by Arjay Lewis
“But what about the Five?” Eddie said.
“In time, as staffs were found, the wise began to form groups. The Five started the first coven.”
“Why five?”
“Their staffs represented each of the elements: fire, water, earth, air, and the most powerful of all—spirit.”
“That’s the one you carry, right?”
A smile crept onto Marlowe’s face. “I do. Originally, the Five were drawn together from different parts of the planet. They banded their power together and traveled. They taught spiritual concepts to many cultures in different ways.”
Eddie could see a man speaking to vast crowds, a staff in his hands, and a loving look in his eyes.
“Thousands of years ago, by mortal reckoning, the world was influenced by many beings who called themselves gods. The Five struck down many of these old gods and their practices of human sacrifice.”
The glass in Eddie’s hand began to glow, and mist swirled within. He saw a red-skinned demon with fierce claws and huge horns upon his head, towering over much smaller men. “One such was Abraxas. Abraxas was the Supreme God of the Basilidians.”
“The who?”
“Basilidians. Don’t worry, they all died out.”
As Marlowe spoke, Eddie saw thousands of people bowing down to a huge statue that was fashioned like the giant demon.
“Never heard of him before today.”
Marlowe nodded. “Oh, you have.”
Eddie saw the image of a red serpent as it crawled on an apple tree and spoke to a naked woman.
Eve? Eddie thought. Could that story be true?
“According to legend, Abraxas has three hundred and sixty-five different personas.”
“One for each day of the year?” Eddie observed.
Different shapes flashed in the glass: reptiles, animals, strange creatures that Eddie could not recognize, all the same dark-red color as the demon.
“Yes, and he has the ability to transform to any one of them at will. It took the combined might of the Five to stop him, and even they could not destroy him, but merely bind him in other dimensions.”
Eddie looked into the glass and saw five robed figures as they focused the colored lights from their staffs and made the red demon disappear and the huge temple behind him crumble.
“Each staff has been passed down from master to apprentice. The Five have faced him time and again. He has worn many different names: Satan, Beelzebub, the great dragon, the serpent, the corrupter of souls.”
Eddie lowered the glass. “You mean you guys are going to take on the devil? I mean, like the actual devil?”
Marlowe nodded, and Eddie noticed that he suddenly looked old. “Yes,” he whispered. “Each time he has found new worshippers who use dark magic to bring him back to this world through the shedding of blood.”
“You mean—” Eddie gasped, his mouth fell open.
“That’s right. Abraxas gains strength through human sacrifice. People must die to empower him.”
“Damn.”
“He was very busy during the twentieth century, as you can well imagine. The last time he was imprisoned was a scant seventy years ago at the end of the conflict you know as World War Two.”
“Were you there?” Eddie asked.
“Aye, and before we removed him from this dimension, he gave man the knowledge of nuclear weapons. Since then, although he was unable to affect the mortal world, that invention created havoc.”
“The Cold War,” Eddie considered. “But he failed. We didn‘t blow ourselves up.”
“Due to his banishment and the influence of those who walk the path. I’d hoped we would have a few more decades before we were wont to combat Abraxas again. However, things have changed. Instead of tracking him down, he is hunting us.”
“Why?”
“Something has emboldened him greatly. I believe he killed Riftstone in his guise of a giant demon.”
Eddie considered the forensic evidence Doctor Warren shared with him. Now, it all fit. “So, he’s our killer? And if I’m following you right, he’s even stronger because he shed Riftstone’s blood.”
Marlowe nodded. “Yes, but Riftstone could not have been the first. The Great Evil must find a way into this world, and transcending the barriers would weaken him. He would need a way to increase his power before he would dare strike at a wizard.”
“Is there another way he could get power?”
Marlowe looked up from the crystal in Eddie’s hand. “I can only assume that he had help.”
“You mean someone who got him a sacrifice?”
Marlowe nodded. “There are always those willing to kill for the gifts he can bring them.”
