Dark Magic

by James Swain

“Hey.”

  “Are you all right?” Holly asked.

  “I can’t talk right now. I’ll call you later.”

  “Wait. Did you figure out who the spy was?”

  “I took care of it.”

  Garrison had finished his conversation, and began to cross the room.

  Peter said, “I’ve got to go.”

  “Don’t hang up,” Holly said. “My aunt’s had a change of heart, and wants to contact the police. She’s afraid Wolfe will kill us if she doesn’t do something. I tried to talk her out of it, but she won’t budge. I called Max, and he’s coming over to talk to her. We need you here, too. My aunt will listen to you. When can you get here?”

  His loyalty was to his friends, and always would be.

  “Give me twenty minutes,” he said.

  “I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Peter ended the call as Garrison neared the table.

  “Locked and loaded?” the FBI agent asked.

  Peter wasn’t sure what Garrison meant, and simply nodded.

  “Glad to hear it. I need to get a statement from you about what happened.” Garrison pulled up a chair and sat down. Taking a spiral notepad and a pen from his pocket, he began to scribble. “Okay. Now, start from the beginning.”

  “Can’t you just make something up?” Peter asked.

  “A man died here. No, I can’t make something up.”

  Peter rose from his chair. He couldn’t be in two places at once; giving a statement to the FBI would have to wait. He told himself that Garrison would get over it.

  “Going somewhere?” Garrison said.

  “There’s someplace I have to be.”

  “Sit down. I’m not done with you.”

  The Sword Suspension illusion sat in the center of the room. Lying on the floor was a large white sheet that was used to cover Liza as she was suspended in midair. The sheet looked innocent, but in fact had stiff wires sewn into its fabric that resembled a human figure when held the proper way. Peter had made Liza disappear hundreds of times with it, and no one had ever discovered its secret. Picking the sheet up, he covered himself.

  “Hey—what are you doing?” Garrison asked.

  “I’m sorry,” said his voice from beneath the sheet.

  “Sorry about what?”

  There was no response. Garrison grabbed the sheet, and whisked it away. The young magician had vanished like a puff of smoke. Garrison’s trained eye gazed across the room. The door to the loft was wide open.

  “Damn you!” the FBI agent exclaimed.

  * * *

  Peter was breathing hard by the time he reached the roof. Raindrops danced off the tar paper in a hypnotic ballet. He went to the edge, and looked straight down. Garrison and his team burst out the front door of the building. The last thing he needed right now was the FBI hunting for him, but he didn’t see that he had any other choice.

  “Hey!” Garrison shouted, looking straight up.

  “I’ll explain everything later,” Peter shouted back.

  “Get your ass down here, right now!”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “I’m going to throw you in jail.”

  “You’ll have to catch me first.”

  “To the roof,” Garrison said to his team.

  The FBI agents hit the front door hard. They’d be on the roof soon. Peter turned around, and looked for an escape route besides the stairwell. He spotted an old-fashioned fire escape on the other side of the building, and hurried toward it. The roof was flat, and ran the length of the building. Many older buildings in the city were designed this way, and had once housed entire tent communities of people too poor to afford apartments, with residents traveling on catwalks from building to building without ever touching the ground below. Peter could feel their presence as he ran; this rooftop had been their home, and for many of their ghosts, still was.

  He reached the fire escape. It was rusted with age, and hadn’t been used in forever. He hoped it was strong enough to support him. As he took to the first step, Garrison and his team burst onto the roof, red-faced and puffing hard.

  “I command you to stop!” Garrison shouted.

  Peter glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll call you later. I promise.”

  “I’ve had enough of your crap,” Garrison declared.

  The FBI agents rushed toward him. Peter started down the creaky stairs. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a man dressed in rags and wearing a broken top hat, sitting on the ledge. The man looked like a hobo, yet managed to have a dignified air about him. He was also transparent; half of him was there, and half of him wasn’t.

  It had been a while since Peter had seen a ghost. Back when he was a boy, they’d popped up fairly often, and he’d grown used to the late-night conversations with ghosts in his bedroom. As he’d grown older, their appearance had become less frequent. Now, if he saw a ghost every week, it was a lot. But that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Ghosts filled the earth, and resided in old houses and buildings they’d once called home. They continued to occupy these dwellings long after they died, and could not be driven out. Trying to remove a ghost from a house was a serious mistake, and could lead to all sorts of problems. The ghost sitting on the ledge had an impish look.

  “I could use a little help,” Peter said.

  “I see that,” the ghost said. “What did you do?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Most good stories are. Maybe someday you’ll come back, and share it with me.”

  “You have a deal.”

  The ghost jumped off the ledge, and positioned himself in a crouch. As the FBI agents ran past, he stuck his leg out, and sent them flying through space. Later, the agents would say that they’d slipped, which was what everyone said who got tripped by a ghost.

  “I owe you,” Peter called.

  The ghost flashed a crooked grin. He looked vaguely familiar, and Peter realized he’d seen his face in a book, and that he’d been someone important in his time. As Peter ran down the fire escape to the street, he promised himself to one day look up the building’s history, and find out who the ghost was. It was nice to know who your friends were, even the dead ones.

