The Wizard of Lovecraft's Cafe

by Simon Hawke

  “I see. And this man Leone is the one in charge of this operation, as you put it? The one who will offer the money for Angelo’s life?”

  “He’s the one,” said Case.

  “And who is this man Maldonado?”

  “His chief lieutenant. He’s the one Angelo was working with on his undercover job.”

  Beladon pursed his lips thoughtfully and looked back down at the file. Case risked another glance at the female. Her eyes were still boring into him. He quickly looked away.

  “There is a chance that these men might be useful,” Beladon said. “What, exactly, is this Ambrosia they are expecting to receive?”

  Relieved at what appeared to be a reprieve, Case quickly explained about the new thaumagenetically engineered drugs that had started appearing on the market recently, and he briefly described Ambrosia and its effects.

  Beladon made a grimace of disgust. “And humans are anxious for this substance?” he said.

  “Some humans, yes,” said Case. “There’s always been a large market for illegal narcotics, and the demand for this new thaumagenetic stuff is growing larger every day.”

  “This may be even easier than I thought,” said Beladon. He glanced at his companion. “Who but humans would manufacture substances that render them weak and vulnerable? They have made much progress, but they have grown decadent. They themselves are giving us the tools with which to subjugate them.”

  “What are you saying?” Case asked uncertainly.

  “Merely that if it does what you describe, then this Ambrosia, and the people who distribute it, could serve our purposes.”

  “Wait a minute,” Case said. “You’re not seriously thinking of taking over Leone’s operation, are you?”

  “And why not? If humans have an attraction for this substance that turns them into mindless, rutting animals, then why not provide it for them? It will merely make things easier for us.”

  Case moistened his lips. “Look, haven’t you got enough to worry about with finding these three with the runestones? You don’t want to go getting into the drug business. You’ve got no idea what that involves.”

  “I imagine these men Leone and Maldonado would know all that was necessary,” Beladon replied. “They would simply continue distributing this Ambrosia, only they would do so under our supervision, so that they could attain the widest possible distribution in the shortest possible time.”

  “Jesus, you don’t understand,” said Case. “I can’t simply look the other way on something like this. It’s my job to prevent that sort of thing. What you’ve asked me to do so far, well, that’s one thing, and I’ve already taken some pretty big risks for you, but if there’s a sudden flood of magically enhanced drugs in the city, I’m going to have all sorts of people coming down on me wanting to know why, from the mayor all the way up to Bureau headquarters. And the last thing any of us needs is to have our connection exposed.”

  “And how would that happen, unless you were to reveal that connection?” Beladon asked.

  “Well, now, don’t get me wrong,” said Case quickly, “I’d never talk, of course, but they’d simply tie me in with Leone’s mob and that would be the end of it. I wouldn’t be much use to you in jail, would I?”

  “You could be easily replaced,” said Beladon. “It will be up to you to continue to prove your usefulness to us. Otherwise, what becomes of you does not concern me. For the moment, I am satisfied with you. You may live a little while longer.”

  “But you said I could have him,” said the female, speaking for the first time, and Case felt as if the floor had dropped out from beneath his feet.

  “Be patient, Delana,” the necromancer said. “This human can still be of some use to us. I know you hunger. We shall find you someone else.”

  “When?” she demanded.

  “Soon. Very soon. Before the day is out. Come.”

  With a sick feeling, Case watched them leave the office, then he leaned forward suddenly and vomited into his office trash pail.

  Angelo looked awkward as Kira threw her arms around him. She sensed him stiffen and backed off. “My God, you don’t remember me, do you?” she asked with a stricken expression.

  “I… I’m not really sure,” Angelo replied uncertainly.

  “You… you seem familiar, but…” His voice trailed off and he simply shook his head.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Wyrdrune said. “It’ll all come back to you before too long. The runestone will see to that. The important thing is that you’re safe.”

  “I feel… a certain comfort in your presence,” Angelo replied. “I can’t really explain it, it simply feels right being here.”

