by Simon Hawke
Then he heard a loud report from outside, almost like a clap of thunder, and the sudden noise of howling wind. He looked up sharply.
“The car,” he said. He looked down at Delana. “Foolish. Very foolish.” He raised his hand and clenched it into a fist, then extended his index finger. The tip of it began to glow.
Moments later, the front door blew off its hinges and a whirling vortex sparkling with thaumaturgic discharges swirled into the house. For an instant it hovered in the large foyer, then moved into the living room. Spinning round and round, it formed into a glowing pyramid as it slowed down, and then the pyramid became a triangle of light that spun in midair, slower and slower, settling to the floor, until it winked out and they stood there, surrounding a wind-disheveled Ryan Keith, who stood in the center of the living room, holding an empty shotgun in his hands.
He stared at them wide-eyed, looking as if he were in shock. “I… I don’t understand,” he said. “What happened? Who are you people?” And then he saw the body on the blood-soaked carpet. He looked down at the shotgun in his hands and dropped it. “Oh, my God. I… I must have killed her.” He gazed up at them helplessly and swallowed hard. “I… I don’t even know who she is! I don’t know what happened! I don’t remember anything, I swear to God! You’ve got to believe me!”
“We believe you, Mr. Keith,” said Angelo, coming forward, taking his arm and guiding him over to the sofa. “It will be all right, I promise. I’m sure help is on the way.”
Kira and Wyrdrune stood looking down at Delana’s lifeless body. “Well, that’s two down,” she said. “If they keep this up, they’ll be doing our job for us.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Wyrdrune said. He pointed at the opposite wall. There was a message scorched into it in large, flame-blackened letters. It said, “Another time, another place.”
“Shit,” Kira swore. “He’s gone. We’re too late again.”
“Well, I guess you can’t win them all,” said Wyrdrune.
“I wouldn’t exactly call this a loss,” she said, looking down at the female necromancer’s body. “That makes two less Dark Ones to worry about.”
“Only in a manner of speaking,” Wyrdrune said. “This one has been drained. He took all her power. And she had herself one hell of a feed tonight.”
Kira glanced over at Keith, who was sitting on the couch, being comforted by Angelo. “I wonder why he let him live,” she said.
“Who knows? Perhaps as a reward for taking this one down,” said Wyrdrune, looking at Delana’s body, “although he clearly doesn’t remember doing it. He was obviously manipulated.”
“A necromancer with compassion?” Kira said dubiously.
“No, I doubt that,” Wyrdrune replied. “Maybe the only reason he left Keith alive was to show us that he wasn’t greedy.” He grimaced and shook his head. “We blew it. This one’s going to be bad news.”
“Are any of them good news?” Kira said wryly.
“Yeah,” said Wyrdrune. He pointed at the one. “And the one back at Leone’s.”
“Amen to that.”
“Well, at least we got Modred back,” he said.
Kira glanced toward Angelo. “I’m not so sure about that. He seems like somebody else, altogether. Modred may be in there somewhere, but I just can’t see him.”
“He still hasn’t got it all together,” Wyrdrune said. “Give him some time. All things considered, he’s doing very well. Especially for somebody who died.”
There were two loud thumps above them, as if something fell onto the roof. They both looked up quickly, then through the high cathedral ceiling they heard a muffled shout.
“Jesus H. Christ!”
Kira smirked. “McGuire,” she said.
“He’s persistent as all hell, I’ll give him that,” said Wyrdrune, shaking his head.
“Case, get us the hell down from here!”
“Now what?” said Keith, staring up toward the ceiling with alarm. “What in God’s name is going on here?” He brought his hands up to his head. “Now I’m hearing voices! I must be losing my mind!”
“Take it easy,” Angelo said. “I heard them, too. There’s someone on the roof.” He looked up at the others. “Are they going to need help getting down?”
“Probably,” said Wyrdrune. “Case had to teleport them both clear across the island. He’s probably a little woozy.”
“I’ll go look for a ladder,” Angelo said, getting up.
“No,” said Wyrdrune.”Leave them up there for a while.”
Angelo frowned. “What for?”
“Let McGuire stew a bit. It’ll do him good.”
“Can somebody please tell me what’s happening?” asked Keith pathetically. “Am I going crazy?”
“No, Mr. Keith,” said Kira. “You’re not going crazy. You’ve just been through a terrible ordeal, but it’ll be all right. There are a few things you’re not going to remember, but you’re probably better off that way.”
“Did I… murder that young woman?” he asked fearfully.
“No, it was more like self-defense,” said Wyrdrune.
“Self-defense?” Keith shook his head helplessly. “I must be in shock or something. I just can’t remember anything.”
“This young woman murdered a lot of people, Mr. Keith,” said Wyrdrune. “You shot down a vicious serial killer and saved a lot of lives. Remember that.”
“I did?”
There was the sound of sirens in the distance, rapidly approaching.
“The police are going to be here soon,” Wyrdrune said to the distraught man. “When they get here, you just tell them the two people on the roof can explain everything.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes, we have to go. You’ll be all right now, I promise.”
Keith shook his head, as if he didn’t really believe him. “Who are you people?”
“Well, let’s just say we’re fans. I’ve seen your movies.”
“Oh,” said Keith, looking disoriented. “Did you want an autograph?”
Wyrdrune smiled. “Some other time.”
EPILOGUE
THEY ALL SAT together at a long table in the back room of Lovecraft’s Cafe. It was well after closing time, but through a special arrangement with the management, they had rented the place to have a private meeting. The serving staff had all gone home, but refreshments had been set out for them and there was fresh coffee. It was the first time they had all ever been together. Seated at the table were Wyrdrune, Kira, Billy, Angelo, Makepeace, Gypsy, Gonzo, Jacqueline, and the recent arrivals: Chief Inspector Michael Blood of Scotland Yard, Inspector Armand Renaud of the Paris police, Agent Akiro Katayama of the I.T.C., Captain Rebecca Farrell of the Los Angeles Police Department, and Ben Slater, of the LA. Times.
“I think it came off quite well, indeed,” Blood said. “Much better than I had anticipated, frankly. They all seemed very much impressed.”
“Well, I don’t know if they were impressed, but I sure as hell was,” Slater said, taking a swig from a bottle of imported beer. “It’s the first time I’ve ever been in the same room with the director of the F.B.I., the attorney general, the director of the U.S. Bureau of Thaumaturgy, the head of the Washington office of the I.T.C., and the director of the National Security Agency, not to mention assorted aides and V.I.P.s. And when I met the rest of you guys, I started wondering what the hell I was doing there.”
“I thought you injected a refreshing note of candor into the proceedings,” Katayama said with a smile. “I especially enjoyed it when you called them all… please, what was it again?”
“A bunch of paper-pushing, thick-headed, senile, bureaucratic assholes,” Rebecca Farrell said with a wry grimace. “Ben always did have a way with winning people over.”
“Yeah, well, they pissed me the hell off,” Slater grumbled. “They just weren’t listening.”
“I think you managed to get their attention,” Blood said with a smile. “However, I thought the ‘senile�
�� part was pushing it a bit. The attorney general is scarcely over forty.”
“We’ve got her to thank for pulling it all together,” Billy said. “We owe a debt of gratitude to Christine Mathews for calling up her old law school buddy and setting it all up.”
“Rather like the ‘old girl network,’ to coin a phrase,” said Blood. “However, I think it was your testimony that really turned the trick. When you proved that you were Merlin reincarnated, as it were, the entire hearing took a different turn.”
“I imagine it did,” said Wyrdrune. “Shame we had to miss it.”
“Yes, they were most anxious to meet the three of you,” said Renaud. “However, when we explained the situation about Beladon still being at liberty, I think they understood.”
“Any luck in that area?” Blood asked.
“Unfortunately, no,” said Wyrdrune. “He seems to have disappeared. We’ve been combing the city; we’ve been out driving all over Long Island; we’ve been watching the papers and the TV news for stories of any murders that might indicate his presence… nothing.”
