A Logical Magician

30

January’s long tangled hair was white as snow, and her deep eyes were an icy blue. Tall and busty, she looked more like a Norse goddess than a Greek nymph. But she was anything but frigid in her greeting, insisting on a very long, lingering kiss with both Simon and Jack.

“Humans express their desires so much better than the fey folk,” she explained, reluctantly releasing Jack from her embrace. “Kissing you is a tremendously rewarding experience.”

“Glad to oblige,” said Jack, trying to catch his breath. “The feeling is mutual.”

Fortunately for his presence of mind, all of the mall nymphs were fully dressed tonight, though their skin-tight skirts and stretch knit tops left little to the imagination. Jack wasn’t sure if the girls looked sexier with clothes or without them.

“Cassandra’s waiting at the car, Jack,” declared Simon impatiently, catching Jack completely by surprise. Simon was the last one he expected to be in a hurry. Then he realized the changeling was only being true to his nature. Closing his mind to temptation, Jack concentrated on their reason for seeing the nymphs.

“May thought you heard von Bern drop a hint where his hideout is located,” said Jack. “I need to find the place. Fast. Can you help?”

January nodded. “The girls told me the whole story. I’m glad to cooperate. Human sacrifice is so… uncivilized.”

She paused for a second, drawing in a deep breath and setting Jack’s pulse racing. “Dietrich was bragging how powerful he was going to become once the ceremony took place. According to him, the Old One promised that he would have complete control over Chicago and all the Midwest.

“I remember thinking to myself that that would make life here in the mall insufferable when he launched into this long tirade about how incredibly stupid you humans were. Since that’s one of his favorite themes, I tuned out most of what he was saying. However, one line stayed with me. The Huntsman was mocking the police. I remember his exact words. He said, ‘The fools hunt desperately throughout the city for my captives, while all along the ones they seek are right beneath their feet.’ Then, he changed the subject and never mentioned the women again. Does it make any sense to you?”

Jack frowned. “Not instantly. His headquarters can’t be located in the subway system. All of the tunnels are in use. None of them have been abandoned. Maybe he’s using the basement of an old warehouse?”

A stray thought about tunnels tickled his consciousness. Jack recalled his conversation with the taxi driver a few centuries ago. The cabbie mentioned that all of the women who vanished had disappeared from the buildings in the Loop. Again, the notion touched a strand of memory. Anxiously, he tried to wrestle the notion to the surface.

“Underground tunnels,” he muttered, eyes closed tightly shut as he concentrated. “Tunnels. Passageways. Corridors. Beneath the Loop corridors. Old railway tunnels …”

A black ball of fur exploded through the secret doorway of the nymphs’ lair. Moving with astonishing speed, Sylvester shot across the glade and into Jack’s arms. Immediately, all of Jack’s mental groping about old abandoned passageways collapsed.

“Cassandra sent me to fetch you two,” the cat gasped out, hardly able to speak. “She senses evil approaching. Amazons possess a talent for that. No more time for talking. We gotta run.”

“Von Bern and the Gabble Ratchets,” said Simon. “It must be them.”

The changeling grabbed Jack by the arm, sending Sylvester tumbling to the floor. “Sorry to kiss and run, girls,” Simon said, “but we’re history. And if the German catches us, we’re dead history.”

Her face twisted with worry, April escorted them through the magic door and into the mall. “Be careful, Jack,” she said, holding him tightly for an instant. “For all our sakes.”

“Thanks,” said Jack, reminding himself that this stunning young woman attracting the attention of every male in the immediate surroundings was over three thousand years old. “I plan to be back.”

Eyes damp with tears, April let him go. Then she grabbed his shoulders before he could move. “I just remembered! Late last night, long after you were gone, we felt an abrupt rip in the outer darkness. Something massive, something ancient, entered our world. Entered nearby.

“May and June are certain it’s one of the legendary Great Beasts. Ask Simon about them. He knows their history. My sisters think von Bern, or his master, summoned the Beast to destroy you. It’s out there, somewhere, waiting for you.”

“Damn,” said Jack. “I wish I justified all the attention these fiends are wasting on me. I’ve yet to prove myself much of a threat to their plans. April, thanks again for everything. Keep your fingers crossed that von Bern and company are right and I’m hell on wheels. See you soon.”

He dashed after Simon and Sylvester. As he ran Jack wondered what horrors hid behind the title “Great Beast.” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

They burst out the doors of the mall together. Cassandra had the car pulled up to the curb, thirty feet away. She waved at them frantically, urging them to greater speed. But, before he could take more than a few steps, Jack heard the howling—the howling of the Gabble Ratchets.

For an instant he froze, his gaze sweeping across the parking lot searching for the Corpse Hounds. It didn’t take long to find them. Their fearful baying attracted more attention than a malfunctioning car alarm. There were three of the monsters, heading directly at them from the west. As of yet, there was no sign of their dread master.

Jack tore his attention away from the beasts. Running, he could reach the car long before the hounds arrived. Trying to stay calm, he dashed wildly for the auto. And tripped over the motionless body of Sylvester the cat.

