The Last American Wizard

by Edward Irving

  There was an explosion. It was small compared to the massive blasts that the Prince of Swords was still throwing on the other side and nothing like the intense beam that Steve had fired. On the other hand, there was virtually no blowback, so Steve assumed it was a shaped charge that she’d placed deep in the stone.

  Steve watched in amazement as a crack opened all the way around the massive neck. The Prince apparently saw it as well–his next blast was thrown with both hands at the center of the president’s brow. The recoil tossed him backward and he would have fallen from his chariot if two of the Mini-Me’s hadn’t thrown off their reins, rocketed around to the rear, and pushed him back to safety.

  Surprisingly, the Prince’s blast finally shredded Weishaupt–or at least caused him to lose control over whatever hellish combination of hallucination and ectoplasm he’d created in order to guide the monster–and the enormous head with its noble features slowly tipped to the rear as if the president was taking a look at the stars. It kept on tipping until it finally fell off and crashed to the ground below.

  Steve’s joy at this victory was short-lived.

  The statue paused for moment as if confused and then simply continued on its way with the enormous head still uttering it’s agonized cries from where it lay half buried in the soft earth.

  Disaster struck as Abe absent-mindedly reached over and flicked Ace off her perch at his elbow with his thumb and forefinger.

  Steve was horrified but a small part of his brain apparently just couldn’t stop with the bad jokes. “Well, of course, he’s absent- minded. His mind is about forty yards behind him.”

  Ace’s body flew up and out, clearing the George Washington Parkway, and disappearing into the wooded island that held the Teddy Roosevelt Memorial.

  For a shocked instant, the world went quiet as Carlos stopped to look, and even the stone head paused in its mad wailing.

  Then Steve heard the grinding of steel and the jangle of breaking glass as the statue smashed into the sharp edge of 1000 Wilson Boulevard–right under the neon sign that advertised one of the local television stations. Hundreds of people had crowded up to the windows to gawk at the spectacle and only now were beginning to turn and run. Steve noticed that several camera operators in the upper floor were standing their ground and continuing to shoot, clearly convinced of the magical protection that all photographers feel when they look through a camera lens.

  Steve leaned over and yelled into Carlos’s ear. “He’s going to go right through that place–it’s only glass and plasterboard. Circle around and we’ll hit him when he comes out.” Carlos didn’t answer–Steve wasn’t sure that he could, now that he thought about it–but he swerved and charged up the side street to the front of the building.

  In front of the building, Steve slid off, and kept right on going until he was lying on the ground. His legs were jelly after the jolting ride on Carlos’s back. Since it was an emergency, he kept his moans to a reasonably heroic minimum and crawled to the median strip where he could pull himself into a sitting position on a concrete planter. Whatever his full powers turned out to be, he was fairly sure that physical strength was never going to top the list.

  The bronze effigy of Albert Pike came stamping around the far corner at as close to a run as a guy could manage who weighed about as much as a railroad locomotive. The Prince of Swords swept high over the street, spotted Steve, and dropped to the ground next to him. Bautista raised his helmet and his face transformed from canine to human.

  “He’s smashing the girders and supports all along the back,” Bautista said. “I think he’s trying to make sure the building falls.” He looked up for a moment, and then sighed. “There’s twenty stories and it looks like everyone decided to work late. Hundreds of people, if not a thousand, are going to die in this building alone. Stacy and Cobb followed Lincoln in and are doing their best, but I’m not sure what they can do against someone who can keep fighting after you cut off his head.”

  “Hell, politicians have been doing that since the Greeks invented democracy,” Steve snarled. “Here’s what we’re going to do–”

  He was interrupted by a powerful buzz on his belt and a loud rendition of the Chipmunks version of Danger Zone.

  He pulled the cell phone from its clip and wasn’t surprised to find it completely undamaged. He wondered idly if they made mil- spec covers for people. Barnaby’s voice came from the speaker. “Steve? Are you all right?”

  “I guess that depends on your definition, but yeah, I guess I’m OK,” Steve answered. “Both Ace and Hans are MIA and we’re not having any luck with tall, handsome, and headless.”

  “I know. Half of the Keyhole satellite fleet is overhead just to catch the show and they don’t usually do that except for the Super Bowl. Of course, those sand brains at CYBERCOM tried to use the distraction to drop a couple of rocks on Stanford–”

  “‘Rocks’?” Steve asked sharply. “What do you mean, ‘rocks’?”

  “Oh, wait.” Barnaby was suddenly hesitant. “Forget I said that. There are no rocks.”

  “No, I’m not going to forget it.” Steve could hear the statue smashing things far back inside the building and knew he still had some time. “An object with sufficient mass wouldn’t burn up in the atmosphere. What would happen when it hit the ground?”

  “It wouldn’t be significantly different from a hydrogen bomb,” Barnaby said. “Well, except for the lack of radioactive fallout, of course.”

  “Why Stanford?”

  “Because that’s where most programmers and hackers come from, and CYBERCOM has now declared that they’re the enemy. Or at least, that’s its current theory,” Barnaby admitted. “Listen, it’s all under control. The latest NRO bird caught HODCARRIER Five in the act and we burned out all his targeting chipsets, so there is no more problem with rocks. Not that there ever was. A problem, that is.”

  “OK, but we’re definitely returning to the subject of HODCARRIERs One through Four when this nonsense is over.” Steve sighed. “So, do you have any great ideas about how to stop a statue that has clearly lost its marble?”

  Send Money made a raspberry sound.

  “If you prefer, he’s out of his mind on rock and roll, a real head case, but sure as hell has got a pair of stones. You’ll have to excuse me; I’m going through a rocky time in my life,” Steve said defiantly. “Enough of this silliness. In addition to saving hundreds of lives, I absolutely must stop that fiend from smashing Pho 73 just behind me, an event I would be forced to take personally since they are the best noodle shop in the entire tristate region.”

  As he spoke, he watched the front door of the silver-and-glass building. A few people were running out and scattering up and down the street but not nearly enough to indicate a complete evacuation of those trapped inside.

  “Can your eyes in the sky tell why people aren’t leaving the building?”

  “I don’t need them. I’ve been listening to the intercoms and cell phones in there after you guys took off to go on the attack. They’re stuck inside because they were too dumb to leave immediately and Weisshaupt told Lincoln took out the elevators and stairs first,” the computer said. “Remember, the Illuminati need the maximum possible number of deaths.”

  “Speaking of that little Bavarian ratfucker, do you have eyes on him?”

  “Since he went virtual today to keep Lincoln on the crooked and nasty and finally got shredded by the Prince, Weishaupt is presently bodiless. I put a request in to General Howard and the sneaky old veteran has managed to follow Weishaupt through three psychic realms already, and I have faith that we’ll be able to find him when you have time to deal with him.”

  Bautista’s head snapped around at a loud groaning sound. After listening for a second, he pulled down his helm, changed back into his canine form, and yelled, “Shit. That’s the building’s main girders beginning to bend. I think the big guy is on his way out.”

  Steve grabbed his arm. “Hey, it’s no use going after the big guy any long
er. Tell the others to start pulling people out any way they can. For Christ’s sake, you’ve all got Power–think of a way to use it. Maybe you’ve got the mojo to make emergency slides or air cushions or something. Just get them out.”

  The Prince of Swords nodded and then leaned over and spoke to his three miniature replicas. “OK, Manny, Moe, Jack, listen up. Once we go in, split up and make sure Stacy and Cobb gets the word. Then see if you’re strong enough to carry people. Got it?” The little figures saluted and the chariot streaked straight through a window on the ground floor of the building.

  Steve jumped as a car horn blared right behind him. When his heart resumed beating, he turned to see that it was Hans–his armor covered in an inch-thick layer of gray-green ooze. Obviously, a hundred feet of water and a river bottom composed of raw sewage from DC’s archaic sewer system weren’t enough to stop this vehicle. Steve decided that Hans could be from Germany if he wanted–he’d earned it.

