by John Levitt
Geoffrey’s café was in the middle of town, which meant it was on one of the three or four streets that make up the “downtown area.” It was a comfortable looking place with a few tables out front under a faded wooden sign that identified it as “Lucinda’s.” It was the type of sign that looked like it had been there for a while, probably outlasting the original Lucinda, whoever she might have been, by a good many years. There was a parking space right in front of the café, one of the advantages of small town living. Eli pulled in, turned off the engine, and gestured broadly.
“Here we are,” he said.
Right on cue, the café door opened and a man emerged, a slight figure holding a cup of something. He stood in the doorway, blinking fretfully at the sun. After a minute, he moved over to a table by the sidewalk, sat down, crossed his legs, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one up, and inhaled a long drag, satisfaction evident.
“Geoffrey,” Eli informed me.
“A spiritually evolved master who smokes cigarettes?” I asked.
“What can I say?”
“Oh, I’m not putting it down,” I said. “I rather like the idea.”
I examined the man sitting at the table. I never would have recognized him. Of course I hadn’t seen him since I was a kid, but my memories were of a strong and vibrant man, intense, a little scary even. This man was slender, almost frail, and although I knew he must be getting on in years it was still hard to judge his age. His ginger hair wisped in the afternoon breeze, and as he took a delicate sip from his cup I could barely make out a faint bristle of reddish mustache nestling on his upper lip. He was wearing a short-sleeved preppie yellow shirt, like those with the little alligators on them, but without the alligator. He took another drag on his cigarette, holding it gently, almost effeminately, although I didn’t get any gay vibe. He had that asexual quality that certain people seem to possess, a Dalai Lama kind of persona. Maybe he really was one of the enlightened ones, although I don’t recall the Dalai Lama smoking Marlboros.
Louie had been looking at the sitting figure with a fixed stare, and now he gave a slight whine. Most unusual. He jumped out the window, ran over to the table, barked twice, and rolled over on his back in the classic submissive dog position. I’d never seen him do that before for anyone.
Geoffrey looked down at him and smiled happily. It changed his whole face. He projected such joy and delight, such warmth, such down-to-earth goodness that it temporarily silenced the cynic who perpetually resides in me. Whatever else this guy was or was not, he was no fraud.
“An Ifrit!” he exclaimed. He made some sounds that sounded like a language consisting of barking and growling. Louie jumped up onto the table and started licking his face.
“Just an ordinary retiree,” Eli said smugly.
I was feeling a bit jealous. “Are we going to talk with him or not?” I asked, curtly.
Eli gave me a knowing smile and got out of the driver’s side. I got out of my side and joined him, and together we walked up to the table. Geoffrey looked up and spotted us.
“Eli!” he said, the smile returning to his face. “How nice to see you. Can I get you some coffee?” He gestured toward Louie. “Not with you, is he?” Then he glanced at me. “Oh, of course.” He scrunched up his eyes and nose like someone who needs glasses but won’t wear them. “Ahhh…Mason, isn’t it? I know, I’m being impolite to name you. Kind of a silly convention, don’t you think? Sit down, sit down.” His eyes twinkled. I mean they really did, flickering in a way I hadn’t seen before. I found myself breaking out in a grin. We sat down and Lou immediately jumped off the table and into my lap. I suddenly felt better. Geoffrey turned his attention to me.
“I remember you,” he said. “You were kind of spoiled as a kid, but with great talent.” He peered at me again in that shortsighted way. “Oh, my. You’re a musician! And very good, too. Hey, my group’s playing at the café this Saturday. You want to sit in? It would be a trip for everyone. We’re not in your league, of course, but we do have fun.”
About that time I started buying into it. Either there was something extraordinary about this guy or Eli was setting me up for the most extended practical joke ever devised. And that sort of thing isn’t his type of humor.
“Not in my league? Why aren’t you?” I said. I didn’t elaborate.