  39

  “Please reconsider,” Holly said.

  “I’ve made up my mind,” her aunt said stubbornly.

  “That doesn’t mean you can’t change it.”

  “Are you lecturing me, my dear?”

  “I most certainly am,” Holly said. “Talking to the police is a mistake. Word will spread about who we are, and the government will swoop down, and take us away. They’ll turn us into well-fed lab rats, like poor Nemo.”

  “Is the alternative any better?”

  “We can catch Wolfe, if we put our minds to it.”

  They were in the kitchen in Milly’s apartment, standing at the counter. Most people assumed that witches spent their free time riding broomsticks and causing warts to sprout up on people’s noses, when in fact they liked to do normal things like everyone else. Milly’s passion was cooking, and Holly helped her aunt knead the bread dough lying in a pan. Not that either of them were hungry, but it helped them get their minds off Reggie’s death.

  “So, tell me what’s wrong between you and Peter,” Milly said.

  Holly worked the dough between her fingers. Her aunt had always been keen on her moods, and quick to offer advice, if she thought it might help. “Nothing,” she said quietly.

  “Then why does your voice go up every time you mention his name?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Quite. It happens when people are in love. Tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can help.”

  Finding the words to describe her feelings was not easy, but Holly tried anyway. “I don’t understand what’s happening to Peter. One minute he’s a dark, snarling person who’s ordering me around like a slave, while the next he’s the same wonderful boy I’ve always known. He’s become two completely different individuals. I don’t know how to deal wit
h him anymore.”

  “Does his dark side frighten you?”

  “Yes, and I don’t like it.”

  “Nor should you,” her aunt said. “Peter is a wonderful young man, and we must keep him that way.”

  “What do you mean? How can we influence who he is?”

  “Simple. When his mood turns dark, you must continue to be kind to him. Do not become angry or upset. It will only make the situation worse.”

  Holly stopped what she was doing. “You’ve seen this side to him before?”

  “Back when he was a child, yes.”

  “Is that how you treated him—by killing him with kindness?”

  “That’s exactly what I did. Max as well.”

  “Is there something wrong with Peter?”

  “It’s an inherited trait.”

  “His parents were like this?”

  “Yes,” Milly said quietly. “Peter takes after them.”

  “But I thought they were college professors, and very sweet.”

  “They were sweet, most of the time,” Milly said. “But there was another side to them as well. I saw it once with his mother during a séance. I would liken it to watching Dr. Jekyll turn into Mr. Hyde. The transformation was frightening, to say the least.”

  “Where did it come from?”

  Milly started to reply, then thought better of it. She removed an open bottle of Chablis from the refrigerator, filled two small glasses, and handed one to her niece. “Its origin is not important. What matters is that it’s there, and you must be willing to deal with it.”

  Holly let the glass kiss her lips. “Why should I?”

  “You love Peter, don’t you?”

  “Very much.”

  “And you’re hoping that, one day, he’ll leave his girlfriend, and be with you instead. It’s entirely possible, considering that his girlfriend is not psychic, and will have a hard time dealing with Peter’s powers once she learns about them. Every psychic has their heart broken at least once in their life, and I’m guessing Peter will not be an exception.”

  Holly sipped the wine. She didn’t want Peter’s heart to be broken, or have him end up with her just because someone normal wouldn’t have him. It wasn’t the scenario she envisioned for them at all. “Maybe he’ll just grow tired of her,” she said quietly.

  “That’s entirely possible,” Milly said. “Whatever the case, you hope for the day when Peter will be yours. If that day comes, then you must be willing to deal with the dark side of his personality. That is the only choice you have, my dear. Don’t make the mistake of believing that you can change Peter to suit your needs. That notion is what destroys most relationships.”

  Holly eyed her aunt coolly. “But why is it my only choice? Why can’t Peter accept this isn’t a good thing, and find a way to fix it? Men who have anger issues go to therapists and work out their problems. Why should Peter be any different?”

  “Because he is different,” Milly said.

  “So am I. So are you.”

  “Not like Peter.”

  “Are you saying that he’s special?”

  “Yes. Henry and Claire Warren were not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill psychics, and neither is their son.”

  “I still don’t like the way Peter’s acting,” Holly said, not backing down.

  “It’s a fight you cannot win, my dear.”

  Holly felt otherwise. She started to say so, when she heard the buzzer ring.

  “That must be Peter,” she said, and hurried from the kitchen.

  * * *

  Holly stuck her eye to the peephole in her aunt’s front door.

  “Hello, Max,” she said, opening the door.

  The old magician put his arms gently around her upon entering. “I’m so sorry about poor Reggie. It must have been horrible to see him go.”

  Holly stifled a tiny sob. Max lifted her chin with the tip of his finger, showed his hands empty, and made a beautiful red rose appear out of thin air.

  “Thanks, Max,” she said.

  She hung his overcoat in the hall closet. In the living room Max took his usual spot on the couch. He looked exhausted, and took several deep breaths. Holly sat beside him and took his hand. “You’re very warm. Are you feeling all right?”

