by Arjay Lewis
“No, no, I need to speak to them,” Eddie affirmed and put his head near his wife’s ear. “I’ll be late tonight.”
“That’s fine,” she whispered back. “Just please come home. And take good care of my big, black man.”
Eddie smiled and with a nod to Luis, Cerise left.
“I thought you didn’t get anywhere with the case,” Luis folded his arms as he carefully observed Eddie and Marlowe.
“I’m afraid I wasn’t much help,” Marlowe admitted, “but the lieutenant was very thorough. He asked to meet with several people—possible witnesses.”
Luis looked at Eddie with one eyebrow raised.
Luis is not buying this, Eddie thought, then too enthusiastically he declared loudly, “At least we can try!”
“Sure,” Luis agreed, suspicion still in his eyes. “I could tag along, Eddie, help you question the witnesses.”
Marlowe glanced at Eddie. “That’s a kind gesture, sergeant. But some of them are elderly. I think two policemen might intimidate them.”
Eddie tried to look thoughtful. “I think you’re right, Mister—”
“Marlowe.”
“That’s right,” Eddie snapped his fingers as if the memory just returned. “Luis, it’s probably better if I talk to them. You know, kid gloves.”
Luis nodded, his mouth a tight line.
“Now, about that homeless gentleman you asked about,” Marlowe continued, and Eddie could see that something was wrong.
“Yes?”
“I’m afraid he’s in the hospital,” Marlowe explained. “I know you’re busy, but—”
“I should talk to him, if he’s conscious,” Eddie instructed. “Luis, can you hold down the fort?”
“Yes sir, lieutenant,” Luis responded and looked as if he’d like to punch Eddie.
With a nod, Eddie followed Marlowe as the older man walked along with his cane.
Luis watched them leave, and considered that the entire incident was just a little too convenient. He also wondered how the older man had known he was a sergeant.
Eighteen
Eddie drove his car with Marlowe in the passenger seat as they rode south down Park Avenue on the way to Bellevue, New York’s premier hospital. Neither had spoken since they got in the car.
“So how the hell did all that happen?” Eddie ventured.
“I beg your pardon?” Marlowe responded.
“Hank showed up just in time to settle things with my wife. How could he remember me in the locker room? That was just some lame-ass excuse I came up with.”
Marlowe nodded, “I was aware of your—how did you put it—‘lame-ass excuse.’”
“But that doesn’t explain—”
“I was on my way to see you and I became aware of your wife parking her car,” Marlowe explained. “Since I had observed you from afar last night, I recognized her. So, all I did was touch the mind of your evidence clerk and gave him an overwhelming desire to have you sign a paper.”
“But all that stuff about seeing me-”
“Memory is a peculiar thing, especially to the untrained mind. It’s misty and open to reinterpretation. I merely planted a situation within his mind.”
Eddie exhaled. “So, he remembers something that never happened.”
Marlowe shrugged. “Well, he did go down to the locker room this morning. He has seen you there on occasion. But, the specific recollection, I placed there. It is a useful skill, Eddie. When a supernatural event occurs and there are witnesses, it is sometimes necessary to alter memories.”
Eddie looked out the windshield and smiled. “And that’s how your coven stays secret.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, you saved my bacon.”
“You not going home last night was my fault. It is only right that I resolve the situation.”
“So, Trefoil is in the hospital?”
Marlowe’s face went grim. “Yes. Bankrock was able to locate him. I also spoke to a witness to his attack.”
“A witness? Why didn’t you bring him to the station? I could’ve questioned him.”
“That would not have been a good choice,” Marlowe insisted. “He was a member of SCAN.”
“SCAN?”
“The Squirrel Combined Action Network. A friend of mine, Quiptail, told me. Trefoil was indeed attacked exactly as Frisha divined.”
The car was silent.
“Quiptail?” Eddie repeated flatly. “He’s a squirrel?”
“That’s right.”
“And he was a witness?”
“He does get around,” Marlowe suggested. “Very little goes on in the park that the squirrels don’t see.”
