Emerald Magic

by Andrew M. Greeley

  It was the red-haired Cork girl who had been one of my first two clients from Averty Enterprises.

  “I did a medical examination for her,”I offered.

  “When was that?”

  “About a month ago.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you mean, why did I examine her?”

  He raised his eyes to the ceiling as if it were perfectly obvious what he meant by the question.

  I told him the story. He sighed moodily. He had apparently known all along my part in the story and was seeking my official corroboration.

  “What’s happened?”I asked.

  “Her body is missing.”

  “Her body?”I was startled.“Do you mean,”I tried to rephrase the question so that it made sense, “that the girl has gone missing?”

  “I do not,”th e detective protested as if anguished by the suggestion that his use of language was inaccurate. “She died a fortnight ago.”

  I was shocked and showed it.

  “Died? But she was an exceptionally healthy young girl.Was there some sort of accident?”

  “The girl died of”—Halloran checked his notebook—“died of virulent anemia in the Bon Secours Hospital.”

  “You must be joking,”I said.

  He was not joking, and he reproved me in a carefully phrased sentence for suggesting as much.

  He reached into his pocket, pulled out a paper, and thrust it at me. It was a death certificate. The certificate confirmed what the detective had already told me. The cause of death was massive blood loss.

  “Her parents came up from Cork to collect the body.When they reached the hospital it was missing.”He paused and corrected himself gently. “The body, that is. It had been removed from the morgue.”

  I stared blankly at him.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do we, Doctor. At the moment we are following up every lead we can. We checked all the burials from the hospital. No one was buried in error for someone else. The only logical explanation we can come up with is that the body was removed for use in an anatomy school.”

  “Are you suggesting body-snatching in this day and age?”I grimaced with dark humor. “Come on! Burke and Hare are a hundred and fifty years out-of-date.”

  “Perhaps a simple case of mistaken identity of the body,”h e suggested smoothly.

  “Then you would be left with the body that she was mistaken for,”I pointed out logically. “Do the hospital administrators agree with that?”

  “They do not. They say it is not possible with their system of checks. But they are most likely covering their backs,”h e added cyni- cally. “However, the fact is that you are correct, we can’t trace any likely form of substitution. The body has simply vanished.”

  “Things like that don’t happen,”I insisted. “You just can’t mislay a body these days.”

  Halloran gazed at me with moody speculation.

  “I don’t suppose you ever carry out anatomy experiments here?” There was a hopeful note in his voice.

  “You are perfectly welcome to search in case I have the odd body tucked away,”I replied sarcastically. “We keep the choice cuts in the ’fridge.”

  Halloran took that as a negative and began to rise. I held up a hand to stay him.

  “What really intrigues me is how this girl could die of anemia? That would mean a massive blood loss. Death certificates just give the cause of death not the reasons behind the cause.When she was here, the test showed that she was absolutely normal. I don’t understand it.”

  “Well, perhaps if we found the body we might be able to help you,”said the detective heavily.“My job is just to find the body. Then we can find out what she died of.”

  “Have you consulted her friend?”

  “Her friend?”H is eyes were suddenly bright upon me. “She had a friend?”

  I went to my files, looked up the notes, and gave the name and address of the blond girl. He noted them down.

  “I thought that both girls were supposed to be on tour in England as backing singers with some pop group . . .”

  Halloran frowned.

  “First I’ve heard of it. The redhead was found not far from here, in Artane. That’s why she was taken to the Bon Secours Hospital. Mr. Ronayne didn’t mention anything about her going on a tour. I’ll look into it. Thanks for all your help, Doctor.”

  That afternoon I was busy with more clients; a sad-looking bass player who was going to America to join some band playing in a casino on the Pequod American Indian reservation in upstate New York. The Native Americans were, by all accounts, amassing large fortunes from old treaty rights by running nontaxable gambling casinos. I suppose it was about time they managed to get those treaties working for them.

  When I reached home in the evening I found my sister, Étain, in the hall with a suitcase packed. She was beaming with joy.