  “It should, Modred, old friend,” said Wyrdrune, clapping him on the shoulder. “That’s the link between us. It’s only going to get stronger.”

  “Modred,” Angelo said. He shook his head. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever get used to that name.”

  “What would you like us to call you?” Kira asked.

  “John, I guess. That name seems to fit more, somehow.”

  “All right,” said Wyrdrune. “John Angelo it is, until you tell us different.”

  “You have no idea how relieved we are to see you… John,” said Kira. She smiled. “That’s going to take some getting used to, I guess. How do you feel?”

  “A bit confused, still, but no longer quite so weak as I felt before,” he replied. “Gonzo was kind enough to get me something to eat downstairs. What’s more, he saved my life, too.”

  “Why, what happened?” Wyrdrune asked with a concerned expression…

  Briefly, Gonzago filled them in on what had happened.

  “That’s just what I was afraid of,” Wyrdrune said. “Now we have the mob to worry about, as well. On top of that, we’ve got yet another complication. I’m afraid McGuire’s going to be a problem.” Quickly he filled the others in on what transpired during their meeting. “I should have made him forget he’d ever seen us,” he said when he was finished, “but I just couldn’t do it. I guess what he said got to me. If we start going around controlling people all the time, we’re not much better than the Dark Ones. Every time I’ve done it, even when it seemed absolutely necessary, it’s left a bad taste in my mouth. I didn’t become a wizard so that I could use people.”

  “You didn’t become a wizard at all, warlock,” Kira said wryly. “The runestones made you one. And maybe they’ve done more than that. Maybe they’ve been influencing our judgment too much.”

  “So where does that leave us with McGuire?” Billy asked.

  “I honestly don’t know,” said Wyrdrune. “But he had a damn good point. We’ve been sitting on this thing for quite a while now, and I think it was only a matter of time before word of it got out somehow. Too many people know already. We really don’t have the right to make this kind of decision for everybody else. Maybe it would be better if it was all out in the open. I’m tired of looking over my shoulder all the time, wondering if it’s the Dark Ones, the Bureau, or the police.”

  Kira glanced at him curiously. It was the first time she had heard him voice any of the same concerns she’d felt.”Maybe we’re all tired,” she said. “None of us have had a life since this whole thing started.”

  “Some of us have had several lives,” said Wyrdrune wryly.

  “Oh, that’s the other thing I meant to mention,” said Gonzago suddenly. “In all the excitement, it completely slipped my mind. John, here, apparently manifested one of the Old Ones.”

  “He did what?” said Wyrdrune.

  “One of the spirits of the Council,” said Gonzago. “Or an entity that was a sort of group representation. Neither of you had mentioned having experienced such an effect before, so I thought it might be significant.”

  “You thought it might be significant?” said Kira.”Is there anything else that you forgot to tell us?”

  Gonzago simply shrugged. “No, I don’t think so. Unless it’s that notion John has about the Ambrosia.”

&nbs
p; “Ambrosia?” Kira said. “Jesus, what does that evil stuff have to do with any of this?”

  Gonzago glanced at Angelo. “I think perhaps you’d better tell them what you told me, my boy.”

  “Perhaps we’d all better sit down,” said Angelo. “It seems we’ve got a great deal to discuss, and I’m not even sure I understand all of it.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Wyrdrune said. “Broom! Put on some coffee!”

  “Again with the coffee?” Broom called from the kitchen.

  “That’s it! I’m on strike! You people have gone through an entire can in just two days. You’re all going to ruin your kidneys! Aside from which, how am I supposed to make coffee without any filters? Make a list, you said. You want a list? Here, Mr. Big Shot, you’ve got your list. I’m not lifting another finger around here until somebody goes to the store and that’s final! You can all save the world after you’ve gone shopping.”

  “Right,” said Wyrdrune, looking at the list with a grimace. He held it up. “Anybody feel like making a grocery run?”

  “Donuts,” said Kira. “We need some donuts.”