“An excellent question,” he replied. “I ask myself the same thing every day.” He chuckled. “The simple answer is for the same reason I’m not Barry Bonds. Also, it wouldn’t be…appropriate.”
I digested that. Eli saw the conversation going off on a tangent and interrupted. We had business here.
“How about that coffee?” he said. “Coffee would be great.”
“Just water for me,” I added. “I’ve had my quota of coffee for the day.”
“Tea, then? No? Right, I’ll be back in a jiff.”
Geoffrey went back into the café. Eli turned to me. “Yes, I know,” I said before he could speak. “Focus. Let you do the talking.”
When Geoffrey came back with the drinks, he and Eli did small talk for a couple of minutes. Geoffrey seemed particularly interested in one of Eli’s historical theories about farming in Europe during the Middle Ages. I waited until it seemed like the topic was going to expand into other parts of the world and then started making phony coughing noises. Eli gave a start, and quickly deflected the conversation back to business.
“Geoffrey,” he said, “I hate to change subjects so abruptly, but I’ve got a problem that’s beyond me, and I’m hoping you can help.”
Geoffrey’s face sort of collapsed into itself, like that of a child whose ice cream scoop has just toppled off the cone onto the floor.
“You know I would love to help you,” he said, “but if you’ll look back on our history you may recall that I never seem to be as much help as you hope I’ll be.”
Eli nodded, agreeing. “Be that as it may, I’d still like to get your input on this.”
Geoffrey took a final puff on his cigarette, stubbed it out on the bottom of his shoe, and placed the butt carefully on the side of the table. Being California, there are of course no ashtrays anywhere in the state.
“Okay,” he said. “Shoot.”
Eli cradled his coffee cup in huge hands. He presented a concise outline of everything we knew, along with several guesses. The strange occurrences, the attacks on me, the precious stones, the Challenges with Christoph the ringmaster, etc. Geoffrey perked up at that, wanting every detail.
I thought it was an admirable presentation, but then again, Eli was used to lecturing. Except for the part about the Challenges, Geoffrey spent the entire time ignoring Eli and playing with Louie. He would raise his hand; Lou would raise a paw. He would scratch his nose; Lou would scratch an ear. At one point Geoffrey made a hand gesture almost too subtle for me to catch and Lou gave him a disgusted look, hopped down, and curled up under an adjacent table. At one point Eli got a bit exasperated.
“Geoffrey, are you paying attention?” he demanded.
Geoffrey looked up, abashed. “Oh, yes, yes. Just multi-tasking.”
Eli continued on, and by the time he got to the end, Geoffrey was leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed. We all sat in silence for a while. I hoped Geoffrey hadn’t fallen asleep. Finally he stretched and opened his eyes.
“Quite a tale,” he said.
I waited for him to add something. When he didn’t, I said, “Any thoughts?”
“Sorry,” he said. “I was just mulling it over. I don’t keep up much on things anymore, but I am aware of Christoph. A very sad fellow.” He paused again and thought for a minute. “Also a very nasty piece of work.”
“Yes, but what’s going on?” I asked.
“Well,” said Geoffrey, “I think it all comes back to Christoph. Clearly he’s trying to gain power—in fact has gained it, quite a bit of it. He’s made these Challenges a game, a competition. Why? The jewel, I would think. Perhaps he’s found a way to use it to suck dry the other contest
ants, like some sort of psychic vampire, and make the power transfer hold. If he focuses their power through the jewel, he could change the energy into a form that would be permanent.
“I’ll bet if you were to look up the ones he’s defeated recently, you won’t find many of them around anymore. If they are, they won’t be of much use to themselves or anyone else. It wouldn’t be immediately apparent, but after he’s done they’re nothing but walking, burned-out husks.
“If he continues, eventually he’ll amass enough power to do just about anything he wants. If he thought he could get away with it, I wouldn’t be surprised to see him challenging practitioners to actual duels, lethal ones.”
“Why do that?” I asked.
