The Mistress of Illusions

by Michael D. Resnick

  She stared at him. “I’ve never been in an office, and I don’t know who Mako is.”

  “Then what are you doing down here in the subway?”

  “Following you, of course.”

  “Why?” he insisted.

  “We’re a team—Frankie and Euryale.”

  “I’ve read the book. The monster was never called Frankenstein, not once.”

  “What book?” she shot back. “You’ve always been Frankie to me, just as I’ve always been Euryale to you. At least until you called me that other name a moment ago.”

  “Lisa?”

  She nodded, causing her hair to hiss and writhe. “That’s the one.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “Okay, Euryale, what did we do yesterday?”

  A smile of reminiscence crossed her face. “How could you forget, