Mages in Manhattan

by Phil Gabriel

  “No, Akiko-san,” I said, shaking my head, dashing her hopes, “I’m not a Highlander. Besides, I don’t think he ever saw a ghost.”

  With a faint moue of disappointment, Akiko said, “OK, I still Padawan.” Her clothes morphed into the brown tunic and pants of a Jedi apprentice. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but came up empty. I finally closed my mouth and turned my attention back to Kitty-Sue.

  “Why so many rules?” asked Kitty-Sue.

  Thankful for a change in subject, I said, “Because magicians, especially unbound ones, are very dangerous. Without the rules, the vows I’ve taken, no one would deal with me. Sure, I could suck the life out of the next ten men I see, but would soon be halted.”

  “Yeah,” said the ever-practical Kitty-Sue, “but with all that juice, who could stop you?”

  How to explain the checks and balances of a magician’s life? I sipped some more wine before continuing. “I’m strong, and I’m fast,” I said, “but there are those much stronger and faster than me.” Kitty-Sue nodded at this as if confirming to herself that she was one of those stronger and faster than me. “A prime coven of witches, with an enslaved magician, or someone like the Fairy Godson guy in Chicago.” Damn, that guy was strong! “They would be able to take me down.”

  “Still...” said Kitty-Sue, “all that power.”

  “What would you say if I strolled through the maternity ward and stole the life force from twenty newborn babies?” I asked harshly.

  Eyes flashing and hands cocked to deliver knives, Kitty-Sue said through gritted teeth, “I kill you.”

  Even Akiko, my pacifist student, looked ready to kill. I was so proud of them both at that moment.

  “That,” I said, holding up my hands, fingers spread in a magician’s gesture of surrender, “is exactly why magicians take vows not to do that.” I continued, “We don’t take life force unless it’s part of a Deal or a challenge. We don’t make Deals with children or idiots. We don’t play fucking lawyer tricks with language or loopholes. That is why I won’t ever lie to you.”

  Kitty-Sue ate in silence, brows creased in thought, analyzing what I had told her. As she churned through a plate of crab legs, I noted she didn’t need any tricks to extract the meat, cracking the shells with relish and inhumanly strong hands.

  After wiping her mouth with a napkin and taking a sip of her drink, Kitty-Sue changed the subject. She bit her lip before asking, “So, why don’t you do more for humans?”

  “More?” Akiko and I asked in unison.

  “You could be a great healer; visit a hospital, wave your magic wand,” she said, looking at Princess propped up on a chair, “and take care of a lot of people.” She took another sip of water. “Even children,” she murmured. A question I had asked myself more than once.

  “Remember when I said that there are dead spots for magic?” I asked.

  “Yes…” She trailed off in thought. “Hospitals must be dead zones, too.”

  I remembered the time I had visited a children’s ward in a Colombian hospital. The dry feeling of no magic, the prayers of dozens of children begging for relief from the pain. The knowledge that if I let go of my self-control, I would soon be sucked dry. You can only slice an apple so thin before nobody even gets a taste. I hadn’t been back to a hospital since. I shook my head to throw off the memory.

  I saw, through Kitty-Sue’s wards, Brittany, the runner Jason had used earlier, looking around for us. I motioned for Kitty-Sue to drop the bubble.

  A look of shock passed over Brittany’s face as she realized the people she was searching for were right in front of her. I saw her realization, then that shake of the head when a mundane doesn’t believe their own eyes, then the rapid rearranging of memories. “Of course, they were here all along; I just missed seeing them.” The world is full of marvels and magic, unnoticed by the average person.

  She plastered a big smile on her face and stepped over to the table. “Dr. Kitsune, and Mr. Freeman?” she asked. At our nods, she continued, “I have the VIP passes and tickets to the show that Jason sent down for you.” She held up the five VIP passes and tickets that Jason had promised.

  As she took back our one-day passes and handed over the new passes and tickets, she said, “I’ve never seen VIP passes without an expiration date before.”

  “Jason is very thankful for the work Dr. Kitsune did for his wife.”