“Because that way he could gain all their power, not just a piece of it. It wouldn’t gain him anything to just kill practitioners, of course, it has to be a voluntary contest for a power transfer.”
“So I understand,” I said.
Eli interrupted. “Wait a minute. Isn’t that counterproductive? I mean, when you attain a certain level of power, regardless of how you got there, don’t you…” He trailed off.
Geoffrey laughed. “Reach Buddhahood? Like me? That’s a great theory, Eli my friend.”
“Still,” Eli said stubbornly, “something happens after you reach that level.”
Geoffrey reached into his shirt pocket and retrieved another cigarette. He pulled out a vintage silver Zippo lighter and lit it, taking a long pull before answering.
“Well, yes, of course. But what happens to your psyche depends somewhat on how you go about it.” He pointed at me. “You’re too young to remember the LSD craze of the sixties. A lot of people just wanted to get high, but there were plenty who saw it as a means to enlightenment without all that boring work and study and fasting. Instant Nirvana.”
“That seems to have worked out well for them,” I said.
“Of course it didn’t. But they were able to experience an analogous state that was very much like what true mystics experience. It didn’t lead anywhere because they hadn’t changed as individuals, unlike those who achieved that state through a more disciplined path. But although the place they reached wasn’t identical, there is some overlapping—I wouldn’t discount it totally.
“What Christoph wants to do, I suspect, is something similar. He wants to reach that critical point where all things become possible, or perhaps he has something specific in mind. And if he’s able to gain that strength not through study and experience, but by completely artificial means, he then will be able to remain the same individual he’s always been—and that’s precisely what he wants. Same Christoph, but now with truly frightening power—like an impulsive teenager with a flamethrower.”
“That doesn’t sound so good for the rest of us,” Eli said.
“No, probably not.”
“What about Vaughan?” I asked. “His death seemed distinctly unmagical. And why would Christoph kill him, anyway? He can’t be gaining power by simply running down practitioners. Can he?”
“The gems,” Eli said. “Vaughan found out about the gems.”
“But why go to all that trouble? I mean with the hit-and-run and all.”
“A magical killing would have us investigating every avenue. But if it could be passed off as something unfortunate and mundane, maybe it would slip under the radar.”
Geoffrey was listening with mild interest. Eli pointed to him. “Show Geoffrey what we’re talking about.”
I pulled out the stone and handed it over. Geoffrey held it up to the sky, letting light stream through, casting color in every direction.
“Nasty,” he commented, not the reaction I expected.
“Ever seen anything like it?” I asked.
He looked vaguely puzzled. “I don’t believe I have.”
“Whatever it is, with all Christoph’s newfound power, could he simply have created it, or at least transformed it from something else?”
“No, he couldn’t have created anything like this from scratch,” Geoffrey said. “That would be far beyond him. But it’s certainly possible he’s transformed it from something else. Maybe from another precious stone, although I don’t think that’s it.”
“Any thoughts at all about what it might be?”
Geoffrey handed the stone back to me with obvious distaste, wiping his fingers off on his shirt as if there were something slimy on them.
“I have heard about something like this. But I never put much credence in the stories. No practitioner would go to those lengths or stoop so low.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“It’s not important. Just stories. I can tell you one thing: this jewel is extraordinarily unpleasant. Creepy, actually. Can’t you feel that?”
I couldn’t. I guess I wasn’t an evolved soul. But I might have been more skeptical if Lou hadn’t clearly felt the same way about it. I put the stone back in my pocket, waiting for Geoffrey to continue, but it didn’t look like he was going to open up any further. He stared off into space again until Eli noisily slurped coffee to get his attention.
“Geoffrey,” he said, “I know you’re no longer a practitioner, but could you at least use your abilities to examine that stone and tell us what it is?”
“Well, ‘could’ is a very tricky word,” Geoffrey said.
I started to get a little pissed off. “Not really,” I said. “It’s a simple word and a simple question. Do you have the ability to find out what it is or don’t you?”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I don’t use talent anymore.”
“But could you?”
He looked at me with the expression of someone who is trying to explain to a dog why he has to go to the vet. I was beginning not to like him quite so much.
“I hate using analogies,” he said. “It makes people think they understand what you’re saying when in reality they are further away than if you just say nothing. But against my better judgment, I’ll try one. If you got bored tomorrow, could you immobilize Louie here and torture him to death?”
“I could, but I wouldn’t. But I have the ability to do to so.”
“Really. So is it possible that you will indeed do that tomorrow?”
“No, of course not. I would never do that. But I could.”
“So it’s both possible and not possible at the same time, then?”
“Those are just word games,” I said.
“Not at all. Exactly what the word ‘possible’ means is the crux of the matter. That’s why I told you I hate analogies. I’m just trying to explain to you that I can’t answer your question in any way that would be meaningful to you. I’m truly sorry.”
I gave up, but I did have one final question. “Well, what about this? If it is Christoph behind all of this, why would he try to kill me? According to you guys, he wouldn’t get any power out of it unless I agreed to a duel, which I’m not about to do. And it’s not like I’ve ever done anything to him. I barely knew he existed before last week.”
“Oh, that seems clear. He wants you out of the way.”
“Well, duh, but why?”
Geoffrey gave me a serene and infuriating smile. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t tell you that.”
“Oh? Why can’t you? Let me guess, the word ‘can’t’ has infinite meanings, am I right?”
“Why, no,” said Geoffrey mildly, “it’s a fairly clear concept. I just mean that I don’t know.”
* * * *
On the way back, Eli tried to convince me that we were lucky. “I’ve never seen Geoffrey that direct before,” he told me. “He must be extremely interested, at least as much as he can be.”
I was still annoyed by Geoffrey’s attitude. Okay, now it was clear Christoph was up to no good. And it involved the gems. And he was dangerous. And powerful. But we still had no idea what the gems were, where he got them, or why he wanted me out of the way.
By the time we got back to the city, we had run out of things to say. The beautiful afternoon had
clouded over, and water was starting to drip from the sky. Eli dropped me off at my place, gave me a melancholy salute, and drove off. I picked up my mail from the mailbox, unlocked the front door, stepped inside, and found an unpleasant surprise awaiting me. In the middle of the room, lounging in my only easy chair, sat Christoph.
Nine
Finding an intruder sitting in your living room is bad enough for an ordinary person. For a practitioner it’s a disaster. First of all, it means that your personal warning system has gone dead. But if my own system was deficient, Lou’s should have been operating at peak efficiency. That’s what he was best at, after all. I would have bet large sums of money that no one could have been sitting inside without him being aware of it. Second, and worse, it meant that someone had been able to circumvent all my protective spells and wards—not an easy task, especially since Eli had helped me with setting them up.
Overcoming the protection around my house in the few hours I had been gone shouldn’t have been possible. It wouldn’t be enough for my uninvited guest to just be strong; he either needed intimate knowledge about the place, which wasn’t likely, or failing that, he needed to be incredibly strong, orders of magnitude stronger than I was. And as far as I knew, there wasn’t anyone, even Christoph, with that kind of power. Obviously I was mistaken.
He was wearing a black silk shirt open at the collar and black jeans, just like the white-haired emcee at the challenges, minus the cape. I wondered if it were some sort of informal uniform. He lounged insolently in my chair, the effect somewhat spoiled by the fact that it’s difficult for anybody under five feet five inches to insolently lounge. Despite the lounging, he still looked like he was wound way tight. Louie started up with a low, constant growl, rumbling softly and comfortingly next to me. I hung my jacket up on the hook behind the front door and turned around as if finding Christoph sitting there was the most natural thing in the world.
“Make yourself at home,” I said, flatly, without a trace of sarcasm.
“I already have,” he replied. “Nice little place you’ve got here.”
