleasant. Were you going out?”

  “Matter of fact, I was.”

  “Please don’t leave just yet. We need to talk.”

  Reggie took a deep breath. Having a conversation with a ghost was the last thing he wanted to do right now. But this was his lifelong friend, so he dutifully sat down beside her. His weight made the cushion sag, yet Madame Marie did not move. He crossed his hands in his lap, and waited for her to begin.

  “When you die, the unanswered questions that have bothered you don’t go away,” Madame Marie said. “They remain, begging for answers.”

  “Really,” he said.

  “One of those questions came to me right before I was murdered. I looked at my Tarot cards, and saw that the Order of Astrum had sent an assassin to kill us. I asked myself, ‘What did any of us do to deserve this fate?’ If the Order wanted us out of the picture, they could have been a little more subtle about it, don’t you think?”

  “They do seem to be in a bit of a hurry,” Reggie conceded.

  “Does that bother you?”

  “Come to mention it, yes.”

  “What do you think’s going on?”

  Reggie had always left the Big Questions to the others, and preferred to dwell on life’s more pleasant diversions, like picking the ponies and playing cards at the casinos.

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” he mumbled.

  “Do we pose a threat to the Order?”

  Reggie had never posed a threat to anyone in his life, and chuckled at the notion. “A threat? What kind of threat can we pose to a group of madmen? Not to belittle what we do, but in the vast scheme of things, it’s rather insignificant, don’t you think? We mean nothing to them.”

  “Until now.”

  “How so?”

  “We hit a nerve, Reggie, and now they’re afraid of us. Why else would they send an assassin to kill us?”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “And how did they infiltrate our group? We are all sworn to secrecy, yet somehow they knew who we were. How did they know?”

  “I don’t have the foggiest idea.”

  “You need to find out. If you don’t, you’ll be asking yourself later, like I did.”

  Reggie nodded solemnly. Madame Marie had come to say good-bye, and to warn him. A better friend he’d never had. It saddened him to think that she had departed this earth, and that he would not be seeing her again for a while. Without thinking, he leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek, then pulled back upon realizing his mistake. A smile crossed her face, and then she was gone.

  * * *

  Reggie kept a vintage 1971 Aston Martin DB6 parked in a private garage near his hotel. Keeping a car in the city was expensive, but he wouldn’t have had it any other way. Of all mankind’s inventions, the one he’d fallen in love with was the automobile. It was the only thing he’d found which made him feel young again.

  He waited for the Aston to be brought up. The drive to Connecticut was two hours plus. He had to hurry if he was going to beat the casino, and be home for dinner. He thought about his encounter with Madame Marie. What a wonderful gift she’d given him. To sit and talk and look into her face again. Simple things, yet so precious when they were taken away from you.

  “Reggie! Reggie!”

  He snapped out of his daydream. Holly ran toward him with a frantic look in her eyes.

  “Holly—Good Lord, what’s wrong?” he asked.

  Milly’s niece put on the brakes, gasping for breath. “Oh, my God, I’m so glad I caught you. Please start picking up your phone.”

  “Was that you calling? I’m sorry, but I hardly answer anymore.”

  “I have terrible news, Reggie.”

  He grabbed her by the forearms. “Don’t tell me another in our group has died.”

  “No, no, everyone’s fine.”

  “Well, then how terrible can it be?”

  “It’s about Wolfe.”

  “I saw the news. Good riddance, I say.”

  “What you saw isn’t true. Wolfe’s still alive, and he’s hunting us.”

  The Aston pulled up with a rubbery squeal, and the parking attendant hopped out. Reggie tipped him generously, and opened the passenger door for his young friend.

  “Can I take you somewhere?” he asked graciously.

  “You need to go back to your hotel, and lay low,” Holly said.

  “But why? Except for the rain, it’s a beautiful day.”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said? Wolfe isn’t dead.”

  “Do you honestly think Wolfe’s going to ambush me on the road? Let’s be reasonable, shall we? Now, where to?”

  She grabbed his arm, and tried to squeeze some sense into him. It was no good.

  “Oh, all right. I’m staying with my aunt at the Dakota.”

  “The Dakota it is! Hop in.”

  Soon they were on the West Side, heading up Central Park West. Reggie wore kid gloves and a tan cap when he drove, and clutched the wheel like a professional driver. He looked comical, and other drivers slowed down to wave, or snap pictures on their cell phones.

  “You should charge them,” Holly suggested.

  “Not a bad idea. So tell me, how can Wolfe be alive after the police shot him to death?”

  “It was a trick, courtesy of the Order of Astrum.”

  “I’ll be damned.”

  Reggie braked at a traffic light. A group of uniformed schoolchildren crossed in front of them. Seeing Reggie behind the wheel, several stuck out their tongues. Reggie turned in his seat to look at his passenger. “Why is the Order after us, Holly?”