  “Oh yes!” she exclaimed. “I saw Monica and couldn’t believe how rested she looked.” Once again, the ordinary human capacity to reject magic ensured inquisitiveness was quashed. The transformation of Monica from an arthritis-ravaged invalid to a younger, piano-playing stunner was retconned to “well rested.”

  Stepping closer to me, Brittany whispered, “Did the doctor handle her”—she made a vague two-handed gesture at her chest— “enhancements?”

  “Oh,” I responded, “you noticed?”

  “Oh, my goodness!” she said. “They were perfect! Is it something new? Because they move so naturally!”

  “How did you see the enhancements?” I asked, wondering if Monica had been showing off her new figure. She hadn’t seemed the bragging type.

  “Oh,” responded Brittany, “she didn’t show them off. She’s very conservative. But women always notice those kinds of changes. She just walked through the lobby, and everyone knew!”

  Glancing at Kitty-Sue and sidling closer to me, Brittany whispered, “I would give anything to get the same treatment.” She licked her lips to emphasize her point.

  “It’s a revolutionary technique,” I said, “but hasn’t been approved by the FDA yet. Monica was a special exemption to the rules.” I examined Brittany’s already ample assets and said, “You don’t look like you need the treatment.”

  Standing and looking disappointed, Brittany said, “Every little advantage helps, especially in Las Vegas.” Then she leaned back down and whispered, “So... could I come to the doctor’s clinic in Tokyo?”

  “I’m very sorry, Brittany,” I said, handing her another hundred-dollar bill as a tip, “the doctor isn’t taking any new patients. She has to get the technique approved. She’s very insistent on following the rules.”

  Brittany looked disappointed but resigned. “OK,” she said, handing me a card with her number on it, “but please give me a call as soon as I can set up an appointment.” She stroked the back of my hand as unobtrusively as she could, promising ecstasy if I could get her access.

  Kitty-Sue and Akiko didn’t miss a bit of our conversation; no matter how quietly she whispered, Kitty-Sue and Akiko could hear every word.

  Kitty-Sue maintained her composure until Brittany left. She reinstated her bubble with an abrupt gesture and said, “What the hell was that about? Why were you flirting with that, that...”? She ran out of words.

  Setting the passes and tickets on the table, I took a long sip of wine before answering. “You saw what she was offering for the tiniest use of magic. Now, she’s a good person, better than most. There are lots of people out there that would eagerly trade the life of a child to help themselves.”

  “So, people are greedy,” said Kitty-Sue, as if stating the obvious.

  “People are greedy,” I repeated, “greedy enough to do unthinkable deeds to help themselves. But everyone in our community”—including her aunt,—“knows I have vows I can’t break. Nobody can force me to steal life to benefit myself or others.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why you can’t do more for other people,” insisted Kitty-Sue.

  “I help who I can,” I said, thinking of the orphanage and hospital I funded in Colombia. “I helped Monica. I’m training Akiko, who will be a great healer someday.” Akiko brightened at my praise, and her costume morphed into a dark blue tunic over a very short black skirt. There was an upward pointing arrowhead brooch on her left breast, but no rank insignia. I hadn’t known she was a Trekkie. “But I can’t help everybody, even if I wanted to. There isn’t enough time or life force. It’s no more a matter of
‘waving my wand’ than a carpenter ‘waving a hammer’ to build a house.”

  I finished the last of the wine. “I think the best use of my time is through training others”—I nodded at Akiko— “or preventing disasters.” Turning the questions back on her, I asked, “Why doesn’t your aunt, the queen, decide who the next prime minister of Japan should be? She’s certainly powerful enough.”

  “Kitsune don’t get involved in human politics,” said Kitty-Sue. “Even my auntie says she isn’t wise enough to see all the ramifications of interfering.” Toying with her drink, she followed with, “And kitsune are very hard to command.”

  She picked up a napkin, trickled a few drops of water on it, and used it to scrub the back of my hand where Brittany had stroked. She really didn’t like the scent of other women.

  Checking the time on our tickets and my phone, I saw we had to get going. Anyway, the food and wine were finished. At my questioning look, both girls nodded that they had finished and rose. I picked up the VIP passes, handed one to Kitty-Sue, and stored the rest in my bag. Grabbing Princess and the tickets, I dropped another hundred on the table for a tip, then we made our way to the theater to catch the show.

