A Wizard of the White Council

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Why the hell are you following me?” said Ally.

  The man jumped to his feet. “Oh, shit.”

  Ally stalked towards him. “I said, why the hell are you following me?”

  The man stammered. “I…um…I’m not following you. I work for…um, the museum. I’m trying to capture bugs…”

  “Crap,” said Ally. “I thought someone’s been following me for the last few days. It’s you, isn’t it? Why?”

  “Um.” The man blinked, turned, and ran for it.

  Ally caught him before he’d gone five steps. She seized his arm, twisted it behind him, and slammed him against a tree. “Ow! Hey, stop that. That hurts, that hurts…”

  Her anger grew. “Why are you following me? Tell me or I’ll…”

  “Let him go, please.”

  A scruffy old man with a gray beard and a steel-handled cane stood behind her. “What do you want?” Something tickled in the back of her mind. “Wait a minute. I remember you. You’re that old man I saw a few months back. What was your name?” She snapped the fingers on her free hand. “Regent, that was it. Regent.”

  The man she held against the tree whimpered. “Regent, hey, help me out here.”

  Regent raised his free hand. “Could you kindly let my associate Mr. Allard go?”

  Ally glared at him, but let Allard go. He staggered away, watching her with a half-terrified expression. “Associate? You mean you work with this guy?” Regent nodded. “Then you were following me the other day, at the coffeehouse.”

  Regent lifted his free hand. “You have to understand. We weren’t following you. We had to…”

  “Bullshit,” Ally snarled, her temper building to a fever pitch. “What are you, some kind of stalkers? Kidnappers? Or just a pair of perverts?”

  Regent’s eyes glinted. “It’s nothing like that.” He hesitated. “I may have to tell you some things…”

  “I don’t want to hear anything from you,” said Ally. “Stop following me. Do you understand? Stop following me. Or else I’ll call the police.” Her temper burned hotter. “No, forget the police. If you keep following me, they’ll need to call the police once I’m done with you. Understand?”

  A bit of anger burned in Regent’s eyes. He pointed his cane at her. “Damn it, listen to me…”

  White fire blazed in Ally’s mind

  She moved faster than she had ever thought possible. Her left hand clamped over Regent’s cane. She twisted, wrenched the cane from his hand, and leveled the tip at his throat.

  Regent raised his hands, his face very still.

  “Holy shit,” said Allard.

  Ally’s hands trembled. “No, you listen to me. Stop following me. Understand? Stop following me!” The cane felt warm beneath her hands, its surface seeming to vibrate. She scowled, threw the cane to the ground, and stalked away.

  After a moment she looked over her shoulder.

  No one followed her.

  ###

  Allard winced, rubbed his arm, and began picking pieces of bark from his cheek. “Why are the hot ones always psycho?”

  “Allard,” said Regent.

  Allard nodded. “I know, I know. I’m an idiot.”

  Regent smirked. “Smart lad.” He grimaced, hobbled a few steps, and retrieved his cane.

  “God, she’s fast. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone get the drop on you,” said Allard, picking the last piece of bark from his cheek. “At least she didn’t break the cane over your head.”

  Regent sighed. “She almost did.”

  “So are we going to stop shadowing her?” said Allard.

  Regent picked some dead leaves from the handle of his cane. “Don’t be absurd. We don’t dare leave her alone, not with the way those changelings are prowling the city. And sooner or later we’re going to have to tell her everything.”

  “And hope we don’t get any bones broken in the process.”

  They returned to the sidewalk, Regent’s cane tapping against the concrete. “Marugon’s looking for her.”

  That stopped Allard in his tracks. “What? How? That’s impossible. You said Marugon thought she was dead.”

  “I might have been mistaken,” said Regent. “Marugon thinks Lithon is dead, I know that much. He must not have known about her when I…when Lithon’s death was faked. But think about it, son. What have we been doing every night for the last two weeks?”

  Allard shuddered. “Hunting changelings.”