  “I don’t know why,” she replied.

  “How do they even know about us? Could there be a traitor in our group?”

  “Don’t say that, Reggie.”

  “Think about it. Someone tipped Wolfe off. It’s the only explanation.”

  Holly bit her lip. “But who, Reggie? Who in our group would betray us?”

  “I hate to say it, but I think it’s Max. He’s been having money problems, lost a bundle on the stock market.”

  “But Wolfe tried to kill Max yesterday. Peter told me so.”

  “Really? Well, there goes that theory, I suppose.”
<
br />   “It’s not one of us, Reggie, I’m sure of it.”

  The Aston rocked forward. Startled, they turned in their seats to stare at the delivery van that had tapped their bumper. The delivery driver shrugged his shoulders as if to say Sorry.

  Reggie shook his fist at him. “Idiot!”

  The driver shook his fist back.

  “How dare he shake his fist at me,” Reggie said furiously.

  The light changed. The driver beeped his horn, mocking them.

  “Think you’re funny, do you?” Reggie shouted.

  “Reggie, no,” Holly said.

  Reggie undid his seatbelt and hopped out of the Aston. He stood in the middle of the street, and put his dukes up, challenging the driver to a fight. The delivery van driver got out as well. Almost too quickly, Holly thought. He wore a baseball cap, and on his neck glowed a shimmering tattoo. From his jacket he removed a pipe, which he whacked against his palm.

  The light changed. Cars slipped around them, avoiding the two men facing off in the middle of the busy street.

  “Reggie—it’s Wolfe! Run!” Holly yelled.

  “Oh, my Lord,” Reggie said.

  Discretion was the better part of valor. Reggie ducked the traffic, and got on the sidewalk. He took off running, his arms and legs pumping like a comic strip character. He was fast for his age, but Wolfe was right on his heels, and the race’s outcome was never in doubt.

  Holly jumped out of the Aston and started to give chase. She did not look where she was going, and nearly collided with a professional dog-walker out with his pack. There were poodles, dachshunds, a drooling boxer, and several breeds she’d never seen before. The dogs gave her an idea. Taking Mary Glover’s lock of hair from her purse, she waved it in the air.

  “Little mongrels, oh so spry, do my bidding, or you will die!”

  The dogs changed before her eyes. No longer were they a pack of domesticated house pets; now, they were vicious beasts, prepared to follow her every command. Holly pointed up the sidewalk at Wolfe.

  “Stop him!”

  The pack broke forward, throwing their handler to the ground. Up the sidewalk they went, trailing their leashes. They surrounded Wolfe, attacking from all sides. Wolfe waved his pipe frantically. He doesn’t like dogs.

  “Tear him up!” she commanded.

  Within seconds, Wolfe’s pants were shredded, and he was starting to look like a meal. Several of the smaller dogs had latched on to his shirt sleeves, and pinned his arms. Seeing Holly approach, he cursed her.

  “Bitch.”

  “Try witch,” she shouted back.

  “You’ll pay for this.”

  “Go for the throat!”

  The dogs leapt into the air, trying for Wolfe’s windpipe. Sheer panic filled Wolfe’s face. The hunter had become the hunted.

  “Say, lady, those are my dogs.”

  The handler had gotten to his feet, and stood beside Holly. He blew through a dog whistle that hung around his neck. The pack broke free of her spell, and ran back to him.

  “Thanks for lending them to me,” Holly said.

  Wolfe still had his pipe. His arms and legs were bleeding, his eyes filled with pain. Holly waved the lock of hair.

  “Evil man, oh so wicked, cast away thy weapon, or be stricken.”

  The pipe flew out of Wolfe’s hand, and landed in the gutter. A smart man knows when he’s beaten. Wolfe staggered across the street, and melted into a crowd.

  Holly breathed a sigh of relief. She tucked the magic lock of hair into her purse. She wasn’t so defenseless after all. Too bad Peter hadn’t been here to see her.

  Reggie had parked himself on a bench, and was attempting to catch his breath. She sat down next to him. His cheeks had turned an alarming color.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Call 911,” he gasped.

  “What’s wrong? Did he strike you?”

  Reggie would not look at her, his eyes peeled to the sky.

  “My heart,” he whispered.

  “Are you having a heart attack?”

  He let out a deathly moan. “Oh, my.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I see them.”

  “Who?”

  “The welcome wagon.” He managed the weakest of smiles, and spoke to a presence only he could see. “Hello, Marie. Back so soon?”

  “Reggie, you’ve got to hold on,” Holly begged.

  “Too late. Good-bye, my lovely friend.”