  “I’m glad that you came home before I left. I tried to raise you on your mobile, but you had it switched off. I was going to leave a note.”

  “Before you left? Where are you going?”

  “It’s come through quicker than I thought,”sh e announced. “A singing tour in Australia. A car is calling for me any moment and taking me to the airport. There’s another group who are joining me, and we are picking them up along the way.”

  I was dumbstruck.

  “Are you off to Australia now?”I demanded. “So soon?”

  “It’ll only be for three months, Joe,”sh e said. “I know what you did to help me get this job. You know, the medical thing. I appreciate it. I really do.”

  I shrugged.

  “I knew you wanted the job. What’s the point in raking up Art Moledy and his problems? But look after yourself. Check with a doctor in Australia when you can.”

  She leaned forward and gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

  A car horn sounded outside.

  She was suddenly very excited.

  “That’s the car. I must go. I’ll send you a card. Look after the place while I’m gone.”

  “Shouldn’t I come with you to the airport?”I asked.

  “The car will take me there. And we don’t want Ronayne, if he is there, to realize that Doctor Joe Sheehan and Miss Étain Moledy are related, do we? At least not until after the tour.”

  Then she was gone.

  I just caught a glimpse of a large black Mercedes drawing away into the evening dusk.

  I kept myself busy for a week. The private practice was building up nicely even though I hardly had any clients from Averty Enterprises during that time. There was plenty of time to pursue my own work.

  There were no further calls from Detective Halloran, and I wondered if they ever solved the mystery of the disappearing body.

  Thinking about it did prompt me to telephone the hospital and speak to the medical examiner who had signed the death certificate.

  I explained who I was and that I had made an examination of the girl only weeks before for insurance purposes. I pointed out that there had been no sign of her being anything other than a normal, healthy eighteen-year-old.

  “You saw my certificate.”Th e pathologist was clearly irritated. “It was the worst case of anemia I’ve seen. Not a red corpuscle in her entire body. I can’t believe anyone in that condition was healthy just a week or so beforehand. I can only report what I found.”

  He hung up with a petulant grunt before I realized that he had impugned my professional ability. I decided to let the matter drop.

  IT WAS ABOUT THREE O’CLOCK in the morning when my mobile telephone buzzed.

  It was Ronayne. I have never heard a man in such a state of distress as he was.

  “I need your help, Doctor. Need it desperately and right away. Where are you? My car will be round to collect you as soon as it can get there.”

  “Are you ill?”I asked curiously, trying to shake the sleep from my head.

  “No, not me. Not me.”

  “Then . . . ?”

  “It is
the chairman of our company. Right? He is ill.”

  “Chairman? Doesn’t he have his own physician? And if it is that urgent, then the emergency services . . . ?” I began to protest.

  He interrupted me with a snarl. “May I remind you that you are the company doctor? Right? Give me your address now!”

  A large black Mercedes slid to a halt outside the house, and, clutching my medical bag, I climbed in. Ronayne was in the back. He looked pale and nervous. To be truthful, I was rather grateful that he was so preoccupied. Otherwise, he might have realized the Chapeli-zod connection with Étain.

  “You best tell me something about the patient,”I invited as the car purred off into the night.

  “Mister Averty? What can I tell you?”

  “Mister Averty?”I was surprised. I had not realized that there was an Averty still controlling the company which I knew had been formed back in the music hall days. “What are the symptoms? What is the problem?”

  “I think that you’d best wait until you see him for yourself.”

  We drove across north Dublin to Artane. Artane used to be a sleepy village north of Clontarf in Coolcock barony. Now it is just part of the sprawling mess of north Dublin suburbs.We turned into the secluded grounds of Artane Lodge. It had once been the lodge of Artane Castle, which had been the seat of the O’Donnellans, where Archbishop Allen was done to death in 1533. The gaunt castle had been pulled down to make way for Artane House and Lodge. To my surprise the house was in total darkness. It did not seem to bother Ronayne, who drew out a key and let himself into the darkened building.