  Seventeen

  Karaoke with the King

  As we were in line for the show, I noticed that Akiko’s geek girl medical tunic had morphed back into her default schoolgirl costume.

  Thanks to our VIP passes, we got seats near the stage. The act consisted of three versions of Elvis: young Elvis, who crooned his way through old standards, a mid-career Elvis who sang songs from his movies, and finally a full Vegas Elvis who rocked the stage.

  As we exited the show, chatting about our favorite tunes, we saw the three Elvis (Elvii?) standing in the lobby, posing for photos with fans and signing autographs. I joined the end of the line for young Elvis and the girls followed my lead.

  “Hello, Elvis,” I said, dropping into the pattern of speech I had grown up with. “It’s been a long time. Have time for some photos with a fan from Tennessee?”

  A quick look at me and my companions, then the famous smile. “Of course,” he said. “I remember you. What are you calling yourself nowadays?”

  “Call me Scott,” I said, turning to Kitty-Sue and Akiko.

  Before I could make introductions, Elvis stepped up to Kitty-Sue, saying, “Foxy lady, pleased to meet you,” as he took her hand. Kitty-Sue’s eyebrows went up, and her tail perked up; was that just a turn of phrase, or had he seen her true nature? I saw her inhaling deeply, using her enhanced sense of smell to try to get more info.

  Then Elvis turned to Akiko, held out his hand, and said in a low murmur, “You know, I’ve always had a thing for Catholic schoolgirls.”

  Akiko, with Japanese manners, first bowed slightly, and then held out her hand. I saw her hesitate, as no one had been able to hold her hand since her death. Her look of hesitation was replaced by a look of shock when Elvis took her hand in both of his and pulled her in for a hug.

  A dozen emotions passed over my student’s face as she felt the touch of Elvis. She stepped back, stunned and rubbing her hand that had touched him.

  “He smells human,” whispered Kitty-Sue, “but he can touch Akiko?”

  “What do the other two smell like?” I asked.

  With a puzzled look, Kitty-Sue sniffed in the general direction of the other two Elvii, still busy greeting guests. “They smell human like him”—she sniffed again— “but exactly like him.” Muttering to herself, she said, “But even twins don’t smell exactly alike.”

  Attention turning to our young Elvis, Kitty-Sue said, “What are you?”

  “I’m Elvis, honey,” he responded. At her glance at the other two, he added, “And so are they.”

  Turning his attention to me, Elvis said, “So I see you’ve been busy. Want to grab a drink and catch up?”

  “If you’re buying,” I answered, “I’m drinking.”

  “Think you can keep up?”

  A challenge from a god? What the hell, I was in. Elvis was like Kitty-Sue, chaotic but fun.

  “I would be honored if you two ladies would join us,” said Elvis. At a musical hum from Princess, still in her cane form, Elvis added, “Of course, Princess is also invited.”

  “Join you in drinking?” asked my teetotaler bodyguard with a raised eyebrow.

  “If you’re not drinkers, we can find something else to do,” said Elvis with a mischievous grin.

  Akiko jumped up and down, her tiny skirt flaring out to show her panties and her breasts jostling beautifully. A glance at Elvis showed his head was bouncing in time with mine. The old hound dog was still very human. “I want karaoke!” squealed Akiko.

  “Karaoke with the King,” said Elvis. “Your wish is my command.” Which resulted in an even more enthusiastic reaction from Akiko. Even Kitty-Sue seemed to be intrigued.

  As we chatted, the crowd drifted away, leaving us alone with the all three Elvii. I risked taking a look at my old friends with full-spectrum vision. How to describe something indescribable? Like looking into a set of mirrors, reflections of the same Elvis to infinity and beyond: some younger, some older, some decrepit. Then the mirror started to spin like a kaleidoscope. Concepts too big for a human brain filled my mind, something about a Pi multiplicity of universes, then a formula to access them, then a vast blankness.

  A hand covered my eyes, breaking the spell. I shook with the reaction and realized Elvis had raised his hand up, blocking my vision. “Looks like you might need a drink to ease that headache,” he said. The elder Elvii had disappeared or moved in a direction that human senses couldn’t grasp.