  “And I am out of cigarettes,” Jacqueline said.

  “Ah, I don’t suppose it would be too much trouble to stop at the liquor store and pick up a bottle or two of some Scotch while you’re at it?” said Gonzago. “Single malt, if you don’t mind.”

  Wyrdrune rolled his eyes, and with a weary sigh picked up a pen and started writing.

  It had been almost fifteen years since McGuire had quit smoking. In all that time, he had never been seriously tempted to start again. During those first few weeks, when his withdrawal symptoms were at their height, there had been times when he had experienced strong cravings for a cigarette, such as when he was having morning coffee or an evening drink with friends, or moments when he was under stress, but his resolve had remained strong. It had been so hard to quit that it had merely strengthened his desire to stay away from the damned things, and even when new strains of thaumagenetically engineered tobacco had appeared, resulting in cigarettes that posed no health risk whatsoever, he had remained smokeless. For all those years, he had kept a pack of unfiltered, premagical, emphysema-inducing, heart-attack-risk-incurring, cancer-causing, secondhand-smoke-hazard cigarettes on his bookshelf, in plain sight, where they could serve as a symbol of his willpower and dedication. After fifteen years, those cigarettes tasted stale as hell.

  They were so dry they burned like haystacks in the Kansas sun, and inhaling them was like breathing pure carbon monoxide. McGuire had chain-smoked almost the entire pack, washing them down with vodka. He had never quit drinking, so his tolerance for alcohol was fairly high. He wasn’t drunk yet, but he was working on it.

  He had already been on the phone, again, to Chief Inspector Michael Blood of New Scotland Yard and Inspector Armand Renaud of the Paris police. He had discussed the situation at length with Akira Katayama, of the B.O.T. in Tokyo, and with Captain Rebecca Farrell of the L. A.P.D., as well as with Ben Slater, the irascible Los Angeles reporter, who had a great deal to say about the biggest story of his entire career— the one he couldn’t write. All of them had said more or less the same thing. They thought disclosure would be a serious mistake. They thought it would cause an upheaval in society the effects of which would be impossible to predict, and they thought that the negative effects would probably outweigh the positive ones. But, like Wyrdrune, they thought he had a valid point. It was one they’d all wrestled with themselves, and some of them were still quite torn about it, but in the end, they had decided to keep their knowledge to themselves. They had all seen what the Dark Ones were capable of doing, and they all thought that full disclosure would probably make little difference in the long run, that only the power of the runestones could defeat the necromancers.

  However, having said that, every one of them had then gone on to say that if Wyrdrune had left the decision up to him, they would all support him in whatever it was he chose to do. And if he chose disclosure, they would back him up to the fullest extent of their abilities. Ben Slater had said it best. “Whatever you decide, McGuire, we’re all in this together,” the gruff reporter said. “I’m here anytime you need me, day or night. All you have to do is pick up a phone and I’ll be on the next plane to New York. Just say the word.”

  The trouble was, McGuire wasn’t really sure which way to go. At first, he’d felt strongly that keeping the existence of the Dark Ones secret was absolutely wrong. Now, after speaking with the others, he was having a few doubts. Once this thing is out of the bag, he thought, there’ll be no turning back. It was a momentous decision. Why did it have to rest with him?

  He needed to talk it over with somebody else, somebody who was not already in on the whole thing, somebody who would have a different perspective and whose fresh reaction he could judge, somebody whom he could trust with the secret if. at length, he decided to allow it to remain a secret. He picked up the phone and dialed Christine Mathews.

  “Christine? Steve,” he said, slurring his words slightly. “We need to talk.”

  “McGuire?”

  “Yeah. Look, uh, we need to talk. I’m at my place. Can you come over right away?”

  “Can’t it wait until tomorrow, Steve?”

  “No… no, it can’t wait, Christine, I need to talk to you right now. It’s really important.”

  “Steve, have you been drinking?”

  “Yeah, a little. Oh, and when you come over, can you bring a couple packs of cigarettes?”