  “Aye, son. Hunting changelings. And those changelings are looking for someone. I can feel the Voice of the black magic on them, compelling them to search. We’ve seen more winged ones flying overhead at night. And sometimes I can sense Marugon’s power hanging over the city. They’re looking for Ally.”

  “Okay,” said Allard. “Then how does Marugon know about her?”

  “He must have sensed her,” said Regent. “Whatever’s locked away inside her is getting stronger. It probably plays hell with her dreams. No wonder she’s so irritable. My skill with the white magic is feeble, and even I can sense it without even trying. Like letters of white fire written on her brow. Marugon must be able to sense her from five miles away. The changelings and the winged ones are creatures of the black magic. They must be able to sense her as well.”

  “So why hasn’t he found her yet?”

  Regent snorted and raised a bushy eyebrow. “Give me a little credit, son. It’s because of us. Marugon would have killed her and her entire family months ago if it were not for us.” He rapped his cane against the sidewalk. “But I think things will come to a head soon. Alastarius’s Prophecy is going to come true.”

  “How do you know?” said Allard.

  “Wycliffe’s going to win the election,” said Regent. “We both know it’s going to happen.” The thought made Allard sick, but he could not deny it. “And if we know anything about that scheming soulless black-hearted bastard,” his voice rose in anger, “then he’ll be president in short order. William Jones is either a fool or a patsy. Or both. And Alastarius Prophesied that Lithon would bring him back. Something has to happen soon. Maybe Ally has something to do with it. But I’ll tell you one thing, son. My old bones know a storm’s coming. I’ve lived through quite a few of them in my life, and I know something’s going to happen soon. We’ve got to be ready.”

  Allard swallowed. “What are we going to do?”

  “Keep following her, of course…at a safer distance.” Allard rubbed his aching arm. “But sooner or later, we’re going to have to tell her the truth about who she is. I don’t think she remembers. Not surprising; I don’t want to remember my own past most of the time. But we’ll have to tell her.”

  “She won’t listen to us,” said Allard. “She thinks we’re stalkers.”

  “Well, we’ll make her listen,” said Regent.

  “Why not talk to her parents?”

  Regent froze. “What?”

  Allard stammered. “Um…well…from what you’ve told me, her parents know. They’ve never told her the truth about herself, right? Or to Lithon?”

  “Go on.”

  “We could let them know just how much danger they’re in. Then they could tell her. Maybe she’d even work with us. We could take her someplace safe.”

  Regent remained silent.

  Allard groaned. “It’s a bad idea, isn’t it?”

  Regent laughed. “Not by half. Sometimes you surprise even me.” He sighed. “We’ll talk to the parents, but not quite yet.” He stared off into space. “They’ll be rather surprised to see me.”

  Chapter 6 - A Rescue

  Anno Domini 2012

  Night fell as Arran hurried back to the sunken woods where he had made his camp, thinking over his encounter with the winged demon driving the black van.

  He had been right – one of the United States’ rulers had made an agreement with Marugon. Or had Marugon raised the man to power? No matter. Tomorrow Arran would begin his hunt. He would ask about this Senator Wycliffe and his associate Kurkov. With luck
he could learn more about them.

  A new question rose in Arran’s mind. What had happened to Lithon and this unknown girl after they had arrived on Earth? Had they had gone through the door marked with Marugon’s sigil? It likely led to Senator Wycliffe’s citadel. And Wycliffe would have turned the children over to Marugon.

  Arran shook his head. Speculation would only drive him mad. He needed more facts. But he did know that Wycliffe consorted with Marugon and winged demons.

  If Arran found Wycliffe, he would kill him on sight.

  Arran approached the large white house as a blue jeep pulled into the driveway, its lights flashing over the lawn. Arran caught a glimpse of three men leaning against the garage.

  Curious, he came to a stop, taking care to remain unseen.

  The blue jeep came to a shuddering stop, and the old woman with the thick braid he had seen yesterday climbed out. The men stepped out of the shadows of garage and approached her. All of them wore masks that left only their eyes and mouths uncovered.

  “Thieves,” muttered Arran.

  He hurried forward.