“You talk to squirrels.”
“An extra language is always a boon, Eddie.”
“Since I can’t do follow-up with your witness, how is Trefoil?” Eddie said.
“He survived,” Marlowe’s face grew hard. “But he is in a state of catalepsy.”
“That’s the Dark Sleep thing, right?”
“Yes.”
“Will he come out of it?”
Marlowe nodded. “That’s why I came for you, Eddie.”
“What can I do?”
"Wizards must combine their powers to rouse one in such a state. Perhaps you and I together-”
“Marlowe, I just did my first lesson this morning, and blew it pretty bad. You want me to try when it’s a matter of life and death?”
Marlowe sighed. “I am afraid that you must learn through trial by fire, Eddie. Abraxas has, in seventy-two hours, attacked and defeated two expert wizards.”
“That worries you?”
“More than that, I assure you,” Marlowe stroked his beard. “Not since the ancient days, when he had temples and worshippers by the score did he demonstrate such power. I told Bankrock to research the histories to find out as much as possible. There has to be something we overlooked.” He faced the windshield with his jaw set. “But first, we must divine a way to get to Trefoil.”
“That I can handle,” Eddie said. He pulled out his cell phone and spoke a name as he drove.
“Who are you calling?” Marlowe asked.
“The cavalry.”
Marlowe frowned. “I fail to see how horseback warriors could help.”
They pulled into Bellevue’s parking lot on First Avenue. Eddie’s badge helped a great deal to get past the security checkpoint and into the special lot reserved for police and emergency vehicles.
They made their way to the main lobby where they were directed to the charity wing, the place many of the city’s indigent were given healthcare.
As they walked through the hallways, it was obvious where the facility changed into the wing designed for the poor. The walls grew dirtier, the faces more glum, and a feeling of overwork was almost a scent in the air.
There were many people who sat on benches or stood about the large unkempt waiting room, as they waited to hear of loved ones. There was also a clinic section for people to be treated for minor injuries, or to receive needed inoculations.
Eddie approached the receptionist, a meaty nurse who looked like she’d seen it all, done it all, and then kicked its ass for bothering her. He showed his shield.
“That don’t mean much here, buddy,” she said with a cursory glance at the badge. “Whaddayaneed?”
“You had a John Doe brought in this morning?” Eddie said. “Black guy, curly gray beard?”
She nodded, grabbed a file, and gave it a quick perusal. “At least he didn’t stink like half of ‘em.”
“Thank you, Miss Alcott,” Marlowe smiled at her.
She blinked for a moment. “How did you…” she started to say, then decided he merely read her name tag.
“Has he been treated?” Eddie asked.
Her expression hardened as she returned her eyes to Eddie. She checked the folder. “Haven’t gotten the blood work back, and you may have noticed, we’re pretty busy here. Got him hooked up to an IV and monitors, and he’s stable. That’s about all
we can do.”
“We need to see him,” Eddie reached for the folder.
She batted his hand away. “Officer, this is a hospital. You ain’t seeing nobody unless you got a doctor with you.”
“Got here as fast as I could, Eddie,” came a voice behind them.
Eddie turned to see Doctor Beverly Warren walk up to the reception desk, a Bellevue ID around her neck.
Miss Alcott’s expression softened. “Doctor Warren, I didn’t know you were scheduled for today.”
“I’m not, but I will take Lieutenant Berman up to see the patient,” she spoke without any anger or malice, and simply put her hand out for the folder.
Instantly cowed, Miss Alcott handed it over.
Beverly turned and strode off, with Eddie fast on her heels. Marlowe gave Miss Alcott a wink as he turned away, and she felt herself flush like a schoolgirl.
She touched her lapel, and found she wasn’t wearing her name tag, and wondered how the white-haired man had known her name.
Eddie caught up to Beverly. “On the phone you said you could help. I didn’t know you worked here.”
“I volunteer here, Eddie.” She threw her chestnut hair back. “The charity ward needs doctors, and I need to treat patients that are not corpses. It makes me better at my job.”
