"Oh no, Jack. She wants you there. To witness. You're her rescuer."
"Can you send us there?"
"Of course." He pointed to a plain wooden door to the right of the bar. Jack could not swear it had been there before. "You'll find that opens to where you want to be."
Jack looked at Frank and Benny. "Ready?"
Benny grunted, and Frank said, "Let's go."
4.
The noise and the lights hit Jack the hardest. Helicopters, vans, bullhorns, armies of police and FBI, and all the media, all of them struggling for control, for something they could understand. And then the smell—blood, organs, slaughter. There were bodies, and pieces of bodies, everywhere, on the streets, the lawns. They were in some well-trimmed neighborhood, neat rows of two-story houses, lawns raked free of leaves, glassed-in porches, all set for an early New Hampshire winter.
And oddly, the first thought that came to Jack was not about the dead, or the cops, or even Carol Acker, but rather COLE's not here . He knew what they would do, of course. Mind slam everyone—cops, media, survivors—so it all became a terrorist attack, and the pols could make speeches, and the people could light candles and vow revenge. There were Travelers who believed that COLE had created and maintained a Jihadist group and a couple of right-wing militias just so they could have people to take credit for things no one would understand. So where were they? Maybe they'd already been and gone. Maybe they wouldn't even have to do anything, the Linear world would just believe what they needed to believe about something so terrifying. Or maybe—maybe COLE was keeping away because they were scared.
Frank Pope said, "Jack! Where is she? Can you see her?"
But before Jack could even look around some guys in suits—FBI? NSA?—spotted them , and came running, guns out, yelling, "Who the fuck are you?" and "On the ground! Now!" and "Where did you come from?"
"Shit," Frank Pope said, and turned to his brother. "Benny, shut them up, will you?"
Jack saw Benny reach under his jacket, and from some holster Jack was pretty sure hadn't existed a moment ago, take out a gun. It looked a little like Dirty Harry's .44 Magnum, but the cylinders were different colors, and the barrel was shorter and thicker. Jack knew what it was, though he'd never seen one up close before—a Gun of the Morning, the weapon of choice for La Société du Matin . "No!" Jack said, "They're innocent. COLE will—"
"Fuck COLE," Benny said, in a voice softer and higher than Jack would have expected. He fired once, a silent blast of blue light that filled the air, bright as the Sun if only for an instant. Everyone froze—the cops, the agents, the media people, even the helicopters in the sky. They might have been a frame from some big budget zombie apocalypse movie.
"There," Frank said, "Now we can goddamn think."
And then she was there, weaving her way slowly through the bodies on the ground, the frozen mob of outsiders. She wore a black dress with no coat, and high red boots (absurdly, Jack thought how that was smart, she wouldn't have to worry about staining them with blood), and she'd cut her hair shorter, the sides angled longer from back to front, and she, or some salon person, had made her up in a way that was both subdued and sharp as a knife.
As she approached them she raised her hands and clapped, three times. "Oh Jack," she said, "you came. My hero, my rescuer, and now my witness. Sweet loyal Jack. I can't tell you how good it is to see you."
Benny fired again, black light this time. It surrounded Carol, and for a second she swayed, and looked about to fall. But then she shook herself, and the light cracked like a thin shell and fell in actual shards that vanished as soon as they touched the ground. "Seriously?" she said. "Against me ?" Benny didn't answer. She turned to Jack. "Your new homies?"
"We're here to take you back," Jack said.
"Oh, but sweetie, you just set me free."
"We all make mistakes," Jack said.
"Not you, Jack. You did it exactly right. And you know what? Because of you, and your steadfast loyalty, I'm almost ready. You should be proud."
Frank Pope said, "Shade! She's mind-fucking you. Do it!"
Jack looked at him, then back at Carol, who tilted her head slightly, still smiling at him. "Do what, Jack?" she said. She spun her head around on her shoulders, Linda Blair style, and when it was facing him again, she said, "Would you like me to devour you?" She opened her mouth, and it seemed to get larger and larger, the teeth like sharp mountains and beyond them black smoke that swirled endlessly into darkness.
Jack didn't realize he was moving toward her until Benny yanked him backward.