The familiar was frozen stiffer than an icicle. Eyes popped out of its head, fur standing on end, it looked like a prop from an old horror film. Jack swore as he hauled the beast up into his arms. The unearthly howling of the Gabble Ratchets had completely immobilized Sylvester.

The cat was surprisingly heavy. Stumbling, Jack staggered for the car. Never once did he consider leaving Sylvester behind. The supernatural beast was part of his team. Abandoning it to the mercies of the Corpse Hounds was out of the question.

The Gabble Ratchets were less than twenty yards distant and closing fast. Jack knew he would never make it to the auto. Desperately, he dropped the frozen cat at his feet and stood waiting for the monsters, hands clenched into fists. Jaws dripping slaver, eyes burning with unholy light, the three hounds bayed in triumph as they hurtled forward.

“Out of the way, Jack,” said Cassandra, seeming to appear out of nowhere. Calmly, she shoved him behind her and raised her staff as the three Gabble Ratchets launched themselves into the air.

The Amazon whipped her walking stick around faster than the eye could follow. One end caught the first of the hounds square in the throat. A quick flick of the wrist sent the beast flying in the air over their heads and into the mall wall.

Meanwhile, the other silver cap pounded the second dog right in the nose, smashing it to ruins. Shrieking in pain, the hound scrambled backwards, blood gushing from its face.

The third Ratchet, its jaws spread wide, almost made it to Cassandra. Just when it appeared impossible that she could avoid the monster’s fangs, the Amazon slammed the center of her staff into the beast’s mouth. The hound’s teeth clenched together, but on wood, not Cassandra. Releasing her grip on the walking stick, the Amazon let the dog fall to the ground. Twirling on the balls of her feet, she kicked it in the throat. Choking, the hound released the staff and collapsed.

“Watch it!” shouted Jack, as the first dog Cassandra faced charged her for a second time. Howling madly, the beast leapt for her throat.

The Amazon dropped like a stone, letting the hound sail right over her head. Before the dog could recover, Cassandra was on her feet again, both hands gripping one end of her staff. She swept it around in a short, vicious arc ending with the Gabble Ratchet’s skull. With a crunch of bone, the monster dropped unconscious to the pavement.

“Bravo!” exclaimed a voice that Jack recognized instantly. “Poetry in motion.”

Dietrich von Bern stood less than ten feet distant. By his side whimpered the second Gabble Ratchet, blood dripping in bright red droplets from its crushed nose. In one huge hand, the Huntsman held his terrible sword.

Parked behind von Bern, less than a dozen feet away from their Buick, was the Huntsman’s black limo. Leaning against the car, arms folded in disinterest, was Charon. The sight of the ancient Greek ferryman reminded Jack of the insurance nestled in his pocket. Tonight he would learn if his hunch concerning the items was correct.

“A magnificent fight,” declared von Bern, taking a giant step forward. Effortlessly, he raised his massive sword shoulder high. The blade glowed with a sinister light. “I doubt that anyone else in the world could defeat three of the Gabble Ratchets unaided. Too bad you struggle for a lost cause, Cassandra. As always.”

The Amazon twirled her staff in a circle over her head. In seconds, she had it moving so fast that it blurred in the starlight. Her eyes never left the big German. “It’s never over till the fat lady sings, von Bern,” she declared.

To Jack, she whispered urgently, “Get in the car, fast. There’s no way I can beat the Huntsman with a wood stick.”

Jack needed no prompting. He flung Sylvester’s petrified body into the back seat and scrambled in after it. Huddled behind the steering wheel, hands trembling with fear, was Simon.

“Welcome to the Flying Dutchman,” said the changeling, his teeth chattering. “Ready for takeoff.”

For each step forward taken by von Bern, Cassandra paced one back. She was only a few feet from the Buick.

“My master wants Collins eliminated,” declared the Huntsman. “Move out of my path or be destroyed.”

“Over my dead body,” said Cassandra.

“Your choice,” said von Bern, chuckling. In the blink of an eye, he raised his sword over his head and slashed downward. The air screamed with its passage.

Cassandra’s staff barely slowed the weapon’s descent. The massive blow sliced through the wood as if it didn’t exist. It would have sheared through the Amazon’s skull with equal ease if she had remained motionless. But the sword cut only empty space. Moving with superhuman agility, Cassandra was already in the Buick, the door slammed behind her.

“Hit the gas,” she commanded, and Simon obeyed.

Cylinders growling, the car tore out of the shopping mall parking lot and into traffic. Behind them, Jack glimpsed von Bern and Charon scrambling into the black limo. The chase was on.

“They won’t give up this easy,” said Cassandra grimly, echoing Jack’s thoughts. “Slide beneath, Simon, and let me take the wheel. Charon drives a lot better than you. Unfortunately, I’m not much competition for him, either. We’ll head for the country. Maybe we can outrun them.”

Gunning the motor, Cassandra steered the car southwest, onto a seldom traveled country highway. In minutes, they left behind the lights and congestion of the shopping mall. Only the harsh glare of their headlights broke the absolute darkness that threatened to swallow them up.