  “My heart has been racing all day,” Max replied. “To lose two of your soul mates is brutal. Have you talked to Peter? Is he going to join us? We have to talk Milly out of this.”

  “Peter is on his way,” Holly said. “Aunt Milly and I were just talking about him. Have you noticed how he’s been acting lately? He’s like a man possessed.”

  “We’re all on edge,” Max said defensively.

  “That’s not what I mean. Peter’s changed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it, Max. He’s turned brutal.”

  “Not Peter.”

  “Yes, Peter. I want someone to tell me what’s going on.”

  Max wiggled his fingers. A shiny silver dollar appeared, which he adroitly rolled back and forth across his knuckles. He split the silver dollar into two half-dollars, showed both sides of his hands, and split the half-dollars into four quarters. A smile lit up his face.

  “Like it?” he asked.

  “It was wonderful.”

  “Did I fool you?”

  “Please stop avoiding the question.”

  He fished the various coins out of his sleeves and returned them to his pockets. “There is nothing going on, Holly, other than Peter is discovering certain things about himself that he will need to come to grips with. Our job is to be there for him, and help guide him.”

  “But—”

  He shushed her with a finger. “You want to know why Peter’s acting this way? That is something for him to tell you one day, not me, or anyone else. Do you understand?”

  She shook her head helplessly. “No, I don’t.”

  “Peter is evolving. Part of his evolution will be in the choices that he makes, and how he deals with these special gifts that he’s discovering. The worst thing we can do is to interrupt this process, and make him question himself. Do you understand now?”

  “No.”

  “What don’t you understand?”

  “Why I can’t be let in on the secret.”

  Her aunt slipped into the living room, still wearing her apron. “Hello, Max. How are you holding up?” she asked.

  “I’ve had better days. How about you, Milly?”

  “If I could, I would make us all wake up from this horrible dream.”

  “If only that were possible. Come join us. We were talking about Peter.”

  Milly joined them on the couch, and sat to Holly’s right. An uncomfortable silence followed. Holly hated when grown-ups went mute.

  “For the last time, what is wrong with Peter?” Holly asked.

  “She’s like a dog with a bone,” Max said to Milly.

  “You’re not being fair,” Holly said.

  “Life isn’t fair,” her aunt reminded her.

  “Peter scares me,” Holly said, raising her voice. “Is he some kind of demon? Should I be afraid of him? I have a right to know what’s going on.”

  Another silence followed. Max cleared his throat.

  “Would you like to tell her, or should I?” the old magician asked.

  “Oh, why don’t you,” Milly replied.

  Max faced Holly, and held her hands with both his own. “Since you asked, here it is. Peter is a warlock, and not just in name only. He’s a real one.”

  An icy finger ran down Holly’s spine. In books and the movies, warlocks were depicted as humans who had attained magical or mystical powers which they used for the betterment of mankind. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Warlocks were evil people who had entered into pacts with the Devil, and were the worst form of deceivers. Other psychics viewed them as heretics, and Holly was having a hard time believing that Peter was one.

  “But he can’t be,” she said.

 
; “But he is,” her aunt corrected her.

  “He can’t be. I would have seen it long ago.”

  “Peter inherited it from his parents, who became warlocks as children,” her aunt replied. “It’s in his genes.”

  Holly shook her head in disbelief. She was in love with Peter, and had been for as long as she could remember. How could she have possibly missed this?

  “How long have you known?” she asked.

  “I saw it when Peter was a boy,” Milly said. “He roughed up a bully at his school, and really hurt him. Max saw it as well. Didn’t you, Max?”

  “Afraid so,” Max said. “There is a demon simmering just below the surface. I saw it several times when I was giving him magic lessons. I learned to give in, and never argue with him. Eventually, the demon would leave, and he’d go back to being his normal, fun-loving self. When he was searching for a stage name, I suggested Warlock because it sounded magical, but there was another reason as well.”

  “Because he is one.” Holly rose and went to the window. The oak trees in Central Park were filled with her aunt’s beloved crows, lined up in a military-like formation.

  “Will he stay like this?” she heard herself ask.

  “Only if we let him,” her aunt replied.

  “What do you mean? How do we play into this?”

  “Every person, be they a witch or warlock or what-have-you, has a guiding force in their lives,” Milly explained. “The guiding force in Peter’s life is us. Our job is to surround Peter with positive influences. That was how we raised him, and it worked wonders. The same must hold true now. You cannot fight fire with fire.”

  “So when he acts like a monster, I should be nice to him,” Holly said.

  “Yes, my dear,” her aunt said.

  “That’s going to be hard.”

  “Try.”

  The buzzer rang again, and Holly turned from the window. The burning sensation she felt when thinking about Peter had turned into a deep ache in her heart. Yet it did not diminish her love for him. If anything, her feelings for him were stronger than before.

  “Would you like me to answer the door?” her aunt asked.

  “No, I’ll get it,” Holly replied.

  * * *

  Holly stuck her eye to the peephole. In the hallway stood an older man wearing the camel-colored uniform that came with his security job. Clutched between his hands was a package with a UPS label. It was Ralph, who’d been working here since Holly was little.