  The old woman stopped. “Might I ask,” she said coldly, “what you are doing in my driveway?”

  “Yeah, you can ask,” said the man, “and I’ll answer. Your purse, your car keys, your house keys, now.”

  The old woman turned to run, but another of the men circled behind her. The lead thug reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun. “Don’t even think about screaming. Or running.” He jerked his head at one of the other men. “Tie her up and tape up her mouth.”

  One of the men slammed the old woman against the car, his hand clamping over her mouth. Her eyes widened and she kicked the thief in the stomach. He growled and slammed her again. “Damn it, just shoot the bitch…”

  Arran’s hands worked in smooth motions as he loaded one of his pistols. These men were no different than Marugon’s soldiers, murderers and thieves and rabble.

  Arran stepped out of the shadows and leveled his gun. “Let her go now or I’ll kill you all.”

  The thug with the gun turned. “Who the hell…”

  “A witness!” said the thug holding the woman. “Kill him, quick…”

  The thug raised his gun, but Arran was faster. The thief screamed as Arran’s bullet exploded his hand in spray of blood and bone. The second thug lunged at Arran, a knife flashing in his hand, and Arran shot him in both knees. The third thief released the woman and ran for the street, at least until Arran shot him in the back of the leg. The thug shrieked and fell to the ground, writhing.

  Arran considered killing all three of them. Then again, killing them would likely draw the attention of Chicago’s rulers, something Arran did not want. He shrugged and dropped the weapon back into its holster. “Madam. Are you injured?”

  The old woman shook her head, her eyes very wide. “No…no, I’m well. Just a bit queasy, I’m afraid. I’ve seen men shot before, but…it’s never a good thing.”

  Arran nodded. “I understand.”

  “You came at a good time,” said the old woman. A piercing wail cut the night air. Arran turned, his hand dropping back to his gun butt. “What is that?”

  “A siren,” said the woman. “Someone likely called the police.”

  “Police,” said Arran, remembering what Robert had told him. “The city guardsmen. Damnation. I must go.”

  “Wait,” said the old woman.

  “It would be best if they did not see me,” said Arran. “I have committed no crime, at least not on this world. But they would not understand.”

  “Then…can you hide yourself?” said the old woman. Arran nodded. “Then hide. I wish to speak after the police leave. You did save my life, after all.”

  Arran considered for a moment. Could he trust the old woman? He needed someone to tell him about Earth, and he suspected she was a scholar. Her knowledge might prove very useful. “Very well.”

  He looked around, slid under the back porch, and waited.

  A few minutes later several white jeeps, bright flashing lights on their ceilings, screeched into the driveway.

  ###

  One of the police officers bent over, holding a black cylinder in his hand. A beam of bright light shone from the cylinder’s crystalline top. Arran remained motionless, wrapped in his cloak. The policeman swept the light from his cylinder under the porch, grunted, and then walked away. Arran sighed in relief and twisted his head to watch the driveway.

  “So you’re unharmed, ma’am?” said the commander of the policemen, a stout older man with thinning brown hair. Other men in blue uniforms with white crosses on their arms had appeared in a boxy white jeep. They bundled the wounded thugs to metal stretchers, treating their wounds.

  “Yes, I’m quite well,” said the old woman, her arms folded. “Thanks to the timely intervention of that young man with good aim.”

  “So you’ve no idea who these men are?” said the commander.

  The old woman shook her head. “No. I’d never seen any of them before.”

  One of the younger policemen walked up and whispered in the commander’s ear. The older man grunted. “I thought so. The descriptions matched. Group of home-invasion robbers. Shot a woman in the leg a few days back. List of charges is about a mile long.” He scratched his hair. “So you have no idea about this fourth man?”

  “None,” said the old woman. “I’d never seen him before in his life. He shot the hoodlums and disappeared right away.”

  Another of the younger policemen approached. “We’ve checked the house, the yard, and the woods. No sign of this shooter. He’s probably fifty miles away by now.” Arran rolled his eyes.

