by John Levitt
“And that raises an interesting point,” Victor said.
“Which is?”
“Your name,” Eli said. “How did it know your name, Mason?”
“Well, I certainly didn’t tell it. But what does my name have to do with anything? Do you think that’s what gave it power over me? That whole nonsense of knowledge of names giving another power over you is ancient superstition.” I paused. “Isn’t it?”
“I used to think so, but if you’ll think back on the events of the last year or so, I think you’ll find a lot of our former beliefs have been tested. And as to how it knew your name, and whether that knowledge bestows power—I have no idea, but I think it significant. Maybe it knows all names, just by virtue of what it is.”
“That’s a comforting thought.”
“Okay,” said Victor. “Assuming, hypothetically, that you’re right, where does that leave us? If it could really call Sherwood, bring her back from wherever, how does that help us? We can hardly go up and say, ‘Excuse me, Mr. Wendigo. I have a favor to ask.’ ”
“I don’t know. Maybe we could strike a bargain,” I said. Victor snorted.
“You don’t strike bargains with elemental archetypes.”
“Quite the contrary,” Eli said. “That’s exactly what one does. Think of the literature.”
“But we have nothing to trade.”
“Coercion, then,” I said. “Compel him in some way.
Could we trap him?”
“Doubtful,” Eli said. “It would take far more power to control something like that than any of us possess, singly or in concert. Now, if we had a magical enhancer, something like those rune stones, the ones that gave us so much trouble, that might be a different matter.”
Those stones, the petrified bones of long-dead creatures, were of immense magical potency. They’d come from another time and place, or dimension, or something—I’m not very good with the cosmology of such things. A black practitioner had discovered them and brought them back, and they’d caused all kinds of trouble. The stones acted as enhancers—with them, even an ordinary practitioner could achieve extraordinary things, and they’d been used in unpleasant ways. When it was all over, I confiscated the lot of them. They were too dangerous to be left lying around.
I should have destroyed them, or given them to Eli for study, but I couldn’t bring myself to give them up. At least I knew better than to use them myself, but I did it anyway. I’d given a few to Rolf, who thought he could employ them to create his own Ifrit. That hadn’t worked out so well. But maybe the stones could be used to help fix the very problem they’d caused. Eli and Victor might be able to keep that magic under control.
“How many of those stones do you think we’d need?” I asked, trying to be casual about it.
“A lot. In effect, we’d have to use them to build a metaphorical cage to contain it.” As soon as I asked about how many would be needed, Victor’s head swiveled toward me. He stared, thoughtfully at first, then with growing suspicion.
“Why do you ask?” he said.
“Just curious.”
He was on it like a bird dog on a quail. Damn him for being so sharp.
“Curious? I’ll bet. You kept some of them when you found them, didn’t you?” He shook his head in exasperation. “There were more of them than you let on, weren’t there? I should have known.”
My first instinct was to deny it, but what was the point? Technically I hadn’t done anything wrong.
“Yes, I still have a few,” I said. I expected Eli would be angry at this, but all his face showed was disappointment.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this, Mason?” he said. I shrugged.
“I don’t know, really. I was going to toss them, but when it came right down to it I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of them. And I knew how you’d feel about that, so . . .”
“They do get a hold on people. That’s one of the reasons why they’re dangerous. You use things like that too much, and before you know it, they control you instead of the other way around.” His face hardened. “You haven’t . . . been using them for anything, have you?”
I shook my head.
“No. Honestly, I was afraid to, and Lou would have taken my hand off if I’d tried. He really doesn’t like them.”
“That’s because he, at least, has some sense.” Eli came all the way across the room and peered into my face from a foot away. “Are you sure you haven’t been using them?”
“I’m sure. I think I would have remembered something like that.”
After a long moment, he clapped me on the shoulder, almost knocking me off my feet.
“Well, that’s all right, then.”
Victor pushed his chair away from the desk and rocked back on its two legs, teetering precariously. He often did that, and I always hoped he would overbalance one day and flip backward ass over teakettle. But he never did. He pointed a finger at me. There was a lot of finger-pointing going on.
“Okay,” he said. “Again, let’s assume we can use the stones, and we can build a trap. How are we going to find this Wendigo thing. Lou?”
“I don’t think so. He couldn’t track the fake Ifrit, and I don’t think he’d have any better luck with this.”
“Too bad. But how did you find it in the first place, then?”
“Well, that’s an interesting thing,” I said. “Basically, a woman I met told me where to look.”
“Oh? Who? And how would she know that?”
“She’s a psychic, or something like that. I met her accidentally.”
“How do you meet someone accidentally?”
“It happens. But that’s irrelevant. She had no idea what she was telling me.”
“Could she tell you where to find it again?”
I considered that. It hadn’t entered my mind, but it was possible she could.
“I don’t know. But it’s worth a try, I guess.”
“First things first,” said Eli. “I want those green rune stones.”
“I’ll bring them by tomorrow, I promise.”
“Why not right now?”
