by James Moore
Carl laughed, “What, we’re going to play ‘Find the Lady’?"
“‘Find the Lady?’” Master Harry echoed. “Let’s see... ‘Queen, Queen, Kissing Machine, Let the Ladies all be seen.’" He flipped over the cards, fast as his magician’s patter, revealing the Queen of Cups, the Queen of Wands, the Three of Cups, then in rapid succession the Queens of Swords and Pentacles, the Two of Swords, the Eight and Nine of Swords, the Nine of Pentacles, Strength, Justice, the Star, the Empress and lastly the High Priestess.
Master Harry smiled as Mammy Pleasant clapped her hands, and even Carl conceded a grin. “That isn’t how I play ‘Find the Lady,’ but I still wouldn’t want to play it with you.”
“Play? Why play?” Master Harry inquired. “Magic is serious business, and now that we have all these ladies, let’s see if we can find them some men. ‘Found the Ladies, then again, They all need their Gentlemen.’” The cards flashed down, Kings with Queens, Emperor with Empress, and the Hierophant with the High Priestess. He tapped the last pair, clucking his tongue. “Definitely not Catholics, these two. Protestants of some sort. See?” He flipped over the top card of the deck, revealing the Lovers, and deftly cast it down to cross the Hierophant and the High Priestess.
“There’s something in the background on that one," Carl said, then reached out towards the deck, looking for permission from Master Harry. Use’s master nodded, and the mortal mage turned over the next card of the deck. “The Devil. The Lovers always have someone pulling their strings."
He set it down atop the three other cards, the Devil sitting resplendent on his throne, with the Lovers happily chained before him.
Master Harry gathered up the cards and presented them to Lady Sarah, looking pleased “You may not be able to pick your relatives, but you’re a fine addition to the clan nonetheless."
Carl nodded back and smiled. “As I was saying to Ilse, so long as this isn’t like the Hotel California, I don’t really much care. I rather like my sunlit hours."
Master Harry rested his chin atop his hands and studied Carl, eyes dark and intense. “Well, yes. I can tell by your accent you’re from England, and you haven’t seen enough of them for them to lose their novelty.” He raised his eyebrows in amusement. “But let me put a stake through the heart of your worries. Even if you wanted to become a full member of the bloodline, we wouldn’t take you. Not because you’re not qualified, Carl, but because you’re too useful to House Tremere as you are. You see, we think it’s about time for our House to rejoin the Order, and umpteen centuries is long enough for the shock to wear off over what we’ve done and what we’ve become. And the plain fact of the matter is that we have more in common than we have at odds. We love magic and want to see it return to the world. At least, that’s why I joined the Tremere, and I suspect that's why you joined the Order.”
Carl nodded. “Some of your old tricks led me there. Funny, eh? Though so far as the history goes, most of the Hermetics seem to paint all of House Tremere with the same brush, saying you’re a bunch of power-mad wackos who sold their souls for immortality.”
Master Harry waved one hand, grumbling, “You're part of House Tremere. Are you a power-mad wacko? Did you sell your soul?”
“No," Carl said, “but then I’m not immortal either." “Point taken,” Master Harry said and clutched his chest, then looked at it with surprise. “Though not in the heart, strangely enough. Oh, yes," he said, coming back to himself, “the cat ate that. Wait a second, I’m the cat, aren’t I? Or did I swallow the cat? Come here, you.” He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a white dove, looking at it for a moment, then threw it in the air to flutter up to the antlers of one of the deer. “That’s not it.”
He reached into his other sleeve and produced another dove, tossing it in the air. “Not it either. Where did it get to?” He reached into his jacket, pulling out one dove after another, followed by a murder of crows and an unkindness of ravens, flapping up one after the other to perch on the antlers and heads mounted about the room.
“Ah, here we go,” he said, putting his hands on top of his head and pulling on his scalp. “I always forget what’s on my mind.”
His scalp separated from the rest of his head, becoming a sleepy, fluffy black Persian cat which he held by the scruff of the neck, his real hair still on top of his head, unharmed. Master Harry set the cat down on the table before him, and it sat there, purring smugly.