  The driver side door opened and Ace got out. Steve felt an enormous smile blossom on his face and he took a quick step in her direction. A single glare from the SEAL was enough to stop him cold as he fought to bring his face back to a carefully neutral expression. He said casually, “Hey, Ace. You OK?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hey, I’m not asking for your life story, but come on, a few more details,” Steve said. “The last time I saw you, you were on a ballistic trajectory over Mason’s Island. You’re not wet so you didn’t land in the river. What happened?”

  “Oh, I trained with the SAS in the tree-jumping techniques they used in the Malaysian campaign. They would go in low without parachutes and depend on tree limbs to slow their fall. I did a midair flip so that I’d hit the branches with my back and, when I’d slowed enough, grabbed a pine tree. Then it was a simple abseil with the coil of paracord on my key chain. I ran into Hans as he was coming up the bank near the parking lot.” She made a dismissive gesture. “Has anyone got a real idea? We’ve done all the damage we can to that guy. I swear, if we ground him to pebbles, they’d throw themselves at the building.”

  Steve put the cell phone back on his belt and tried to sum up the situation. “The Knight, the Queen, and the Prince of Swords are in there now, but I told them to concentrate on getting people out since we can’t seem to stop the son of a bitch. The rest of us are right here.”

  “OK, we’re not going to win this, but I’ll be damned if we lose a couple of thousand people and not try everything.” Ace thought for a second. “As soon as we see Lincoln through that lobby door, we form up and hit him.”

  “I was a pretty bad general, but even I can tell that we’re simply not going to be enough,” Albert Pike said. “Is this to be a Forlorn Hope, then?”

  “Possibly.” Ace scowled. “Hell, probably. Frankly, I’d prefer to die fighting than have to live with the knowledge that I walked away.”

  She turned to look at the building and said in a low voice, “No one else has to come.”

  A moment passed in silence–except for the sounds of smashing inside the building. Suddenly, the lobby door burst open, the statue’s broad shoulders broke through the windows on the second floor, and what was left of Daniel Chester French’s magnificent creation stumbled out onto the sidewalk. Any resemblance to the former president had disappeared–it looked more like an enormous Ken doll that had been stolen and tortured by a younger brother.

  Nevertheless, it was still standing and was apparently quite ready to take down another building. Behind him, the groans of the bending girders were rising in pitch and an increasing number of loud bangs signaled where the abused supports shattered under the strain.

  Ace screamed, “You motherless son of a bitch!”

  Pike shouted, “Fraternity forever!” in his bell-like basso.

  Carlos howled wordlessly, and they all raced across the street.

  Steve thought for a moment and then said in an ordinary voice, “Oh, what the hell.” He walked after the others.

  “Fool! Fool!”

  Steve looked to his left and saw Hamilton Jones, the young avatar of the Hanged Man, shouting as he raced towards him. Steve slowed and turned to listen.

  “Phone,” Jones was shouting. “Get the phone.”

  Steve was irritated. There was no one he wanted to talk to at this point–not even Barnaby. The truth was that he didn’t want to be found texting while dying.

  “The phone!” Jones screamed with his hands making a megaphone in front of his mouth. “ATFC.”

  Steve furiously wrenched the smartphone out of its belt clip with every intention of hurling it at Jones. At the last minute, he decided to answer it and brought it up to his ear.

  Nothing happened.

  He brought the cell phone down and looked at the screen. It was black. There was no picture, no indication of an incoming message. No blinking. No vibrations. No silly music.

  He half turned to face The Hanged Man, which put the rear of the phone pointing directly at the giant statue. He watched as Hamilton Jones stopped, looked around–first in curiosity and then in increasing terror–then turned and ran off in the direction of Key Bridge.

  He realized that the Hanged Man had abandoned the young man in its usual abrupt fashion. “Well, can’t expect any more helpful hints from him tonight,” he thought. “But if the Hanged Man abandoned ship, wouldn’t it be because he’d completed his message?”

