Dark Magic

26

“Coward!” Peter yelled at the fleeing cab.

He stopped in the middle of Central Park West as the cab’s taillights faded away. He’d caught the license plate, and pulled out Special Agent Garrison’s business card from his wallet, and punched the FBI agent’s number into his cell phone. Garrison picked up on the first ring.

“Who’s this?” Garrison asked suspiciously.

“This is Peter Warlock. Wolfe just tried to attack two of my friends. He’s now heading north on Central Park West in a stolen yellow cab, license plate number 9AH 4B7.”

“How’s he dressed?”

“He’s wearing a cheap dark suit and some kind of fake skin that makes him look like an old man. I didn’t recognize him at first. A bird tore most of it away.”

“A bird?”

“I’ll explain later.”

“Right. Was anyone hurt?”

Peter looked at the cab driver, whom Wolfe had knocked to the ground, being helped to his feet by a well-dressed couple. People were always saying that New Yorkers were cold and unfriendly, yet in fact the opposite was true. The driver was shaken up, but no worse for wear.

“The driver got knocked on the head, but it looks like he’s going to be okay,” Peter said.

“What about your two friends? Did Wolfe hurt them?”

“No, but he got close.”

“I’m alerting the NYPD. Hopefully, they’ve got a patrol car in the area, and can run him down. I need to know your friends’ names, so the police can get a statement from them.”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game. Your friends are in danger, and so are you.”

“Telling you their names won’t change that,” Peter said.

He hung up the phone and started walking back to the Dakota. A black object lying in the gutter caught his eye. It was one of Milly’s crows, its body broken and lifeless. He picked it up, remembering all the times he’d seen the crows perched in the oak trees across from the building. Every psychic had secrets they did not share, or a past they did not talk about. The crows were part of Milly’s past, and he knew little of their history.

Holly was waiting inside the lobby. The shock of what had happened had sunk in, and her face was ashen. Seeing the dead bird, she let out a tiny sob.

“Oh, no.”

“You weren’t supposed to go out,” Peter said.

“My aunt thought it would be okay if we went to dinner together.”

“It wasn’t okay. Damn it, Holly. Wolfe came that close.”

His voice was trembling, and he tried to control himself. Seeing into the future was often terrifying. It was more terrifying when no one would listen.

“Please don’t be angry,” Holly said as they rode the elevator upstairs.

“I have every right to be angry,” he said. “You’re behaving like a child.”

“Peter, please stop. I can’t stand when you act like this.”

Holly had never had her loved ones taken away from her. Hopefully, she never would.

“Just listen to me,” he said. “We have these amazing powers, but in reality, we’re no different than anyone else. We can still get sick, still die. We’re mortal. Stop acting like you’re not.”

Her lower lip trembled. “Is that how I’m acting?”

“Yes.”

“All right. I’ll stop. Now please calm down.”

“Right.”

“I mean it. Your face is so angry. I hate when you get like this.”

“When did I ever get like this?”

“When we were young, and you babysat for me. Sometimes, you just boiled with anger.”

“Did you listen to me then?”

“Stop it. Please.”

He stared at the elevator door. The anger had been buried inside of him for as long as he could remember. When it reared its ugly head, there was no getting out of its way.

“I’ll try,” he said.

Milly met them at the front door to her apartment. She took the dead crow out of Peter’s hands and held it protectively against her chest. With her free hand, she touched the side of Peter’s face, and brushed back an errant strand of hair.

“Thank you for bringing him,” she said.

“He died trying to protect you and Holly,” Peter said.

“I know he did. Please come inside.”

She took them to her study. It was a small room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined with musty-smelling volumes on the occult. Milly had them sit on a leather couch, then wedged herself between them. She stroked the dead bird’s feathers while staring into space.

“These crows have been a part of my family for three centuries,” Milly said. “They first appeared when my ancestor, Mary Glover, was hanged for being a witch. Mary called out to the crows right before she was put to death, and the crows replied by making a terrible cawing sound. They’ve been making that sound ever since. Holly, would you fetch a towel from the kitchen?”

Holly rose from the couch and walked out of the room. Peter had been waiting for this opportunity, and placed his hand on Milly’s sleeve. “I need to speak with you in private.”

“Not tonight, Peter. I’m tired and upset, as I imagine you are as well.”

“You and Max can’t avoid me forever,” he said.

“Are we avoiding you?”

“It’s beginning to feel that way.”

Holly returned with a dish towel, which Milly used to wrap the dead bird. Peter sensed she was not looking forward to this conversation any more than he was. Milly spoke to her niece in a quiet voice. “Holly, be a dear, and leave us alone. Peter and I need to speak in private.”

“About what?” Holly asked, sounding annoyed.

“The past.”

“How can you be keeping secrets at a time like this?” Holly asked.

“I’m sorry, my dear.”

Holly’s shoes clomped across the wood floors. Milly laughed under her breath.

“I would give anything to be her age again,” she said.

Peter took the dead bird from her and placed it on the desk. Returning to the couch, he sat down beside the woman who’d help raise him, and took her frail, liver-spotted hands in both his own. “I want you to tell me about the children of Marble, and how my parents became part of the Order of Astrum,” he said.

“Who told you that?”

“My girlfriend. She and my assistant hacked the FBI’s computer. There was an article about the Order that claimed my parents were founding members. Is this true?”