Fourteen
The ball in Eddie’s hand grew dark, and he handed it back to Marlowe who put it into the pocket of his robe.
“So, where am I?” Eddie asked to break the silence.
“My home. Forgive me for not telling you.”
“How did I get here?” Eddie turned to examine the room around him. It was decorated with antiques, but each in mint condition. There stood a large bureau and dresser made of a fine-grained wood finished in a dark lacquer and kept in good condition so the wood shimmered in the candlelight.
There was not a spot of dust on the round end table near the bed, which was a huge four-poster monstrosity that enveloped one corner of the room. Several large windows were covered with heavy, burgundy drapes. Artwork adorned the walls, all of it as ancient and well-cared for as the furniture.
“I brought you here. Trefoil helped.”
“You’re stronger than you look. Is it still dark out?” Eddie asked, gesturing at the heavy drapes.
“I must keep the windows covered, for the benefit of…one of my guests.”
Eddie looked down at himself. He still wore the simple red tunic of the previous night, but his feet were bare. He stared blankly at his wrist, trying to ascertain the time. His wristwatch was still gone.
“What time is it?” Eddie asked. He felt rested, in spite of his rude awakening, now that the killing headache was gone.
“It’s six-thirty,” Marlowe stated.
“Six-thirty?” Eddie said as his jaw fell open. “As in the morning?”
“Yes, as in the morning,” Marlowe replied.
“Aw jeez.” Eddie felt his robe for a pocket, in a useless attempt to locate his phone. “I gotta call my wife—”
“Eddie, why don’t you take a shower?” Marlowe said calmly. “I will make sure your clothes are returned to their former condition while you wash. Speaking with you has given me ideas. I must act on them.”
“But—” Eddie decided he really didn’t have a choice.
“Bring your staff,” Marlowe instructed as he walked out the door.
Eddie shot a look around the room and located the archaic wooden pole near the large bed.
Eddie grabbed the stick and stepped into the hall. It was also dimly lit, with dark wood on the floor and as wainscoting. The walls were coated with a very clean and tasteful dusky wallpaper.
Several sconces stood out from the wall. As Eddie drew near, he could see that while three candles burned in each, they were not being consumed. No smoke rose from them, and the wax did not liquefy.
Marlowe stood in front of an open door. He gestured Eddie in. It was a large bathroom, the walls and floor covered to the ceiling with tiny white and black tiles. In the room stood a huge claw-foot bathtub that could easily fit a family of four—with room for a water buffalo. From several chains hung a tubular circle which held a shower curtain.
Eddie entered, awed by the twelve-foot ceiling and the expanse of space.
“Hang your robe on the towel rack, and I’ll take care of everything,” Marlowe said as he shut the door.
“You’ll take care of everything?” he muttered. “How about telling my wife where I’ve been all night?”
This room was lit with an overhead light, making the candelabrum unnecessary. Eddie walked to the shower c
urtain and pulled it aside.
“Boo!” Bob said from his hiding place in the shower.
“Ah!” Eddie fell back as he raised his staff reflexively.
Energy crackled and flashed like bolts of red lightning around them. It bounced off the walls and the sink, and made the water in the commode leap as it struck.
“NO! NO!” Bob screamed as the voltage discharged, popped, and sizzled around him, “I sorry, I sorry, don’t hurt me!”
But one of the fire bolts made contact with his hind quarters, and with a screech of fear, Bob passed through the closed door, his tail smoldering as he went.
Eddie rose, the output of pyrotechnics over as quickly as it started. “Showed you!” He panted as he stared at the staff. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
He gingerly laid the staff next to the towel rack and hung up his robe.
Eddie got under the hot water, which was the exact right temperature the moment he turned it on. He began to wash, and found his favorite shampoo and conditioner waited on a metal shelf that hung from the curtain rod. He couldn’t recall if it had been there when he began to shower, but he used the products gratefully.