"Archie!" Jack called out. "Now!"
Fire surged through him, a holy flame that burned out any confusion or fear. He laughed suddenly as he remembered that the Djinn, for all their ability to take on human form, were made of "smokeless fire," offshoots of the Original Flame. He reached inside his jacket and took out the black stone. "You've used Carol Acker long enough," he said. "It's time to go home."
For a moment, Carol's face twitched and changed shape, becoming larger and more ferocious at first, then almost formless, made of nothing more than teeth and wind. Then it was Carol again, and she screamed at him, "Where did you get that?"
"An old man gave it to me," Jack said. He stepped toward her, holding the stone in front of him. She began to spin, faster and faster, and Jack became scared she would escape them. But then Frank and Benny each fired their guns, blasts of light the color of a bruise, and the air itself screamed, and Jack wanted to drop the stone and cover his ears, but the Fire inside him held on. Carol stopped spinning and fell to the ground, on all fours on the blood-soaked grass.
And then they were falling, all of them, plummeting through worlds, one after another, some familiar, like the leather bar and the minuet, some new and strange, and so quick Jack couldn't make out what they were. In a few the little girl was there, begging Jack not to send her back, please , she said, she trusted him, he'd saved her, how could he give her back to the torturers, didn't he know the terrible things they would do to her? The Fire in Jack's arms held on to the black stone, and his ears of flame refused to listen.
They landed heavily, off balance, in a dark cave lit only by Jack's Fire until Frank found the switch for the lights the French archaeologists had set up along the walls. It was smaller than Jack had expected, only about twelve feet long, and three feet wide at its center, narrowing at each end to low tunnels. Carol Acker was on all fours, crumpled and scared. She looked up, her face frightened and wet as she stared at Jack who was still holding the black stone before him. His whole body was shaking but he refused to let go.
"Why are you doing this?" Carol said. "I don't understand." She looked at Frank and Benny, who stood on either side of her and fired dark purple light at her from their Guns of the Morning. The light became spiraling strands, winding tighter and tighter. Carol Acker's pleading voice said, "They're hurting me, Jack! They want to kill me. They're evil, can't you see it? You're not like them. You're not like them. You're better, Jack. I know you are. Make them stop. Please!" She sounded like a child who'd been viciously abused and just tasted freedom, only to have her rescuer inexplicably return her to her tormentors. Jack didn't listen. If the memory of all those bodies hadn't been enough, if he might have weakened, the Holy Fire of the Djinn kept him strong. It wasn't just Archie, it was all of them, they were one being, one flame. Armed with that Fire, Jack Shade bore down on the crumpled, bleeding woman.
And then something lifted out of her. It wasn't really a creature, though it appeared to take the form of a squat beast with thick legs and arms and a narrow triangular head. Whatever it might have been originally, it was so old and ferocious that it couldn't really hold its shape but kept twisting and stretching as it tried to fight its way free of the swirls of energy from the two guns, and the eternal Fire of the Djinn that pushed it back, back to the wall—until finally there was only one escape. With an agonized cry it retreated into the rock.
Light still filled the cave, and a scream of
rage and pain, and in that moment two figures suddenly appeared, causing a puff of wind as they displaced the air around them. One was a bearded woman in a long white robe, and the other was an old man wearing a black shirt, black pants, and black shoes. They looked at each other and smiled, and the light, and the fading scream of the beast filled their bodies. They became radiant, younger, more upright, and their eyes—their eyes gleamed with love.
The two brothers looked frozen, unable to move or speak as their guns fell to the floor. Jack held the stone in front of him, the way he'd done with Carol Acker, but all the energy had gone from it. He threw it at the Old Man and the Rebbe, only to watch it break up in the air before it could touch them. He tried to use the Fire but that was gone too, and he realized he'd only asked for power against the creature, and that was done. Wish granted.
Der Wisser Rebbe and the Old Man of the Woods held hands and smiled at each other. Jack half-expected them to start necking, like teenagers in the back of a car, but instead the Rebbe smiled and said something in Yiddish—Jack couldn't make it out, but he was pretty sure it was something like "See you next time"—and then she was gone.
