A Logical Magician

26

The rest of the evening proceeded exactly as Cassandra predicted. They left the haunted cul-de-sac shortly after eight o’clock and returned to the trailer camp without difficulty. At ten, Jack suffered through the indignity of watching reports of his appearance at the shopping mall on the Sunday Night News. Each time the reporter referred to him as “the alleged drug kingpin of Chicago’s South Side,” Jack winced. Merlin would have to be a magician to repair the damage to his reputation.

Channel 9, with an hour news program to fill, devoted a whole section of their broadcast to his exploits. Along with an interview with Benny Anderson, they ran a montage of close-ups made by his students and classmates. Jack slumped lower and lower in Hazel’s sofa as he listened to their remarks. The statements painted him as a combination of the Marquis de Sade and Hannibal Lecter. Sandra Stevens, eager as ever to grab the spotlight, assured the unseen newsman that “Professor Collins rarely displayed any interest in his students,” and “he often came to class looking as if he was zoned out on drugs.”

Jack chewed on his lower lip in disgust. He didn’t regret the many extra hours he had spent tutoring Sandra. That was part of his job. What he did regret was giving her a passing grade for trying hard. Getting ready for sleep that night, his only consolation was that at least he didn’t have to wake up early for classes the next morning.

Hazel insisted he drain another potion before bed. “It will sharpen your memory while you sleep and when you rise,” she told him. “If Merlin’s daughter contacts you in dreams, this drink will ensure you remember what she says.”

Closing his eyes and holding his nose, Jack gulped down the formula. As before, it tasted dreadful. “Don’t you have any potions that taste good?” he asked.

“Lots of them,” said Hazel. “Problem is, they don’t do much of anything. Only the vile ones work right. It’s part of the lore.”

“I should have guessed,” said Jack, “People expected witch’s brew to be nauseating, and thus it was. Belief led to definition.”

Worn out, Jack drifted off to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. And found himself floating in a featureless, gray void. Megan Ambrose hovered only a few feet away.

“Jack,” she said, sounding relieved. “I was beginning to think you’d never arrive. I’ve been reciting poetry aloud to keep from going crazy. It’s incredibly boring having your mind awake while your body remains asleep.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve had a busy day.”

“Your image appears much sharper tonight,” she said. “Maybe you’ll retain more of our conversation. Did you remember my warning about Beltane?”

“Not really,” he admitted. “However, I’ve since pieced together von Bern’s plans. You didn’t, by chance, tell me the location of his hideout the other evening?”

“No,” said Megan. “I have no idea where we are. I gather you don’t either.”

“Not yet,” said Jack. “But I hope to find out tomorrow. I’m meeting with a nymph named January who knows something important.”

“A nymph?” said Megan, her voice noticeably cooler. “You didn’t mention any nymphs in our previous discussions.”

“I only met them today,” said Jack. “They seem like nice girls.”

“So I’ve heard,” said Megan icily. “Why don’t you tell me all about your busy day. Jack? It sounds… fascinating.”

“It began with a witch named Hazel,” said Jack, launching into a description of his activities for the past fifteen hours. A firm believer in protecting both his reputation and his life, he minimized his encounter with the four nymphs. Though, from a certain glint in Megan’s eyes, he suspected she was not so easily fooled.

“Witch Hazel, Simon Goodfellow, and Cassandra Cole,” she remarked when he finished reciting his adventures. “I’ve heard good things about them. You’ve assembled a fine band of adventurers, Jack.”

He nodded. “I almost feel like Jim Phelps on the old Mission Impossible TV show. Each supernatural adds a special talent or skill to our team. Hazel has her spells; Cassandra’s the muscle; and Simon provides the information.”

“Don’t forget the most important member of the group,” said Megan softly. “Jack Collins. He’s the one with the brains. Without you, Jack, nothing would happen. The others aren’t leaders, they’re followers. They need you to make the right decisions.”

Jack grimaced. “That’s the problem, Megan. So far, I haven’t done a damn thing to justify their faith in me. Or your father’s either. If I’m supposed to save the world, civilization is in big trouble.”

“Nonsense,” said Megan.

She snapped her fingers and was instantly at Jack’s side. “Wonderful what you can do in dreams,” she said, as she circled one arm around Jack’s neck and pulled his mouth to hers.

An eternity or two later, she released him. “Kissing in dreams isn’t real,” she sighed, “but it’s better than nothing.”

Jack agreed. Megan’s kiss wasn’t as fiery or as passionate as the nymphs’ embraces, but it touched him in a place the others never came close to. His heart.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“No reason,” she replied. “Or every reason. Call it a confidence booster. I have faith in you, Jack. Take my word for it. You’re the right choice. I know it.”