He got out of the tub and grabbed a fluffy black towel and began to dry his face. As he pulled the thirsty cotton away from his eyes, he saw that on the rack, the red robe was replaced by his suit of the previous day. It was on a wooden hanger and looked freshly pressed. He also saw his good shoes under a stack of clean underwear and socks.
But, most important, his service weapon and shoulder holster dangled from the hanger in front of the suit. He stepped over, removed the pistol, pulled the magazine, and made sure it was functioning correctly before he returned it to the hanging harness.
He looked at himself in the mirror and picked up the electric razor from the sink. He began to shave, pleased at how well the small machine cut the tough hairs under his neck.
He dressed. As he put on the boxer shorts and tee shirt, he reached into the jacket pocket and felt his cell phone, which lay there unaware that it had disappeared at all.
Eddie quickly hit the button, and his home phone began to ring.
“H-hello?” came a tired voice at the other end.
“Cerise, honey? It’s Eddie.”
“Eddie!” Cerise’s voice rose in volume. “What happened, where are you? My God, are you in the hospital?”
“No,” Eddie gave a quick laugh. He wanted to tell her where he was, but realized he didn’t really know. “I’m at—the station. I must’ve fallen asleep.”
There was a long silence at the other end of the phone.
“That was my first thought, Edward.”
She’s calling me Edward, he thought, I am in serious trouble.
“That’s why I sent Luis to look for you. He said you weren’t in the bunk rooms at the precinct.”
Busted.
“I fell asleep in the locker room,” Eddie tried to sound like it was all a silly misunderstanding. “Went down to change and lay down on a bench to rest my eyes and off I went.”
“I see,” Cerise’s tone suggested the only thing she saw was Eddie rotating on a spit over a very tall fire.
“Really, honey,” Eddie hoped he sounded less pathetic in his wife’s ear than he did in his own.
“I have been up all night worried about you, Edward Joseph Berman,” Cerise chided.
She was using his middle name. That was even worse.
Cerise went on. “I was sure that you were shot and lying in some ditch, bleeding to death. Now you call me up to tell me, ‘Oh, honey I fell asleep in the locker room.’ That is the most ridiculous excuse I have ever heard, and if you think that I am so stupid as to believe it, then you have a damn low opinion of me.”
“Cerise, baby,” Eddie soothed.
“Go to hell,” she shrilled as she slammed down the phone.
Eddie looked at his phone, then returned it to his suit pocket. “For all I know, that’s where I was,” he shook his head. “I guarantee it’s where I’ll be when I get home.”
Eddie put on his shirt, his holster and weapon, and checked to make sure that his jacket covered the bulge. Finally, he grabbed his staff, and left with one last look, wondering how Marlowe found a place to live in New York City with such a great bathroom.
In the hall, he had no idea which direction to go. He couldn’t recall which way he’d come in the dimly lit vestibule.
“Lost?” a voice came from behind him.
Eddie leapt around quickly, his staff raised. A tall man stood behind him, and with lightning speed grabbed Eddie’s upraised arm.
“Sir,” the man held Eddie’s staff in place. “Let’s not have any accidents, shall we? I’ve been changed into far too many things for one lifetime.”
The man wore a pleasant look on his face. He possessed fine features, and was as handsome as a Greek statue and almost as pale. His hair was short and black as a raven, and his eyes appeared to glow.
“I…I…,” Eddie stammered, dumbfounded.
“I’ll show you the way downstairs,” the man gently released Eddie’s arm. “Marlowe is waiting.”
“Who are you?” Eddie asked as he followed the man down the hall.
The man stopped, turned. “Oh, forgive me, bad manners.” He extended his hand with a fluidity of movement. “Kraft, Daniel Kraft. I’m one of Marlowe’s guests—you might even say I work for him.”
“You aren’t sure?”
The man sighed, and gave Eddie a sad smile as they began to walk again. “I’m afraid I can’t say exactly how I fit into Marlowe’s world. He gives me a room here, helps me when I need it, and I get information unavailable to him.”