“He’s either lying low or else he’s left the area,” said Kira. “We’ll keep trying, though.”
“Yeah, well, it seems like we’ve made a complete mess of it this time,” said Wyrdrune sourly. “We were just plain lucky that things fell apart for them. We didn’t have a thing to do with it. We blew it.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” McGuire said as he approached them from the entrance to the bar. “Tommy Leone never got his hands on that Ambrosia, and he won’t be getting his hands on anything else, ever again. We found some papers in his safe that’ll help Christine put away some people we’ve been after for a long, long time; and thanks in some measure to me and my influence with the district attorney of this fine city, from now on, you’re going to have the authorities working with you instead of against you. I think you had something to do with all of that. And you found your friend again. Am I too late to join the party?”
“How did you know where to find us?” Kira asked.
“I’m a cop, remember? I had Chief Inspector Blood here tailed.”
“You’re joking,” Blood said with astonishment.
“Nope. As to how I got in here…”He held up a key. “You’d be surprised what the threat of a health inspection can accomplish.”
“The chief inspector of New Scotland Yard tailed like a common criminal,” Renaud said with a chuckle. “And you never even knew it.”
“I wouldn’t laugh too hard if I were you, Renaud,” McGuire said. “I had a tail on you, as well.”
The grin slipped from Renaud’s face.
“You had all of us followed?” Katayama said.
“No, just you three,” said McGuire. “I visit L.A. on occasion, and I don’t want to get arrested for jaywalking or running a stop sign.” He grinned at Farrell. “As for Slater, I know better than to try tailing a veteran reporter. They know all the tricks in the book, including the dirty ones.”
“Yeah, we made up most of them,” said Slater gruffly.
“Have a seat, McGuire,” Wyrdrune said.
“I can’t believe you didn’t invite me to this shindig,” said McGuire. “After all I’ve done for you, too.”
“Well, we couldn’t have you consorting with known felons, Deputy Commissioner,” said Kira. “Besides, we thought you might still be a little miffed about being left up on the roof.”
“Yes, I was going to talk to you about that,” said McGuire with a grimace. “We managed to keep what happened at the Keith house pretty much under wraps, but by now every cop in New York and Long Island knows I got stuck up on the roof of some damned actor’s home. Nobody knows what really happened, but you wouldn’t believe some of the stories going around.” He glanced at Angelo. “Hello, John. How’s the memory coming?”
“I’ve been working with Jacqueline and Sebastian,” Angelo said, “and Gypsy has been a great help, too, but there are still large gaps.”
“Well, hang in there,” said McGuire. “I’m sure you’ll recover. All it takes is time. You’ve got that now. Officially, you were wounded in the line of duty and had a near-death experience. The hospital adept will back me up on that one. As of yesterday, you’re on disability retirement. And there’s a commendation in it for you. You were a hell of a good cop. The department’s going to miss you.”
“A police department commendation,” Angelo said “Rather ironic, when you consider that a part of me was once a professional killer.”
“Yeah, well… we won’t talk about that,” said McGuire, a bit uneasily.
“ Speaking of recovering, how is Ryan Keith?” asked Wyrdrune.
“He’ll be okay,” McGuire replied. “That serial killer story you gave him was a good one.”
“It was pretty much the truth,” said Wyrdrune.
“I embellished on it some,” McGuire said. “I tied it in with some of the killings you’ve been suspected of, the ones the other necromancers did, and told him and the other people in the house that they were heavily drugged. Being an actor, he even wound up filling in some details of his own. That guy’s got some imagination. Believe it or not, he’s even working up a screenplay about the whole thing as a vehicle for himself.”
“You’re kidding,” Kira said.
“Scout’s honor,” said McGuire, holding up three fingers. “He’s already got his agent working on the option.”
“How’s Case?” asked Wyrdrune. “I’m surprised he didn’t come with you.”