“I’ve got things to do. I want to talk to my psychic friend, for one.” I also wanted some time to get used to the idea of giving the rune stones up, but I didn’t say that.
“All right,” Eli said. He looked at me hard. “Just make sure you bring them. All of them.” I wasn’t fooling him. I got up to leave, but Victor held up a hand.
“Hold on a minute,” he said. He reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a standard 12-gauge cleaning kit—cleaning rod, patches, and Hoppe’s No. 9 solvent. “By the way, you fired the shotgun, so make sure you clean it thoroughly. A dirty gun is a lazy man’s weapon, and a lazy man is a liability.”
I took the kit, but I didn’t need the advice. My grandfather had drilled that into me long ago. As I drove home, I actually felt a sense of relief. I hadn’t touched those stones since I’d picked up that fateful bag, but they had been weighing on my mind for a while. Nothing ominous, just a low-level combination of curiosity and unease. I hadn’t been entirely forthright with Eli, which he was well aware of, but he had decided to let it pass. I think he understood those things could take hold of the imagination.
At home, I took a quick shower to wipe off the grime and nervous sweat that had piled up. Then I spent a while figuring out what I was going to say to Morgan. I could ask her out for coffee, but she would likely say no. She’d asked me to call her, but it was because she was worried, not because she was looking to hook up. My call might be misinterpreted. Not that she would have been altogether wrong.
Telling her over the phone that I wanted her to help me track down the mythical Wendigo wasn’t going to go over well, either. That approach could well lead to a restraining order. So I needed a use a different slant.
The first time I called, her machine picked up. I didn’t leave a message; this had to be finessed, and that takes talking in person. When I tried again a few hours later she answered on th
e first ring.
“Morgan? This is Mason. The jazz guy, remember?”
“Of course,” she said. “How are you?” Her tone was noncommittal, and I couldn’t tell if she was happy to hear from me or regretting giving me her number.
“Getting by. Just wanted to check in and tell you the news. I did end up in Muir Woods, despite your warnings.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry; I’m fine.”
“How could you?”
“I had to. You were absolutely right, though. I’m lucky I got back okay.”
“What happened?” she asked. “You sure you’re all right?”
“Positive. But it’s a bit complicated. I’m not really sure what I found there, and I’d love to talk to you about it. Maybe you could help clear it up for me. Could we meet for coffee somewhere?”
There was a long pause as she thought it over. What she had seen in her vision had shaken her, as well it might have, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to get involved any further. But she was curious—who wouldn’t be? And it never hurts to just talk. That’s one of the great lies people tell themselves.
“Uh, yeah, we could do that.”
“I’ve got my van, so you pick the place,” I said.
Another moment, then, “How about Martha’s? There’s one on the corner of California and Divisadero. It’s not too far from where I live.” It would take me about twenty minutes to get across town.
“Great,” I said. “Half an hour okay?”
“Fine,” she said. “See you then.”
The area around California and Divisadero lies between the tony Upper Fillmore and the posh Pacific Heights. It has no real identity, instead sort of bleeding off into each one without having the cachet of either. And unlike its wealthy neighbors it’s middle class, at least as much middle class as you can find in San Francisco. Some places in the city, like North Beach, could only be in San Francisco. Others could be transplanted into any good-sized city in the country without seeming out of place, and this area is one of them.
A few outside tables were clustered outside this Mar tha’s, right by the door. I left Lou to hold a table and went inside for a latte. Morgan wasn’t there yet. I hoped she hadn’t changed her mind. Ten minutes later, I saw her crossing the street toward us. She was wearing those same loose jeans again, but with a shapeless sweatshirt on top. I got the feeling she’d changed into it before coming over, trying for aggressively neutral. She gave me a quick nod and passed by the table, going inside inside to get her own cup of coffee. While I waited, I called Lou over.
“We need her help,” I said. “So put on the charm—don’t lay it on too thick, though. Let her think you’re just an ordinary dog. For now.”
Hopefully she was a dog person. Lou could charm almost anyone, but there are people who simply don’t like dogs, period. Go figure.
She came out, carrying a tiny cup of espresso, and slid into the opposite seat. Lou glanced up at me and I gave a slight nod. He stretched, sidled up to her, and sat up in his cute begging position. She smiled over at me, a good start.
“Yours, I assume?”
“Remember your vision where I was with something like a dog, but not quite? Well, you were right. This is Lou. Lou, this is Morgan. Say hello.”
Lou sat down and offered a paw in the standard doggy-shake fashion. She reached down to take it, and at the last moment he whipped it away and gave a short bark.
“Psych!” I said.
“Well, that’s just rude,” she said, laughing. “I suppose you taught him that.”
“Not at all. He has his own sense of humor, and the canine variety can be rather juvenile.” Lou walked back to her and offered a paw again.
“This is like Charlie Brown and the football, isn’t it?” she said.
“No, he’s apologizing.”
She reached down again and this time he gravely accepted her hand. Then he jumped up in my lap, curled up, and pretended to go to sleep. All of this had a purpose, of course. Not only did it humanize me and ease the tension, but the byplay would get her mind off any suspicions she might be having. Small, friendly dogs are so reassuring.