“The guy’s a wizard. What doesn’t he know?” Eddie said, and found it odd he couldn’t take his eyes off the good-looking man.
“There are dark forces that oppose what he does,” Kraft mused solemnly. “He cannot be associated with them—but it is not my place to instruct you. Marlowe will tell you what you need to know.”
They reached the top of a staircase with light marble steps circling several times in a downward spiral toward a brighter first floor. The entire center tube was wrapped with black painted wrought iron. The thin bars ran from the floor to the ceiling, with alternating decorative rods between each support. These shorter rods were shaped with fleur-de-lis and pointed tops and bottoms, and ran in a diagonal design that complemented the twisting stairs. Above him, Eddie could see a pulley mechanism in the ceiling with steel cables which ran to a tubular elevator inside the center of the staircase. It was a magnificent artifice, but Eddie suspected the elevator was too ancient to actually work.
“How long is this stairway?” Eddie leaned over the edge to peer down.
“Several floors,” Kraft stayed in the shadows and avoided the edge. “The daylight doesn’t penetrate this level.”
“Why?” Eddie said.
Again Kraft flashed him that sad smile, as if something terribly ironic passed through his mind.
“Something else that Marlowe will tell you,” Kraft explained as his eyes caught the dim light in a most unusual way. “I understand you have much to learn.”
Eddie’s gaze returned to the stairway. “And every minute it’s like I know less.”
“I might suggest a good place to start. You’re a police officer, is that right?”
“Homicide.”
“Difficult line of work. Are you accomplished at it?”
Eddie nodded. “I’m a lieutenant.”
“If you’ve risen that high, you have the stamina for what you are undertaking now.”
“So what’s your advice?” Eddie inquired.
“Trust your instincts," Kraft shook Eddie’s hand. “Nice meeting you, lieutenant.”
He turned and headed away down the passageway where he faded into the shadowy corridor.
Fifteen
As Eddie descended the stairs, he considered what Kraft had told him. It was sound advice.
When he was a rookie,
he always second-guessed himself. He only became good at the job when he went with his gut and trusted his instincts. That was how he made lieutenant.
He went down the last step and looked at the ceiling that towered above his head like a dome. The rest of the room sparkled from floors of polished marble and walls painted taupe. The woodwork was the same as upstairs, except as sunlight streamed in, the wood appeared more warm and inviting.
“Eddie!” a voice called out, and he turned to see Marlowe, fully dressed and with his walking stick. He wore a green velvet jacket with a robin’s egg blue shirt, and carried a large book in a heavy leather binding. “Would you join me in the breakfast room?”
Eddie gave a nod, then closed his eyes and thought of the staff’s other form. As soon as he did, he could feel it become lighter and smaller. He opened his eyes to see the black card in his hand, which he then slipped into his wallet as he approached Marlowe.
“Very good, Eddie,” Marlowe beamed. “You didn’t need me to walk you through the process. It is good that you learn quickly. Come.”
They walked into another room, not as grand as the first, but still impressive. Another vaulted ceiling rose up impossibly high. There were two fireplaces, one at either end of the room, beautiful tapestries over the marble floors, and a mixture of fine furniture: overstuffed chairs, comfortable sofas, and small tables. Everything looked old and valuable, yet in perfect condition.
“What is this, a meeting hall?”
“Sometimes, Eddie, but it’s actually my living room,” Marlowe led Eddie through a side door. They perambulated into a large sun porch. It had windows on three sides with a view of a small garden and a brick wall. There was a beautifully hand-carved wooden table with ten chairs around it. At one end, on a linen tablecloth, were several silver chafing dishes.
Marlowe picked up a china plate from a stack, handed it to Eddie, and opened the first chafing dish, which exposed scrambled eggs.
“I’ve eaten, please help yourself,” Marlowe sat at the table and opened a large, dusty book.
Eddie began to serve himself. “This isn’t what I expected.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I thought after last night, you’d have the dishes floating and coffee appearing in my cup—things like that.”