  Closing his eyes, Reggie slid off the bench to the ground, where he lay in a heap. Holly punched 911 into her cell phone with tears streaming down her face.

  34

  Peter’s limo pulled up to the emergency entrance of Roosevelt Hospital on West 59th Street and Tenth Avenue, and he hopped out. Like many New Yorkers, he knew of Roosevelt Hospital through an episode of Seinfeld, where Jerry and Kramer had accidentally dropped a Junior Mint into Elaine’s ex-boyfriend during an operation. The send-up of the inept hospital staff had seemed funny at the time. It didn’t now.

  The emergency room was loud and chaotic. He found Holly giving a statement to a uniformed policeman. Their eyes met, and Holly shook her head as if to say Not now. He backed away, and headed for the nurse’s station. He wondered what story Holly was giving the police. Something that left out the Friday night psychics and the Order of Astrum, he guessed. That was the bad thing about living a lie. Once the lie got started, there was no turning back.

  The nurse’s station was also busy. The nurse in charge was a middle-aged woman with a kind face, and appeared to be the calm in the eye of the storm.

  “May I help you?” she asked.

  “A friend of mine named Reggie Brown was admitted a short while ago. I was wondering if you could tell me how he’s doing.”

  She slipped on her bifocals and consulted a clipboard. The corners of her mouth turned down. “I’m sorry, but your friend didn’t make it.”

  The words hit him like an invisible punch.

  “You mean he’s dead?”

  “Yes. He passed away a short while ago.”

  He brought his hand up to his face. What good were his powers if he couldn’t save the people he loved? He wanted to scream.

  A phone on the desk rang, and the nurse answered it. Peter lowered his hand. The cup of coffee on the desk was boiling over, the black liquid running down the sides onto the blotter. He forced himself to calm down, and the coffee went back to normal.

  She hung up the phone, and resumed speaking to him.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said.

  “Thanks,” he whispered.

  * * *

  The hospital cafeteria was near the emergency room. Except for a group of nurses on break, it was empty. Peter sat at a corner table, and stared at the pale blue wall. It didn’t seem possible that Reggie was gone. He’d been a part of Peter’s life for as long as he could remember. The notion that he was no longer alive just didn’t seem real.

  Every psychic Peter knew was an eccentric; it seemed to come with the territory. But Reggie had been unique. He could look at any game of chance, and predict its outcome. Instead of turning himself into a billionaire, he’d used his gift to help others, and had supported many of the city’s less fortunate through his generosity. Reggie’s favorite quote had come from the Talmud. He who saves a single life, it is though he has saved the entire world.

  Holly slipped into a chair across from him. In her hand was a Kleenex, which she used to dab at her eyes.

  “What did you tell the police?” he asked.

  “I told them Reggie got sick, and collapsed on the sidewalk.”

  “You didn’t tell them Wolfe was chasing you?”

  “How could I?”

  “Tell me what really happened.”

  “I went to Reggie’s hotel to warn him, and he convinced me to take a spin with him in his sports car. We were going north on Central Park West, when Wolfe rammed us with a delivery van. When Reggie got out, Wolfe came after him with a pipe.”


  “Did Wolfe beat him?”

  “No. I cast a spell on a pack of dogs, and they went after Wolfe.”

  Peter drew back in his chair. “You did what?”

  “Aunt Milly’s been working with me on casting spells. I’m getting good at it.”

  “Then how did Reggie die?”

  “Heart attack. I guess all the excitement got to him. I felt so helpless.”

  Tears cascaded down her cheeks. She’d had an innocent childhood, until now.

  “Does Reggie have any next of kin?” he asked.

  “A sister in California. The hospital is calling her to make arrangements.”

  “Good. I want you to go back to your aunt’s apartment. None of us are safe.”

  “Are you mad at me for going out?”

  “No.”

  “You’re not just saying that, are you?”

  He reached across the table, and took her hands into his own.

  “You did the right thing warning Reggie.”

  She nodded and took a deep breath. “There’s something I have to tell you. Reggie thought one of our group might be helping the Order of Astrum. I think he was right.”

  “You do? Why?”

  From her purse she removed a folded piece of paper, and slid it toward him. “I found this on the sidewalk. One of the dogs pulled it from Wolfe’s pocket before he ran.”

  Peter unfolded the paper and had a look. It was a list of the names of the seven members of Friday night psychics. Beneath each name was the person’s address, home phone number, and, if they had one, cell phone number.

  “This is Wolfe’s hit list,” he said.

  “That’s right.”

  “How did he get all of this information?”

  “Someone in our group must have given it to him.”

  “You mean a spy.”

  “That’s right.”

  “But all of our names are on the list.”

  “So?”

  “If there was a spy in our group, do you think he’d want Wolfe to kill him as well?”

  Holly bit her lower lip. “No, I guess not.”