  “Well, I certainly didn’t shoot these men myself,” said the old woman. The blue-suited physicians loaded the bundled thugs into the boxy white jeep. “I don’t even own a firearm.”

  The commander spread his hands, a gold ring flashing on his finger. “No one’s doubting that, ma’am. You’ll want to testify, I assume?”

  “Oh, yes,” said the old woman. “I don’t take kindly to hoodlums.”

  “I have to say,” said the commander, tucking a notepad into his jacket pocket, “you’re taking this remarkably well.”

  The old woman gave him a thin smile. “I was held captive in Syria for two weeks some years back. Armed men, regrettably, are nothing new to my experience.”

  The commander’s watery eyes widened. “Must be a hell of a story. We’ll keep a cruiser in this area in case you have any more trouble. Doubt you will, though.” He chewed his thick lip. “As for this fourth fellow, I’ll bet he was a disgruntled associate. Or some old grudge. Something like that, I’ll bet.”

  “If I see anything, I’ll let you know at once,” said the old woman.

  The commander plopped his cap onto his head. “Thank you, Dr. Francis. We’ll be in touch.” He and his underlings walked back to their jeeps. The whole caravan of vehicles pulled out into the street and pulled away one by one, and soon Dr. Francis stood alone in the driveway.

  She walked over to the porch.

  “You’ll want to come inside, I assume. Be careful. They probably have someone watching the house.” She climbed the steps and opened the back door. Arran crawled from under the porch, gathered his cloak about him, and vaulted over the railing in a dark blur. He rolled into the house, and Dr. Francis shut the door behind her. Arran stood and looked around the kitchen. The counters gleamed, while polished pots and pans hung from iron hooks in the walls.

  “This way,” said Dr. Francis. She strode into a large dining room, lit from a glowing lamp suspended from the ceiling. More stuffed bookshelves ringed the room, and books and papers covered the surface of the table. Dr. Francis moved with confidence and assurance, despite her brush with death. And her eyes held a keen, razor-edged intelligence he had not seen often on this world.

  She reminded him of a Wizard. Perhaps she could answer some of his questions.

  “Quite a collection,” said Arran, looking over the tomes.<
br />
  “Thank you.” Dr. Francis cleared the papers from two of the chairs. “I like to read. Please, sit.” Arran sat, and Dr. Francis sat across from him. “I suppose I ought to introduce myself. I am Dr. Heloise Francis.”

  Arran nodded. “Pardon my ignorance, but is ‘Doctor’ your name or a title of some sort?”

  She frowned. “A title.”

  “So you are nobility, then?” He had come to believe that this world, or at least this nation, did not possess peasants and merchants and nobles as he thought of them.

  “No. The title is earned through scholarship.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, in most cases. I could name some egregious exceptions. But what is your name?”

  “Arran Belphon.” He saw no reason to lie. “Why did you not tell the policemen about me?”

  Dr. Francis folded her hands and put them on the table. “For one, you probably saved my life.” Arran nodded. “Second, I do not trust the police.”

  “They are corrupt, then?” said Arran, thinking of Senator Wycliffe.

  “Not always.” Dr. Francis looked up at the ceiling. “I’ve traveled to many countries, Mr. Belphon, and the Chicago police are better than most. But the police have power, and power almost always corrupts.”

  “Agreed,” said Arran, thinking of the guns’ power.

  “And I don’t think you would want to be found by the police,” said Dr. Francis, pointing at his belt, “the way you carry those guns so openly.” Arran nodded again. “So, this leads to my third reason. I wanted to talk with you. You piqued my curiosity. You are quite unlike any man I have ever seen before.”

  “Indeed?” said Arran.

  “As I mentioned, I’ve traveled to many foreign countries. Yet I’ve never met anyone who walked as you did, spoke with your accent, or displayed your mannerisms and behaviors. And your swords. I’m something of an expert in archaic weaponry yet I’ve never seen blades quite like yours.”

  Arran touched his Sacred Blade’s hilt. “Would you like to see it?”

  Dr. Francis’s eyes gleamed. “May I?”