His words had a powerful effect on her. Or perhaps, it was the memory being dredged to the surface after being buried for so long that caused her to pause. Her eyes took on the faraway expression of a person lost in a daydream.

“I don’t know the entire story, and I’m not sure that anyone does,” Milly said. “But I will tell you what your mother told me. Perhaps you will be able to figure out the rest.”

“Please,” he said.

“One day when your parents were small children, they were playing with three boys from their village. It was the dead of winter, and they were making a snowman in a field. Suddenly they heard a noise that sounded like a baby crying, and decided to investigate. They left the field and entered a forest, where they walked down a path until they came to a frozen pond where the townspeople sometimes ice-skated. Stuck in the middle of the pond was a black cat, which appeared to be having a problem standing on the ice, and was crying for help.

“I suppose your mother had heightened sensibilities at a young age, for she immediately became suspicious. She had never seen the cat before, and couldn’t understand how it had reached the middle of the pond, yet could not get back. Your mother suggested that they find a grown-up, and let them deal with the situation. The other children scoffed at her, and said they didn’t need an adult, they could save the animal themselves.

“The four boys ventured onto the pond, and tried to rescue the cat. Your father turned to your mother, and asked her to join them. I suppose the attraction between them had already begun, for your mother agreed, and walked onto the ice.

“Then, a peculiar thing happened. The cat stopped crying, and became deathly still. Your mother remembers that it began to make a strange sound, as if snorting at them. The next thing she knew, the ice began to crack all around her. The children screamed. One by one, they fell into the icy water. Your mother was the last to go into the drink. She had not taken her eyes off the cat, which proceeded to run away, and disappear into the woods.”

“It wasn’t hurt,” Peter said.

Milly shook her head.

“Was it a trap?”

She nodded.

“But by who?”

“Whoever owned the cat, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry. Please go on.”

“The children were heavily clothed, and quickly sank to the bottom of the pond,” Milly continued. “Your mother said it was very dark, and quite surreal. She could feel the others thrashing about in the water, but could not see them. She tried to save herself, but soon ran out of energy. Finally, she had no choice, and gave up.”

Peter swallowed hard. “What happened then?”

“That, as my generation used to say, is the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. Your mother said they should have died. None of them could swim, nor were they wearing anything that would have helped them float. They should have died, and that would have been the end of their short, uneventful lives. Those were the exact words that your mother used when she told me the story. Only the children of Marble didn’t die. Something happened in the depths of that pond which forever changed them. They floated to the surface, and climbed out through the holes in the ice, and hurried back to the village.”

“How did they climb out if they couldn’t swim?”

“Your mother never explained that part.”

“You must have some theory.”

Milly shrugged and did not reply. Peter felt himself growing frustrated.

“Did they know they were psychic at that point?” he asked.

“That is a question I asked your mother,” Milly said. “She told me that it happened a short while later. Your father was pillaging the attic in his house when he found a chest that had belonged to his great-grandparents. The chest contained a talking board carved out of old wood with a matching planchette.”

“You mean a Ouija board?” Peter asked.

“A Ouija board is a game for children and drunk adults,” Milly said. “A talking board is used when speaking with the dead. The talking board in the attic of your father’s house was such a device. It had been carved from a single piece of wood, and contained the twenty-six letters of the alphabet, the numbers one through ten, and the arching sweep of a crescent moon with a black cat sitting within the moon and wearing a pentacle pendant around its neck. The cat bore a striking resemblance to the cat that had drawn the children to the pond, hence your father’s interest in it.

“Your father took the talking board from the attic, and went down the street to where your mother lived. He showed it to her, and she agreed that the cat on the board matched the cat they’d seen. She suggested they play a game with the board, and ask it a question. They sat at the kitchen table, placed their hands on the planchette, and asked the board if it was sunny or cloudy outside. To their surprise, the planchette raced across the board under its own power, and answered them. That was the beginning of the seances. Later, they invited their other three friends to join them.”

Peter stared into space. For some reason, he’d always assumed that his mother and father had been born psychic, just as he had, and never considered that something might have happened during their childhoods which made them this way. It put a spin on things which he did not completely understand.

“How did they become the Order of Astrum?” he asked.

“I asked your mother that very question,” Milly replied. “She said it was your father’s idea. Your father felt they needed a name for their little group. He had read a story about Aleister Crowley, who had practiced dark magic during the turn of the century. Crowley called his group Argentium Astrum, which in Latin means silver star. Your father thought this was just splendid, so he named their group the Order of Astrum.”

“So it was all a game.”

Milly leaned into him. “Yes! Your parents never meant for it to be anything more than that. The horrible things came later, when the children grew up.”

“Do you know why?”

“Money.” She let out a deep breath, and seemed suddenly fatigued. “The other three were all failures at the work they did. They banded together, and decided to use their powers for financial gain. Your parents were against it, and left England and came to New York.”

“Is that why my parents were killed? Because they wouldn’t play along?”

“That was always my assumption.” Milly rose from the couch, signaling that she was done. “It’s been a long night. I need to get my rest.”

Peter rose as well. There was no doubt in his mind that his parents had sworn Milly to secrecy, and breaking that vow had not been easy for her. He put his arms around her, and rested his chin on her head. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, my dear boy,” she said.