  Sure enough, I had a splitting headache. Akiko and Kitty-Sue looked on with concern. “Sure thing, Elvis,” I said. “I’m looking forward to sharing that drink with you.”

  “And karaoke,” said Akiko with enthusiasm.

  We reentered the auditorium we had just left, to find a karaoke machine and an electronic keyboard set up on the stage. Kitty-Sue and I sat at one of the VIP tables near the stage. I found my favorite drink, Johnnie Walker Black Label, on the table. An ice bucket and three tumblers sat on the table. There were several red-white-and-blue Pepsi bottles on the table, in a style I hadn’t seen since I was a teenager.

  “Elvis,” I shouted to him as he jumped up to the stage to examine the equipment, “shall I pour you a shot?”

  “Just a Pepsi for me, please,” he said, running his fingers over the keyboard, producing a haunting melody. “And be careful of that whiskey, that’s a special vintage. Just one finger, Scott,” he admonished.

  He turned to give a hand up to Akiko. Once again, she was surprised that she could touch someone. She held his hand longer than necessary to get up to the stage. But Elvis didn’t seem to mind.

  Taking the tongs in hand, I added a single ice cube to two glasses, pleased at the sharp tinkle of perfect crystal. I raised an eyebrow at Kitty-Sue, but she shook her head. At her negation, a new ice bucket with a bottle of champagne in it, chilled to the perfect temperature, appeared. I blinked, and two champagne flutes appeared on the table.

  I picked up the champagne and poured a glass for each of the ladies. Kitty-Sue almost never drank, but she would sip a toast with us. The scent of the champagne was sharp and bright, a quality I had not encountered in all my years.

  I picked up the bottle of Johnnie Walker, noting the heft of the glass and its contents. It seemed to have more inertia than possible. Remembering Elvis’ remark about “a special vintage,” I checked the label. The printing had some extra words. Johnnie Walker Blacker than Black Label. Where did this come from? Where a standard bottle would have had the proof listed, this bottle had a fucking infinity symbol! Would drinking it leave me drunk forever?

  What the hell. Elvis was an old friend; he wouldn’t give me anything that would kill me. And I really needed something for my headache.

  I cracked the screw top, releasing the ambrosial scent of heavenly Johnnie Walker. Plato would have appreciated this ideal
form of whiskey. Hell, he was probably drinking some right now in Greek heaven.

  Taking Elvis’ admonition to heart, I poured a scant finger of the liquid ambrosia into my glass. The amber tints cast highlights throughout the room as if the liquid produced its own light. The scent tickled olfactory glands I didn’t know I possessed. Twirling the whiskey in the glass, I inhaled deeply, the mere scent of the whiskey slightly easing my vision-induced headache.

  Kitty-Sue held up her champagne glass, ready to toast. I shook my head, letting her know we were waiting for Akiko and Elvis. I popped the cap of the old-fashioned Pepsi bottle and poured a glass for Elvis.

  They came up to the table, chatting about songs. It took me a few seconds to understand that Elvis was speaking in perfect Japanese. At my look of incomprehension, he grinned and suddenly started speaking English. However, I had the strangest feeling that Akiko and Kitty-Sue were still hearing Japanese. Elvis had powers and abilities beyond the best magicians’.

  We all sat at the table, discussing our favorite songs. Of course, Elvis knew every song mentioned, in the original language. The King of Rock and Roll had ascended to become the Monarch of Music. But he still had that Tennessee “let’s have some fun” attitude and infectious grin.

  Akiko reached out and lightly touched his sleeve several times with a look of awe on her face. Her need for human (well, let’s call it human) contact overrode her naturally reserved Japanese manners. The last time she reached out, Elvis turned his head and grinned at her and took her questing hand in his. I felt a momentary flash of jealousy at the way Akiko squirmed in her seat, which was quickly repulsed by a mental admonition that she was my student and therefore off-limits.

  Finishing their discussion about songs, Elvis reached out and picked up his glass and toasted the table. The girls held their champagne flutes high, as did I with my scant measure of Johnnie Walker. “To good music, good drink, and good friends,” said Elvis.