“How?”
She exhaled deeply, almost a sigh. “I need to remember that the dead aren’t just bodies, but real people that once laughed and spoke and were loved.” She opened the file. “Well, I got you in, what’s your interest?”
“He’s a witness in the case of the dismembered homeless guy.”
She looked at the report as they walked. “Another John Doe? Have we got a perp who targets the homeless?”
Eddie stepped in front of her, and she stopped. “I don’t know, but if so, it’s my case, there’s no ‘we’ here.”
Her mouth grew hard. “Oh, Eddie, you’re so masculine when you become territorial,” Beverly said, her expression not shifting. “You want my help, or do you just want to stuff it up your ass?”
“Of course, your help would be most useful, Doctor Warren,” Marlowe said, which made Beverly turn to face him.
“Pardon me,” she replied and looked back and forth to the two men. “Who are you?”
“Marlowe. I’m a friend of the John Doe, who by the way, is named Trey.”
“Charmed, I’m sure,” she deadpanned. “So the civilian gets an in on the case but I’m interfering.” She thrust the file at Eddie, and turned to storm away. “Good luck, lieutenant.”
“Doctor…Beverly, please, I’m sorry.” Eddie rushed to her to gently touch her arm. “I do need your help. I’ve just had a rough night. I’m sorry.”
She looked back at him and crossed her arms adamantly. “Sorry?”
“Very, very, sorry,” Eddie repeated, then added. “I’m a jerk.”
Beverly visibly relaxed. She cocked a finger at Eddie’s face. “Okay, groveling accepted, but watch your mouth. I don’t leave my morgue to run all over the city because some hotshot cop phones me.”
“You’re right, and I appreciate it.”
“Now, good lady, can you tell us what room he is in?” Marlowe asked.
“Cute,” Beverly eyed Marlowe. “You’re the real gentleman. He doesn't have a room; he’s in the Intensive Care ward.”
“Intensive Care?” Eddie considered. “That’s not good.”
She retrieved the file from Eddie and looked at it again. “He’s stable, but he’s comatose. They need to keep track of his vitals in case he takes a turn for the worse.”
She led them down a hallway and into a large room, more long than wide, lined with beds on both sides. Many beds were empty, but a few were occupied with patients hooked up to various kinds of machinery. They walked to the end of the row where Trefoil lay.
His skin bore a grayish hue, his lips were dry, and his eyes carried dark circles underneath.
Marlowe whispered to Eddie, “Keep Doctor Warren busy for a moment or two.”
Eddie took Beverly to the other side of the room, with a gentle arm pull and a nod of his head.
“What’s the prognosis?” Eddie whispered, trying to give the impression that he didn’t want Marlowe to overhear.
“Well, according to this,” Beverly spoke quietly, “some jogger found him, took him for dead, and called 911. The police and paramedics arrived and found a heartbeat. Brought him here.” She rifled through the papers. “The resident who did the prelim assumed he was probably suffering from a combination of drugs and alcohol—”
She stopped dead. Her eyes scanned one line over and over.
“What?” Eddie questioned.
She looked up at Eddie in a way that scared him. “You holding back on me, Berman?”
“No,” Eddie blurted, surprised.
“You read this report?”
“No, for crying out loud—” Eddie was cognizant that his voice was too loud. He went on, quietly. “What is it?”
“According to this, he has gold teeth. And they don’t appear to be crowns. The initial theory is that they’re dental implants.”
Eddie tried to act nonchalant and failed miserably.
“Is this guy like the other one?” Beverly stepped toward the inert patient. “That can’t be a coincidence.”
“Indeed it is not, Doctor Warren,” Marlowe affirmed. Beverly looked over to Marlowe, who held his walking stick and moved it in a small circle. Her expression grew relaxed, and she stared through Marlowe without blinking.
“Beverly?” Eddie spoke, aware that she was no longer cognizant of the world around her. He passed a hand before her eyes but she didn’t blink. “What did you do?”