“I’m not stupid enough to argue with the girl of my dreams,” he said. “But making love here isn’t going to save you from being burnt alive by Dietrich von Bern.”

“You’ll stop him,” said Megan.

“I wish I shared your confidence,” said Jack. “Finding von Bern’s headquarters is only the first step. After that, I’ve got to defeat him and the Border Redcaps somehow. And I don’t have a clue to his weakness.”

“He must be vulnerable to something,” said Megan.

“That’s what’s driving me nuts,” said Jack. “According to the old legends, cold iron defeated the forces of darkness. But I’ve seen firsthand that’s not true anymore. Iron and steel no longer affect the supernaturals. Until I understand why, nothing about them makes sense.”

“I’m not sure I follow what you’re saying,” said Megan.

“There has to be an underlying logical basis to the rules governing the existence of the mythical creatures living on our world,” said Jack. “Your father worked out the principles of how you are all created. Again and again, I’ve witnessed the truth of his deductions. Every supernatural entity obeys the specific beliefs, the particular legends that brought it to life. Though they’ve evolved over the centuries, Simon and Hazel and the nymphs and all the rest are still true to their original nature. The universe requires consistency. There has to be cause and effect. But, if that’s true, why isn’t cold iron deadly to von Bern and his unholy crew?”

Megan shrugged. “Modern times?”

“Uh-uh,” said Jack. He tapped his fingers together in frustration. “Rules are rules, no matter when they are applied. Consider, for example, Walsh the vampire. He still couldn’t cross running water. And sunlight killed him.”

“But didn’t you tell me that the cross didn’t harm him?” replied Megan. “Why should one method work and not the other?”

“I don’t know,” said Jack. “But there must be an answer.”

“Maybe you’re approaching the problem from the wrong direction,” said Megan. “What about the other monsters you faced? You defeated them with unconventional methods of attack.”

“That’s true only in a manner of speaking,” said Jack. “In those cases, I had no choice other than to experiment with new approaches to the old solution. The creatures had evolved with the times, and the old versions of eliminating them no longer applied to their new forms. I merely updated the answers to fit their modern states. The rules hadn’t changed, only the representations.”

He paused, as the meaning of his own words vibrated through his mind. “Maybe that’s it. Walsh wasn’t harmed by the cross because it personally meant nothing to him. It no longer represented what it did a hundred years ago.”

Jack grinned. “As the monsters evolve, so do the icons affecting them. That’s the law I’ve been searching for. The solution is a symbolic one. A century ago, the crucifix stood for the triumph of good over evil, light over darkness. It was a unique symbol, the embodiment of a specific principle deadly to creatures of the night like the vampire. More important, people believed in its power. And that belief made it work.

“However, as civilization changed, religion fragmented into a thousand different beliefs, with none of them holding sway over mankind’s psyche. A symbol sacred to one group meant nothing to another. Walsh was unaffected by the cross because it was no longer the proper icon. In our modern world, the crucifix no longer represented the forces of light.

“Fortunately, the general rules about vampires still held true. They were specific, not symbolic. Sunlight killed Walsh because sunlight vanquishes darkness by definition.”

“Does that help you with von Bern?” asked Megan.

“If we apply the same logic to the German, it does,” said Jack. “Since cold iron no longer affects von Bern, it logically implies that the metal was merely a specific example of a general category of objects that harmed the Wild Huntsman and his allies. Over the years, people confused the specific with the symbolic. As was the case with vampires and crosses.

“Time passed, and for some reason I don’t yet understand, steel lost its effect against the creatures of the night. If anything, I suspect it became too commonplace, and people no longer believed that it possessed the unique property that originally made it an icon. However, the original symbolism never changed. That’s what’s really important. Obviously, something else replaced cold iron.”

“What?” asked Megan.

“I don’t know,” said Jack. “First, I need to figure out the general case. In other words, what did steel symbolize? If the crucifix represented the power of light over darkness, what meaning did cold iron possess that made it so deadly to von Bern and his cronies? Once I solve that enigma, it shouldn’t require much effort to rationalize that principle for the modern world. Which will enable me to find the proper icon. And the German’s weakness, I hope.”

“I hope so too,” said Megan, reaching for him again. “You’re starting to fade. Night must be coming to an end. One last kiss before you leave…”

Jack could still feel the warm touch of Megan’s lips against his when he awoke. With a smile and a sigh of relief, he realized that he had retained full memory of his dream. Then a frown of concern clouded his features. The sun pouring in through the trailer window signaled it was Monday morning. Each hour brought Beltane a step closer. And with it, the end of civilization. Not to mention the untimely death of the girl of his dreams. Hurriedly, he slipped on his new clothing. There wasn’t a minute to waste.