  “You’re smoking!”

  “Yeah. How about that?”

  “Are you all right? What is it, what’s happened?”

  “Just do me a big favor, Christine, and get over here. I don’t want to discuss this on the phone. I want to see your face when I tell you about this. I really need your help on this decision.”

  “Is it about Angelo?”

  “In a way, yeah. How long has it been since you had your mind blown?”

  “My mind doesn’t blow easy.”

  “It will when you hear this.”

  “Well, now I’m dying of curiosity. All right, I’ll be there in about half an hour. Oh, what brand do you smoke?”

  “Anything with a warning label on it.”

  “They haven’t made those in about ten years.”

  “Then I don’t care. Whatever.”

  “Okay, I’m on my way.”

  He hung up and poured himself a fresh drink. Then he grimaced, poured it out, and went to make a fresh pot of coffee, instead. Twenty minutes later, he had smoked up the last of his outdated cigarettes. He felt dizzy and he had a headache. The buzzer sounded from the lobby.

  “That was fast,” he said to himself. But when he pressed the intercom button, it wasn’t Christine Mathews.

  “McGuire, it’s Case. We need to talk.”

  “Case?”

  “Look, I know this is irregular, but I’m in deep, deep trouble and I really need your help. I know we’ve had our problems, but I didn’t know who else to turn to. Can I come up, please?”

  “You got any cigarettes?”

  “Cigarettes’? Yeah, why?”

  “Come on up.” He buzzed him in. What the hell, he thought, the D.A. and New York Bureau chief. If he was going to tell anybody about this, he couldn’t have picked a better place to start. A few moments later there was a knock at the door. He opened it to admit a haggard-looking Case.

  “Jeez, you look like hell,” he said.

  “Frankly, you don’t look much better,” Case said. “You been drinking?”

  “Some. But I’ve got a fresh pot of coffee on.”

  “Well, I could sure as hell use a drink.”

  “Help yourself. Bottle’s on the table. I’ll get you a glass.”

  “Thanks,” said Case, sitting down at the table.

  “So, what’s the problem?” asked McGuire.

  “You’d better sit down for this. I’m about to drop a real bombshell on you.”

  “That right
? Well, I’ll see your bombshell and raise you one nuke,” McGuire said, setting a glass down in front of him. He sat down at the table with him. “Okay. Go ahead.”

  Case pouted himself a drink, tossed back about half of it in one gulp, then took a deep breath. “To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure where to start.”

  “The beginning’s usually a good place.”

  “Yeah, well, what would you say if I told you that I’m guilty on several major felony counts, including aiding and abetting a necromancer?”

  “Did you say a necromancer?”

  “Yeah,” said Case, taking another drink. He took out a pack of cigarettes and pushed it toward McGuire. “And what’s more, that ain’t the worst of it. This isn’t any ordinary necromancer.”

  “Don’t tell me, let me guess,” McGuire said. “This one’s not human.”

  Case almost dropped his drink. “Holy shit. You know?”

  “Looks like we’ve both got the same bombshell. Christine Mathews is going to be over here in about five or ten minutes. I was going to drop it on her, but it’s nice to have some corroboration.”

  “Jesus Christ,” said Case. “I can’t believe it. How long have you known?”

  “About your involvement?” He shook his head. “I didn’t. You just told me. But I found out about the Dark Ones earlier today.”

  “The Dark Ones? Is that what they call themselves?”

  “Well, I don’t know what they call themselves,” McGuire said, “but that’s how they were identified to me.”

  “My God,” said Case. “You’ve actually spoken to them, haven’t you? The avatars, the ones with the runestones.”

  McGuire nodded. “Yes, they came to see me and they laid it all out for me. It’s one hell of a story.”

  “You probably know more than I do, then,” said Case.

  “Well, I’ll go over the whole thing as soon as Christine gets here. Meanwhile, why don’t you tell me your end of it. You’re on the hook, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” said Case heavily. He refilled his glass. “Big time.”