“Nothing that will harm her,” Marlowe said. “What does she know Eddie?”
“She did the autopsy on Riftstone.”
Marlowe’s eyebrows lifted. “I’m sure she found many curious things.”
“You bet your staff. He was too healthy for an old guy, and his teeth, some of them were gold.”
Marlowe nodded. “Not an uncommon manifestation.”
“What causes that?”
Marlowe shrugged “There are theories, but to be honest, we are not sure. Some believe that due to the amount of mystical energy that passes through our bodies, our teeth change into a more conductive material.”
Eddie looked at Beverly. “You can’t leave her like this.”
“True,” Marlowe considered, “but I think she can help. We need the blood report.” Marlowe took the folder from her stiff hands and glanced at it.
“Can’t we just wave our sticks, you know, Ala-ka—”
Marlowe quickly placed two fingers to Eddie’s mouth to stop him speaking. “Don’t. You dare not use any ‘magic’ words you learned in your mortal life.” Marlowe took his hand away.
“Why not?”
“Because you might change someone into something, or worse. You have great power now, remember that.”
“Great, you give me a loaded weapon, and I don’t know how to use it.”
“Quaint way of putting it, but it sums up the situation.” Marlowe focused on the paperwork. “Now, we cannot manifest a counter spell on Trefoil unless we know what type of poison was used.”
“Poison?”
Marlowe nodded, then rolled back the sheet covering Trefoil’s inert frame, and pointed to two tiny marks on his leg.
“Are those what I think they are?” Eddie said.
“Snakebite.”
“And Abraxas was that snake?”
“The poison must have been designed to react to a counter spell. If I knew what it was, it would help.”
“Seems like this Abraxas dude is one clever son-of-a-bitch.”
“Well put, Eddie.” Marlowe closed the folder and handed it to him. “It’s not here.” He turned his attention to the unmoving Doctor Warren. “We’ll need her to get that report.”
“Can’t you just, y’know, wave your stick and have it appear?”
“P
lease, Eddie, don’t tell me my job,” Marlowe sniped, annoyed with his student. He held his cane in front of Beverly and waved it in a counterclockwise motion.
“What are you doing?” Eddie whispered.
“Remember that I said memory is easy to influence? I’m just making her forget that she read that line about the teeth.”
“Don’t do too much.”
“A wizard is like a physician. ‘Do no harm’ is our first objective.”
“You guys got that from doctors?”
“Actually, Eddie, they got that from us. Most advances in medicine were due to intervention by one who walks the path.”
Beverly blinked once and was abruptly animated again.
“What was I saying?” she asked.
“You were talking about the resident physician believing that my friend’s state was due to a combination of drugs and alcohol,” Marlowe said without a moment of hesitation.
“That’s right,” she looked at her hands, a bit surprised that the file was no longer in them.
“You told us you wanted to get a hold of the blood work report,” Eddie picked up on Marlowe’s cue. “That would be a big help, Beverly.”
She nodded. “That can be arranged. They took his blood hours ago. I’ll go and lean on them.”
“You’re the best.” Eddie broke into a grin.
“Remember that the next time I talk to you about one of our cases.”
“I am properly chastised,” Eddie acknowledged, as Beverly grabbed the file and left the room.
Eddie slumped against Trefoil’s bed. “Jeez! I thought you had to lie a lot to be a cop!”
“We are not lying, Eddie, we are putting things in ways that fit a mortal’s view of reality.”
“So I’m not a mortal anymore?”
“No, Eddie, you’re not,” Marlowe advised. “And they cannot know of the battles we fight or the things we face.”
“Why?”
Marlowe sat on the other side of the bed and gazed down at the still Trefoil. “Look at your society and your idea of celebrity. If people knew there were divine masters all around them, they would want to make them famous. Or worse, try to put them on a television show to demonstrate their abilities.”
“What’s wrong with that? I mean, we got that guy who bends spoons, and that other guy who talks to dead people.”