  “Isn’t there any domestic help?”I protested, as Ronayne led the way hurriedly across the echoing hall and through the house. He did not reply nor even wait to turn on a light. Taking a small pocket torch from his coat, he lit the way for me. Surely someone of Averty’s wealth was able to have a whole army to look after his needs? Again to my surprise, instead of heading up the winding staircase to where, presumably, the bedrooms were situated, Ronayne opened a small side door and began to climb down into the musty cellars of the house.

  The main cellar was lit with a dim, flickering light.

  I stood at the foot of the stairs and could not begin to comprehend the sight that met my eyes.

  Two large spluttering candles lit the cellar, but the smell of the place was . . . well, I have been in many a plague graveyard in Africa, with putrid rotting corpses By comparison to this cellar, they smelled sweet.

  There was a man’s body stretched out on a slab in the middle of the cellar. He was clothed in evening dress, a white tie and starched shirt and waistcoat. Even lying there, pale and lifeless, the body seemed to emanate a charisma that commanded attention from his apparently lifeless form.At first I thought he was old, for he had white hair and a long white moustache. His face was etched in sharp features, the nose thin and high-bridged, with strangely arched nostrils. The bushy eyebrows met over the nose. The forehead was high-domed, the lips thin, red, and almost cruel.

  “What’s the meaning of this?”I asked in distaste as I stared at the candles placed at the foot and head of the apparition as it lay on what appeared to be the top of a stone sarcophagus.

  Ronayne made a gesture of dismissal with one hand.

  “Mister Averty is an eccentric gentleman,”he muttered. “We must respect his wishes.”

  “Nonsense!”I replied. “If the man is ill, he should be in bed.Who has placed him here in these damp, vile conditions? This is outrageous!”

  “Just examine him, please, Doctor. Please! I do not think we have much time.”

  Reluctantly, I went to the side of the man.

  The body was icy cold. There was no pulse in spite of the redness of the lips.

  “He is already dead,”I announced brutally. “And by the feel of him, he has been dead some hours.”

  “He cannot die,”Ronayne’s voice held a frantic quality. “See what you can do, Doctor. Please!”

  “We all have to die sometime,”I replied, somewhat testy at his presumption.

  “But he cannot die,”insist ed Ronayne in a wailing tone. “He is the Master.”

  It was then that I began to worry for my employer’s mental health. Perhaps Ronayne was having a breakdown or else he was in some curious state of shock.Nevertheless,my first duty was to ensure that the figure of the man in evening dress was beyond my assistance. I would see to Ronayne later. Turning back to the body on the slab, I drew out a syringe from my bag and stabbed the needle into the dead man’s skin. There was no reaction. It did not even cause a spot of blood nor stimulate the nerve that I had aimed for. I then cautiously drew out a blood sample and, as carefully as I could, put it in a small phial in my case. It was pale like no blood I had seen before. There were no signs of animation anywhere on the body. The man was clearly dead.

  I half turned to get my notepad.

  As I turned back I realized, with a tingling disgust, that the skin of the corpse around the mouth was sliding away from the teeth. To my horror, the entire flesh had suddenly taken on a strange consis- tency, like melting wax. It was slipping from the body.No, not slipping—it was actually rotting, bubbling and dispersing before my eyes. I could only stand there in frozen horror watching as the body began to decompose and wither in front of me.

  “What in hell is happening?”I whispered, the skin at the nape of my neck tingling in my horror.

  The smell that arose was vile. I began to choke on the fumes.

  Soon all that was left was a pile of molding dust among the remains of the now-sodden evening clothes. Even the skeleton had vanished. Where the right hand had lain was a great golden signet ring set with a jewel and a crest. Automatically, I picked up the ring. I do not know what prompted me to do so. I turned it around in my fingers, still staring at the remains that had, a moment before, been a body.

  My eye then caught something on the ring. A name inscribed in old fashioned Gaelic lettering. “Abhartach.”I realized that the phonetics would be “Averty.”B ut it was the Gaelic form of the name that stirred a distant memory.