Ilse’s master looked up at them. “You know what we have here, don’t you? This is the proverbial cat. Oh, not the one in the bag, that’s that one there.”
He pointed to Mammy Pleasant, and a white Persian cat popped out the top of her dashiki and jumped to the floor, running to the servants’ door at the far end of the hall and disappearing through the crack.
“No, this is a very different one,” Master Harry said, petting the black cat, which was still purring smugly. “A very different proverbial cat. Now spit it out,” he ordered and grabbed the black cat by the back of the head and pulled until its mouth came open.
He held up a finger before its mouth. A tiny yellow bird crawled out onto the digit, looking frightened, and the black cat stopped purring. “Enough of you,” Master Harry said, and he took the cat by the scruff of the neck and set it on the empty trophy base.
The black cat did not look at all pleased with losing the canary and growled low in its throat, springing with a furious, “Rowrrr!”
Master Harry snapped his fingers, and the cat froze in place, again the taxidermized wildcat that had been there at the beginning of the tea party.
The canary sat there on his other hand, shivering in terror, and Master Harry petted it with its free hand, smoothing down its ruffled feathers and cooing to it softly. “Poor thing, it's terrified. See, it’s so frightened it laid an egg, everyone looking at it.” He showed the tiny egg in his palm, then took the little yellow bird onto the index finger of his other hand and held it before his face, looking it in the eyes. “You realize you’ll never make it in vaudeville if you keep doing things like that.”
The canary cheeped apologetically, and Master Harry set in on his shoulder, then closed his other hand over the egg and squeezed. He opened it, the contents expanding to become a mummified human heart covered with dark blood.
Master Harry shivered, a melodramatic look of disgust coming over his handsome features. “That will never do."
He closed his hand over the heart again, compressing it down to nothing, poking in the last few bits with the index finger of his opposite hand, then held the hand with the heart out to Mammy Pleasant and Lady Sarah. “If my lovely assistants could pass their hands over it and say the appropriate magic words?”
Mammy and Lady Sarah both giggled, then waved their hands over Master Harry’s. “Shango!” said Mammy Pleasant with a great voodoo roar, while Lady Sarah wiggled her fingers and gave a prim, “Hey-presto!”
Master Harry took his hand back, opening it to reveal a small heart-shaped chocolate cookie, a miniature of the lebkuchen Lady Sarah had had earlier. “There,” he said, prestidigitating the cookie until it was between his thumb and forefinger, then bringing it up to his mouth.
“Now would I do something like that if I were power-mad?” He took a bite of the cookie, chewing appreciatively. “Good cookie,” he said through a mouthful of crumbs, glancing to Lady Sarah.
The canary on his shoulder chirped hopefully, and Master Harry replied. “No, sorry. I’m the only one who’s going to eat the rest of my heart. Now take your friends, and get out of here.”
The canary flitted off his shoulder, flying up the chimney, followed by the doves, then the crows, and finally the ravens. Master Harry popped the last of his cookie in his mouth, then sucked the crumbs from his fingers.
“The Order would have a fit if they saw you do that,” Carl remarked.
“What? My trick?
Carl shook his head. “No, licking your fingers. Fussy bastards.”
Master Harry leaned back and laughed, d
eep and long. “There’s probably a number of things we’ll have to get used to. But I’m sure we can get things together, if we just have someone to go speak for us. Where is it exactly you’re from? London?"
“Lately, at least."
“Good. We’ve got a chantry there already, Malmsey House on Curson Street. Once you have a chance to talk to Dr. Dee, the local Proctor, you can see what you can do about arranging talks between your old Order and our House.”
Carl paused. “Dr. Dee? Dr. John Dee. Queen Elizabeth’s Dr. Dee, an’ I mean the first one, not the one we got now, Miss red-hair-and-syphilis, the ‘Virgin’ Queen Elizabeth, and her court astrologer, Dr. ‘You show me your shew-stones, I’ll show you mine’ John Dee? That one?”
Master Harry smiled. “I believe so, though I don’t know whether he’d be amused or offended your summary of his mortal life.”