  He stood in the middle of the street and contemplated Send Money. “Hey,” he yelled. “You awake in there?”

  A cartoon of a window shade snapping down behind an old wooden door flickered to life on the screen and then a hand appeared with a “CLOSED” sign, hung it on the door, and slammed it shut. The sign swung back and forth a few times and then the whole scene faded to black.

  “Wait a minute,” Steve said aloud. “You’ve got that damn light! The super-special magical searchlight with all the Yuds in it! You remember all those damn Yuds. Let’s crank ’em up and see what they do to tall, pale, and homicidal over there!”

  The screen remained black. It vibrated very softly. Tom had a strange feeling that the young Chinese ghost was simply trembling in fear. He held the phone to his ear and thought he could make out the sound of weeping over the chaos all around him.

  “What would make the kind of kid who would jump into suicide nets for fun so scared?” He wondered.

  He tapped the screen and tried to bring up the flashlight icon, but the image only flickered briefly and went back to black.

  Still thinking, he turned to face the melee at the front door. The statue was straining and writhing like Frankenstein’s monster in the black-and-white version, batting blindly at his attackers. Ace was in constant motion as she pulled out one deadly weapon after another and sent them whipping into the crater where the beam had hit. Carlos and Albert Pike were each hammering on a separate ankle, but Steve could see that the damage they were inflicting was too little, too late.

  He made a decision, stepped forward, and screamed, “Stop. Stop fighting!”

  Ace turned to him with surprise and a bit of contempt on her face.

  The contempt hurt.

  He continued. “There’s no freaking use fighting it. Concentrate on getting the people out before the damn thing goes down!”

  Ace said something he couldn’t hear, but her gesture to the statue made her meaning clear.

  “I’ll deal with it,” Steve shouted. “Get everyone out!” Ace turned to Carlos and General Pike, shouted some quick orders, and they disappeared into the wreckage of the building.

  “Yeah, I’ll deal with it,” Steve said to himself. “Just look for me on the bottom of one of his shoes.”

  For a couple of minutes, Steve just stood there staring at the white line in the street, developing and discarding ideas one after another.

  He realized that even though he hadn’t had much time to learn how to use his Power, a great part of what he could have learned, he’d blocked with his relentless cynicism.

&nbs
p; It was just so damn hard to believe that he was a magician. Even harder to admit he was the most powerful magician in town.

  He shook the tension out of his shoulders and looked up at the eidolon. It was time to put up or shut up. What was it that Jones had said?

  “Remember, the light in the darkness isn’t a bug, it’s a feature.”

  The old software joke. Well, it made sense, from the beginning of this little adventure, everyone had been telling him that Send Money’s LED light was their biggest weapon. The ghost had always shown he had courage–why was he hiding now? What was he so afraid of?

  “Wait a second,” Steve thought. “That wasn’t exactly what the Hanged Man said. I made a joke about his British slang. What did he say?”

  “Remember the light in the darkness isn’t a bug, it’s a bloody feature.”

  Steve looked at what was left of Lincoln’s statue as it headed for the second building. The lights in the windows showed that there were people still working in the upper floors. There would be more deaths.

  More blood for the damn Illuminati. “A bloody feature.”

  It wasn’t British slang. It was the answer.

  Blood magic.

  Every time he’d done blood magic before, it was with his own blood. No wonder Send Money was so afraid. Steve was going to drench him in the blood of innocents…make him an unwilling partner in abomination.

  He looked at the eidolon again. There wasn’t much time left.

  He held up the cell phone and whispered, “I’m sorry, little buddy.”

  He concentrated on the Fool. This time, the card that appeared in his mind was covered in gold leaf and the Fool was dressed in clothing of all colors with a hat that stood up in peaks with bells at the ends–he looked like a cartoon of a classic King’s Joker.

  He Studied the card and saw that the figure had his hands covering his eyes.

  He Understood that this Fool could only see Darkness. He had cut himself off from the daylight and beauty of the world around him.