“Gabblerats,” muttered Sylvester, stretching out on the back seat of the car. “Ware gabblerats.”

“Sounds like the spell is breaking,” declared Simon. “The howling of the Corpse Hounds petrifies any beast that hears it, natural or supernatural. Sylvester will be fine in an hour. Assuming, of course, any of us are alive in an hour.”

“Bandits moving up fast on our side,” said Cassandra, checking the rear view mirror. “And they don’t look friendly.”

Jack stared out the back window. There was no mistaking the black limo creeping closer to them. The giant car cut through the night like a shark circling in on its prey. The rear passenger door was wide open. Balancing there, his drawn sword blazing with blue fire, stood Dietrich von Bern. The twin scars on his cheeks glowed blood red in the moonlight.

“The Sword of Chaos,” muttered Simon. “It feeds on innocent souls.”

“Shades of Michael Moorcock,” said Jack. His brow wrinkled with sudden inspiration. “Chaos? Light versus darkness, order versus chaos. That might be it.”

“Hang on,” advised Cassandra. “I’m putting the pedal to the floor.”

The Buick’s motor roared. The car surged forward, the acceleration knocking them back into the seats. Cassandra fought with the steering wheel, trying to keep the auto from skidding off the highway. Clinging to an armrest, Jack risked a look at their pursuers. He groaned in frustration.

“No use,” he declared. “They’re closing the gap. We can’t outrun them.”

A dozen yards separated the vehicles. Seconds later, it was five. Then, with a burst of power the Buick could not match, the trailing car pulled even. A gap less than six feet wide separated them.

“Now,” bellowed Dietrich von Bern, his triumphant face only a few feet from Jack’s, “this game comes to a proper end!”

Balanced in the limo’s doorway, one foot propped against the window to hold him steady, von Bern swung his huge sword with both hands. Metal shrieked against metal as the Huntsman’s blade bit into the reinforced steel roof of the Buick—and through it. Jack cursed in astonishment as the Chaos Sword passed within inches of his nose.

Twisting the steering wheel with all her strength, Cassandra pulled the two cars apart, trying to wrench the sword from von Bern’s hands. But, reacting with inhuman speed, the German slid the blade free. It took him only a second to regain his balance. Laughing insanely, he raised the Chaos Sword over his head for a second attack.

“There’s no escape,” cried Cassandra. “If he can’t reach you, he’ll change tactics and kill me instead. I can’t steer and avoid his sword. We’re finished.”

“Maybe not,” said Jack, reaching into his coat pocket and grabbing his bag of insurance. “Roll down all the windows.”

Unquestioning, Cassandra used the master control to do as she was told. Surprised, von Bern hesitated. “It’s too late to plead for your miserable life, worm,” he snarled.

“Don’t hold your breath waiting,” answered Jack. He wasn’t concerned with the German.

Through the limo’s open door, Jack could see the back of the driver’s head. “Charon,” he called, emptying the contents of the pouch into one hand. Jack held out a handful of silver coins. “Oboluses.”

The ancient Greek ferryman’s head jerked around sharply, his red eyes flaring. Reacting to his motion, the limo swerved closer to the Buick. Startled, von Bern tumbled back into his car, the door slamming shut after him.

“Oboluses,” repeated Jack, and with a laugh, tossed them over his shoulders and out the opposite window. The coins hit the pavement and disappeared into the night.

Tires screamed and rubber burned as the Greek jammed on the huge limo’s brakes. Swerving back and forth across the highway, it skidded hundreds of yards before coming to a full stop. In seconds, darkness swallowed the car as if it never existed. The Huntsman’s shrieks of rage followed them a moment longer, then they too were gone.

“I think you can slow up,” said Jack. “By the time Charon finds those coins, it will be daylight.”

“Oboluses?” asked Simon.

“I bought them from the numismatist in the Loop after our first encounter with von Bern. From your description of Charon’s personality, I suspected he couldn’t resist their lure.”

“In my time,” said Cassandra, “the dead paid the ferryman a silver obolus for passage across the Styx.”

“Four thousand years later,” said Jack, “he remained true to his nature. Luckily for us.”

He glanced at the speedometer. They were cruising along at nearly seventy miles an hour. In the blackness, it felt like a hundred.

“The danger’s past,” he said to the Amazon. “There’s no reason to drive this fast.”

Cassandra shrugged, looking embarrassed. “It’s not my doing. The brakes refuse to work, and the car won’t slow down.”

She raised her hands off the steering wheel. It remained fixed. “I’m no longer in control. The automobile is following someone else’s commands. Until we arrive wherever it’s taking us, we’re stuck inside. Unless you feel like jumping.”

“No, thanks,” said Jack, watching the scenery fly by. This latest turn of events left him unmoved. He was starting to expect the unexpected. “I’m willing to wait for the car to run out of gas.”

Folding his elbows behind his head, he stretched out on the back seat. “Besides, long car rides make me sleepy. I want to confer with Megan Ambrose about an idea that occurred to me during our fight with von Bern.”

Yawning, he shut his eyes. “Wake me when we arrive,” he declared and drifted off to sleep.