“He’s not doing too well, I’m afraid,” said McGuire somberly. “He feels a lot of guilty about what’s happened. The fact that no one’s pressing any charges only makes it worse, so he’s punishing himself. I just spoke to him this afternoon. He’s going to submit his resignation to the Bureau.”
“It was hardly his fault,” said Wyrdrune. “He had no choice. What was he supposed to do? If he refused to cooperate, they would only have possessed him and made him do what they wanted anyway.”
“I guess he doesn’t see it that way,” said McGuire. “It’s not easy, confronting your own fear. We all think we’re tougher than we really are.”
“Not me,” said Slater, emptying his beer bottle. “I’m a confirmed coward.” He raised his voice. “Hey, Broom, is there any more beer?”
Broom came in carrying a tray with several bottles on it. “No, there isn’t any beer. This is a bar, you bulvon. What do you think they sell here, blintzes?”
“Thanks, sweetheart,” said Slater, grabbing Broom as it set the tray down on the table. “Give us a kiss. Where the hell’s your mouth, anyway?”
“Feh! Get your hands off me, you big ape!”
“You know, I think the two of you belong together.” Wyrdrune said. “What do say, Ben? You want to provide a good home for a slightly used familiar?”
“Bite your tongue!” said Broom, pointing a rubbery finger at him. “Honestly, I don’t know why I put up with all of this abuse. You cook, you clean, you scrub, you rub your bristles to the nub and this is the thanks you get! Hmmmpf!.”
“That reminds me,” said Gypsy as Broom retreated to the kitchen. “I need to send my mother a birthday card.”
“Much as I dislike to bring up a rather unpleasant subject,” said Gonzago, “has anyone considered the possibility of Beladon taking his revenge on Agent Case? He did betray him, after all.”
“But Beladon doesn’t know that,” said McGuire. “If he tries to contact him again, Case will let us know immediately. I think he’s hoping that’ll happen, so he’ll have an opportunity to redeem himself, but I don’t think there’s really any chance of that. Beladon’s long gone.”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” said Wyrdrune. “He’ll hole up somewhere, probably very far away, and work on his next move. And he’ll undoubtedly try to find some of the others. He’s smart. He doesn’t let the hunger drive him. He’ll come at us again, but only when he’s ready, and only on his own terms.”
“Well, next time he mig
ht not find it so easy,” said McGuire. “We know about them now. And next time, we’ll be ready.”
Case sat alone at his desk in his darkened apartment, illuminated only by a desk lamp. There was a bottle of whiskey on the desk beside him, and a glass. He had given up on the glass, and drank straight from the bottle. It was almost empty. His hair was disheveled and he hadn’t shaved in several days. He hadn’t bathed, either. He was beginning to notice his own stink. He thought that seemed appropriate. He jumped when the voice spoke from the darkness.
“What a pathetic sight. I’ve seen corpses that looked better.”
Case almost dropped his bottle. “You!” he said.
Beladon stepped forward into the light. “You seem surprised to see me. Did you think I would leave without saying good-bye to my faithful servant?”
Case hurled the bottle at him. It missed by a wide margin and shattered against the wall.
“Ah, the courage of the grape,” said Beladon. “Or is it the malt? I do believe you’re drunk.”
Case got up from his chair, unsteadily, leaning on his desk. “Screw you, you bastard.”
“You are a deplorable sight,” the necromancer said. “I fear that you will be of little use to me in this pitiful state.”
“I’m through being of use to you,” Case slurred, staggering from behind the desk.
“Are you?”
“That’s right,” said Case. “I told ‘em about you, you son of a bitch. I told ‘em everything.”
“Did you, indeed?” said Beladon, raising his eyebrows. “How very unfortunate for you.”
“That’s right, I told ‘em,” Case said, moving closer. “So what’re you gonna do about it?”
“Ah, I think I begin to understand,” said Beladon. “You are suffering from the emotion you humans call guilt. You are filled with remorse for what you have done and now you seek to provoke me, so that I will take your life and end your misery. Well, your life force is a paltry thing, not even worth the small amount of energy required to take it.”