The Old Man turned toward Jack now, his face serene.
"You sonofabitch," Jack said. "You used me."
"Of course," the Old Man said. "That time you rescued the Queen of Eyes—what was it she said about you?"
Jack stared at him a moment, confused, then he made himself remember. Softly he said, "She told me 'I knew I could count on you.'"
"Exactly."
"So she was part of this too?" Nausea rose up in him at the thought.
"Not at all," the Old Man said.
"Then why didn't she warn me? She didn't say anything about you."
"You didn't ask. The Queen only answers questions. Indeed, she cannot do anything else. She cannot see anything but answers. All you asked about was the creature."
"And the Rebbe—her attempts to stop me—that was all for show?"
The Old Man smiled. "Child psychology. You're stubborn, Jack. Your best incentive is to tell you no."
Suddenly, Benny Pope lunged at his master, arms out as if to strangle him. He never made it. The Old Man gestured and Benny was flung back against the wall, landing not far from Carol Acker's unconscious body. Frank bent down to put his arm around his brother, but he kept his eyes on the Old Man.
"All those people," Jack said. "That whole town."
"Seriously, Jack? You would complain to me about a few hundred dead? When you've lived as long as I have—do you know that fifty-five million people died in World War II? And poor little Willowtown was nothing compared to Haarlindam."
"You were there," Jack said. "You staged it, just like you staged this. You and your bearded girlfriend."
"Of course. But seriously, Jack, you did a good thing today. If you hadn't stopped it, if the creature had truly reached full strength, I assure you, a great many more would have perished."
"If we'd stopped it right away—if Carol hadn't come to me with my card—no one at all would have died."
"Ah, but then there would have been no benefit."
"Benefit?" Jack said, his voice almost a whisper.
The Old Man sighed. "You have done me a great service, John Shade. And now I will make you a promise. Neither I, not any of my followers, will ever come to you bearing your card. You will never be compelled to serve La Société du Matin ."
"Right," Jack said. "You'll just use another Carol Acker."
"No. My vow extends to any third parties. I know you have feared this, Jack. That fear is over."
"Go to Hell," Jack said.
"Oh, not yet. And not for some time. Thanks to you. Good-bye, Jack." And then he was gone.
Jack just stood there, staring at the space where the Old Man had been, feeling suddenly how cold the cave was. He might have simply done nothing for a long time if Carol Acker hadn't moaned to his left. He turned and she said, "Jack, where am I?" She tried to get up but winced, and leaned against the cave wall, underneath the "painting." Jack glanced at Frank and Benny, saw that Benny was still dazed and Frank was staying with him. He went over to squat beside Carol.
"It's okay," he told her, "I'm going to take you home. Unconsciously her left hand covered the ring on her right, as if to protect it. Jack wondered if it was true that she'd found it in a thrift shop. For all he knew, Carol Acker hadn't existed before the ring. Maybe it grew her, the way those night plants in Bolivia grew pseudo-human beings to defend them. He decided it didn't matter. It wasn't Carol who killed all those people, it was that thing now back safely in the wall. The Whirlwind Enigma.
"Jack," Carol said, "did I—I dreamed—did I hurt Jerry? And Marjorie—and—" She began to shake.
Jack put his arm around her. "No, no," he said, "that wasn't you. It's okay." Behind him he could hear Frank and Benny getting to their feet. He said to Carol, "I'm taking you home, remember?" She nodded against his shoulder. "But first, you have to do something for me, okay?" Another nod. "I need you to give me that black ring."
Carol scrambled back away from him. Again her left hand covered her right, which now was a fist. "No!" she said. "I can't."
Jack said, "It's just a ring, Carol. Just something you found in a thrift shop."
She shook her head. "It's mine. I've always had it."
And it's always had you , Jack thought, but he said, "Tell you what. You give it to me, and I promise to take care of it." Carol just shook her head.
Frank Pope touched Jack's shoulder. When Jack turned his head, Frank said, "I need to tell you something."
Jack looked from Frank to Carol. "It's okay," he told the shaking woman. "I'll be right back. Nothing's going to happen."