“Offended," Mammy Pleasant said. “Definitely offended. That boy lost his sense of humor a long time ago."
“Probably used it up dealing with Queen Liz," Carl remarked and whistled. “My, you Tremere sure get around. You didn’t take Queen Liz while you were at it, did you?”
Master Harry shrugged. “We didn't. I can’t speak for the Ventrue, though I wouldn’t put it past them.”
“Ventrue?"
“The Blue Bloods. Another clan of the Kindred.” “Politicos," Use supplied. “They like to be in control of things. Always plotting and politicking.”
Carl rolled his eyes. “Sounds like some other people I could mention."
“Everyone needs a hobby.” Master Harry produced his multiplying balls, juggling and fanning them between his fingers for practice. “And as for plotting and politicking, much of it’s just human nature. Everyone wants to be the best, to be appreciated, to have someone watch them."
The balls between his fingers multiplied and diminished, going from three to five to two, red to blue to black and gold. “But while competition is all well and good—" He passed half of the balls from his right hand to his left, four in each hand, red, blue, gold and black, silver, orange, violet and green. “You sometimes find that the sum is greater than the parts,” — he put his hands together over his head — “and if you just get it all together " he cupped his hands together, letting the balls disappear inside, “ maybe there’ll be something magic."
He took his hands apart, and a thousand balls cascaded down over his head, like Bunny Rabbit's trick with the ping-pong balls and Mr. Moose, bouncing and rolling across the table, and Master Harry, now the magician and the entertainer, laughed,
He leaned back then, brushing the colored spheres from his vest. “After all, Carl, you may be an outcast right now, but with the appropriate ceremonies and laurels, an outcast can become a peace child." He picked up a handful of balls at random and began juggling them. “And in any case, you'll always be welcome here. We haven’t had a mortal mage in a very long time."
“No,” Carl said, “not from what I've heard of Tremere history.”
Master Harry tossed a ball into the mouth of the stuffed wildcat, where it stuck. “A stupid oversight. When the elders consolidated the House as vampires, they were too drunk on power to realize that there were some things vampires couldn't do.” He tossed another ball in the cat’s mouth. “Easily at least. The Giovanni were much more clever about it, or maybe I should say that they profited by our mistake. They’ve got both mortal mages and vampires in their family, though since you probably haven't heard of them, that shows they’re no great shakes as either.”
Master Harry finished stuffing the mouth and began pitching the balls so that they stuck on the wildcat’s outstretched claws. “But I’m very glad to see that the elders were not quite so thorough as they first thought in co-opting our human heirs. And that—," he said, juggling another handful, “— is the main reason no one in Clan Tremere is going to give you the Kiss, even if you wanted it. We need you to bear an olive branch to the Order and to restart our mortal line.”
Carl leaned back in his chair, blue eye and green eye both twinkling with wry humor. “You’re saying you want to put me out to stud.” He chuckled, “I don’t know how well that will sit with the Order. Cult of Ecstasy would be all for it, and even some of the witches might be keen on the idea, but the Order of Hermes?” He snorted, blushing furiously, and smothered a laugh with one hand. “I’m sorry,” he managed at last, “but I’m afraid the Order has become a very different body in the years since House Tremere left it, at least if you think they’d give their blessing to that sort of magic. The Grand Lodge of London, anyway.”
He chuckled again, stifling a guffaw, and turned very red in the face. “Can’t say I’m not flattered, though, at your estimation of my capabilities.”
Master Harry laughed and juggled two balls. “Well, you’re welcome to father as many children as you like, Carl, but honestly, we were thinking of something a little more immediate. I’ve always prided myself on great escapes, and what greater escape could there be than from death itself? And not only from death, but from Death and Damnation?"
Carl blinked and brushed the tears from his eyes, looking at the magician.
Master Harry smiled, having center stage. “Of course, if you want to do any escape, the easiest trick is to have your man on the outside. That would be you, Carl. The blood is the soul and the soul is the life. House Tremere is not truly dead, or damned, until its last member is. You’re neither.