  I swallowed hard. Then my rational mind took a grip of my confused emotions, and I wheeled round to Ronayne.

  “Is this some kind of joke?”I demanded angrily. “If so, it is a joke in bad taste.”

  Ronayne was staring at the slab as if he could not believe what he had seen.

  “It is not possible,”h e moaned over and over again. “He cannot die.”

  “You’ve got some explaining to do, Ronayne,”I went on coldly. “I don’t like being made a fool of.Are you responsible for this charade?”

  He turned to me. There was terror in his eyes. If he was acting, then he was brilliant. I tried to make myself believe that this was some bizarre charade.

  “It is not possible!”h e almost screamed. “I did everything I could to protect him; to protect the Master.What has gone wrong?”

  I backed off from his wild staring eyes.My first thought returned. Ronayne had gone mad. Stark-staring mad!

  “You’d better calm down,”I coaxed, reaching out a placating hand.

  His eyes suddenly fell on the ring I still held in my hand, and he seemed to crumple before me.

  “My family has served him down the generations. From the time he was lord of Doire and Ciannachta, when even the Uí Néill would tremble before him. We have served him before the High King Laoghaire converted to Christianity.He was the Neamh-Mhairbh! He cannot die.”

  It took me some time to translate the Old Irish. Neamh-mhairbh—UnDead! I had a cold feeling come over me, as I remembered the legend of Abhartach of Derry. He had been an evil prince who was supposedly slain by his people, was buried but did not die. Every time he was buried, he rose from the grave to feed on the blood of the living. I chuckled nervously. It was some practical joke.

  “What are we to do?”R onayne was crying. “He protected us. He must not die. He cannot die!”

  Ronayne, I realized, was without doubt in the middle of some nervous breakdown f
or no one sane could act like this. I began to back away, thinking to use my mobile phone to call an ambulance.

  It was then that I heard a sound like the sharp intake of breath. There was a smell of cheap perfume, which seemed strangely familiar. It reminded me of something. There was a swish of a skirt behind me. I turned.

  I recognized her at once, in spite of the new whiteness of her skin and the curious staring eyes and redness of the lips. It was the blond girl from south Dublin.

  “What are you doing here?”I asked, totally bewildered.

  She appeared to shuffle forward. She did not walk normally but had a lurching gait. Her hands were reaching out like claws toward me. Her mouth was opened, showing the teeth, teeth that seemed so white and sharp against red lips, lips that were so red. She gave a chuckle. I have never heard a laugh like it. The lips curled back showing gums and displaying the large white canines. Then she lunged forward toward me.

  A silver crucifix was thrust before my face, and I heard a scream of pain. The scream came from the blond girl. Her face was distorted in a fearful expression; she was cowering back away from me, eyes wide on the religious symbol.

  Ronayne was holding the crucifix up before me.

  “Take this,Doctor,”h e muttered, suddenly very calm.“Get out of here—quickly. These new sisters often do not differentiate between those who must remain in life to help them and those who are their natural sustenance. Be careful. There are more about. The car will take you wherever you want to go. Get out now!”

  “I don’t understand any of this,”I protested, my eyes unable to leave the cowering blond girl.

  “Go now!”R onayne almost screamed. “Leave!”

  Protesting somewhat halfheartedly as I did so, I took the crucifix from him. The blond girl’s eyes seemed fixed on it as if something caused them to become attached to the sacred symbol.

  “Better you don’t understand!”R onayne called after me.

  I hurried up the stairs and back the way that I had come. The car was waiting there outside the main door, and the driver did not even bother to ask me where I was going.We raced back along the road to Chapelizod.

  Could what I had witnessed have been real? That was the ques- tion hammering in my mind.Was I having some hallucination? Was I drawing on some forgotten childhood fantasy? Some nightmare? The legend of Abhartach—Averty—was one that had scared many a young child, a legend well-known in folklore. I squeezed my hand in agitation and found something hard in my palm, something that I still held. It was the gold signet ring and those awesome Gaelic letters—Abhartach. A two-thousand-year-old legend?