We looked at each other over the table for just long enough for it to start feeling uncomfortable. She took a sip of her coffee and made a face.
“For what they charge for espresso at these places, you’d think they might do better.” She emptied a packet of sugar into the coffee and tried again. “Worse,” she said. “So what happened to you? And why did you go up there the very next day? Did you want to see if I perhaps was a fraud? That’s a long ways to go just to out me as a fake psychic.”
“Not at all. I didn’t doubt you for a moment. But I’ve been looking for something, something odd. I didn’t know where it was, but your warning at least pointed me in the right direction.”
“Well, that’s ironic.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?” She took another delicate sip of espresso and her hand trembled slightly. “What I saw made me nervous. I wouldn’t have gone up there myself. I did warn you, you know.”
“I’m afraid I had to. It was something that needed checking out.”
She leaned forward, putting her cup down with a clink. “And that’s the whole point, isn’t it? What exactly was it, and who are you, anyway? And what do you want from me?”
This was the tricky part. Usually I don’t tell nonpractitioners anything about the world of practitioners, or about my talents. I prefer they think of me as nothing more than a guitar player, which is what I am, really. There’s no rule about telling civilians, and sometimes it works out fine—look at Victor and Timothy.
But there’s a certain reluctance, as if the whole thing is just a bit unseemly. Mostly people don’t believe you anyway. Even a slight demonstration isn’t enough to convince hard-core skeptics—they’d rather deny the evidence of their own eyes than change their comfortable view of the universe.
Morgan might be different, though. She obviously had psychic ability—she’d not only known about Lou ahead of meeting him; she had guided me to the exact place where the Wendigo had taken up residence, and had felt its disturbing presence. Accepting that there might be others with unusual powers shouldn’t be that much of a leap for her.
“Well, first of all, you know I’m a jazz musician,” I said, treading carefully. “But there’s another side to me. You’re a psychic—and thanks for the warning, by the way. I’m a—well, let’s just say that I possess certain powers of my own.” She looked skeptical.
“Such as?”
“It might be easier to show you,” I said. “Lou?” His ears pricked up. “Up on the table.”
He uncurled himself from my lap and stepped delicately onto the tabletop, being careful not to spill any coffee. He sat there stoically. He doesn’t much care for being put on display.
I glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention. Doing magic in public is frowned upon, at least by Victor. It obviously could lead to complications. But if anyone noticed my little demonstration, they’d just think they were seeing things and needed to get their eyes checked.
I spotted a woman walking across the street with a cocker spaniel. Every time it stopped and tried to sniff at something she would impatiently pull on its leash. This would be easy—not spectacular, but simple. I reached out, took the spaniel essence, and let it flow into Lou.
This kind of spell is easy. A static spell, one where you change something’s appearance and it stays that way for an extended period, does take some energy. But a fluid spell, one where you basically act as a conduit so the spell lasts only as long as you pay attention and keep the flow going, takes very little effort.
Lou’s coat changed from his normal black and tan into a mottled brown and white, thick and furry. His ears grew long and floppy, his muzzle squared off, and he put on a few pounds as well. In five seconds he’d been transformed into a friendly, smiling cocker spaniel.
Morgan stared at him in disbelief and put out a tentative hand to see if he was real. Then she pulled it back. She wasn’t sure she wanted to touch him. If she had, she would have felt a short coat and a sharp muzzle; I hadn’t gone to the trouble of making a tactile illusion as well—those are tricky and there wasn’t any point.
“Holy crap,” she said. “How did you do that?”
“Just an illusion.” I stopped the energy flow and Lou reverted back to his original form. “That’s just a parlor trick. But there are other, more serious things I can do.”
“Like what?”
“That vision of me you had? I was hunting down something that shouldn’t be in this world at all. I found it, but that didn’t go well. This time we’re prepared and I need your help to find it again.”
“We?”
“I have friends.”
“Friends like you?”
“Sort of.”
She digested this awhile. So far, things were going well. She hadn’t broken out in a cold sweat and quickly departed. Lots of people would have. The next step was more difficult. Would she accept me or fixate on the apparent supernatural? Ordinary citizens can go one of three ways. Morgan wasn’t quite in that category, but she was close.
One, remain skeptical, and insist it’s all some kind of trick. Another is to believe, and get the hell out of there as fast as possible. A third is to become so enamored with the whole concept of magic being real that they can think of nothing else.
If you build up a relationship with a nonpractitioner before you spring it on them, it usually works out okay. They know you, so they’re not as freaked out or blinded by what they see. But if you have just met someone, who you are gets lost in what you can do.
“So, what is it exactly you want me to do?” she finally asked. Her voice was steady, but she wasn’t nearly as calm as she was pretending to be. Nobody could be, not after something so flat-out weird had been sprung on them.
“Do another reading for me,” I said. “Maybe you’ll see me again, somewhere different. I think the nature of what I’m looking for will make it easier for you to see when we intersect.”