He stood, and moved to where Frank was waiting for him, a few feet from Carol, alongside the cave painting. Benny stood behind his brother. Frank said, "Jack, look at the creature. Do you see the way it's pulsing?"
It took Jack a moment to see it, but Frank was right. A faint energy, like an old light bulb, was pulsing on and off behind the swirling lines.
"Now look at the host," Frank said. "Look at its hand." Jack stared at Carol. Every few seconds a faint flash of red showed between the fingers of her left hand, which still covered the right. Frank said, "The connection's still alive. If we destroy the ring, right now, we might break the connection for good. No more host."
"She won't give it up," Jack said.
"So we cut off its hand. Who the fuck cares?"
"None of this was her fault. Look, I can watch over her, catch her just before she dies, and get the ring before it has a chance to find a new host."
Frank made a noise. "Give me a fucking break, Shade. You watch over someone? Seen your daughter recently ?"
Later, Jack wondered what he might have done if nothing else had happened. Would he have tried to kill Frank Pope? And if he had, what would he have felt? Shame? Satisfaction? But he would never know, for it was right then that Benny Pope shot Carol Acker in the face.
The light was yellow and blue, and so hot Jack had to move away from it. Carol tried to scream but before any sound could come out, the skin on her face peeled back, and then the muscles, and in a second her face was on fire, a napalm-like flame that poured down her body, burning clothes, skin, organs, even the bones. The onyx ring didn't so much slip from her hand as the hand disappeared from inside it. It fell to the floor among Carol's ashes and almost immediately began to fade, seeking escape, seeking a new host. Benny fired again, at the ring now, a blast of dark purple light. The ring lifted off the ground and spun in the air so fast Jack could hardly see it. His breath stopped as he feared for a moment it would escape. But then it fell to the stone floor, dull and gray. Benny stamped on it, and when he lifted his boot there was nothing but dust.
The creature in the wall made no noise but rage vibrated through Jack's body. He doubled over in pain, and when he looked up again the Whirlwind Enigma had become an old worn painting, the swirls of energy mostly gone, the twis
ted face dull and chipped away.
"There," Frank Pope said. "It's done."
"Archie!" Jack called out. "Get me out of here!"
* * *
He discovered himself on all fours in the NYTAS meadow, a few feet from his car. As he stood up he saw the Djinni, a polite distance in front of him. "Thank you," he said. "I just—" He couldn't seem to finish.
Archie inclined his head toward him. "It has been an honor to serve you, Jack."
"So that's it, right? Three wishes, three grantings?"
"I'm afraid so, yes." His eyes darted to the car.
"What?" Jack said, then, "Oh, right." He went over and took out the metal flask and cap.
"Not allowed to hang around, huh? Go for a drink?"
"Sadly, no. And now, if I might make a suggestion, you might want to set the flask on the ground and stand back."
"Just one thing," Jack said.
"Quickly, please," the Djinni said. He looked in pain.
"If I'd saved a wish—that was my plan, you know."
Archie nodded. "Yes."
"And I'd asked you to bring back my daughter from the Forest of Souls—could you have done it?"
"No, effendi. We are not permitted there."
"Yeah," Jack said. "That's what I thought." He put the flask on the grass, the top alongside it, and moved away.
The Djinni's form wavered and flickered, like some primitive movie, and then gave way entirely to a stream of fire that poured into the flask. Jack wondered if he was supposed to screw on the cap but the thing lifted off the grass and settled on the opening, where it turned swiftly until it locked into place. Jack walked over and touched the flask gingerly to see if it was hot, but if anything it was a little cold. He picked it up in both hands and brought it to the car, where he set it down upright on the front passenger seat. Then he got in and began the long short journey to Suleiman International.
EPILOGUE
If Jack looked carefully from the end of the cemetery he could just make out the top of the George Washington Bridge. He was glad the place was quiet on this chilly cloudy afternoon, and that the grave he sought was at the edge of the grassy necropolis. He had no desire to glam any curious mourners who'd strayed from a boring funeral. He reached in his car, parked at the end of the lane, and pulled out the small flat drum and deer antler.
Fantasy & Science Fiction - JanFeb 2017 Page 7