You’re our man on the outside. And with your help — and the Order to provide support — we can pull this trick out of the hat and do the greatest escape of all time.”
Carl brought up one hand, mouth open, then paused, brows furrowed. “Let me get this straight. You want me to play anchor while you Tremere blokes do some big vampiric blood-magic ritual and undo the spell that made you vampires in the first place?”
“From the top on down," Master Harry said, nodding. “The entire Pyramid.”
Carl’s mismatched eyes blinked. “Well,” he said at last, “that’s some trick if you can pull it off, but what’s in it for you? More than that, what’s in it for the Order of Hermes if they help you, because from what I guess, it’s going to take a lot more mages than me to pull all of you out, even if I'm the linchpin for the whole trick."
“What's in it for us is mortality as mages. What’s in it for the Order of Hermes is the biggest membership drive in the history of magecraft, because while the Order’s star has been falling, House Tremere’s has been rising, and we’ve got nearly the whole Pyramid filled, seven by seven down to the thirteenth generation. And if all of those were to become mortal again, that would be a rather impressive number of mages.”
“And then?” Carl asked, eyes wide.
“And then...,” Master Harry finished. “House Tremere will go after what it’s always been after — power. We'll rejoin the Order of Hermes, swelling its ranks until we’re the biggest magic gorilla on the block. And where does a magic gorilla sit? Well, for starters, the head seat of the Council of Nine, consolidating all the wonderworkers into something properly organized, making for an even bigger gorilla. And then what happens?” Master Harry grinned, challenging Carl to complete the thought.
The mage blinked. “We kick the Technocracy’s bloody butt, that’s wot! Right into the next dimension."
Master Harry stopped juggling. “Think the Order of Hermes will go for it?”
Carl exhaled, looking stunned by it all. “Can’t exactly say, but it’s worth a shot. What you’re offering the Hermetics is what they've always wanted — the chance to sit at the top of the Council and the top of the world. It’s just a matter of whether they hate the Technocracy more than they hate House Tremere and whether they’d want to share the Council seat with a bunch of former vampires. But I’ve run into the Technocracy, and I think it’s a pretty safe bet that the Order of Hermes hates them more than they don't care for you. Or I should say us, since I’m a Tremere too, when you come right down to it.”
He stood up.
“I’d best be getting back to L.A. My plane leaves for London tomorrow morning, and I’d like to get packing if I’m going to go back to the Order and sell them on your scheme. It’s convoluted and power-mad, and they just love that sort of thing.” He looked at Master Harry and grinned. “I think we really are related.”
Master Harry stood up, fangs extended in a wildcat's smile, and leaned on the table. “We really must be.”
“Don’t worry about catching your plane, Carl, dear,” Lady Sarah added. “Malmsey House is one of the few places that has a permanent door to my own dear House of Mystery. All you and Use need do is wait for the sun to set in London, and we can just go and open the door in the Ching Parlor. And you’ll be there.”
Mammy Pleasant rubbed her hands and giggled. “Jing Wei will be just furious!”
Saturday, April 24, London — The Masters of Magic
Kurt had only just arrived in Los Angeles a night earlier, when, while waiting to meet with Jing Wei, the target of his search threw chowder over his clothes and scalded the hell out of his face in the process. He was rapidly growing to dislike his adversary, attractive or not. When he’d regained his senses enough to stand again, he was ready to find Use Decameron and rend her flesh from her bones, to say nothing of her little friend.
He stormed past the waiter who was busily stamping out a small fire caused by the mage's spell and set off in search of his prey. With every step he grew calmer, remembering his years of etiquette schooling and his position within the Camarilla. He’d have to make certain that no one who’d taken his picture saw anything unusual, but that was easy enough to accomplish. He’d handle the matter as soon as he’d finished with the important business of gaining a little revenge.
Ten minutes later, he gave up in disgust. The wench was nowhere to be found, and wherever she’d gone, she’d apparently taken her little friend along for the ride. His irritation must have been obvious, because Jing Wei was on her best behavior when she approached him. “Perhaps you’d like a place to clean yourself, Kurt?"
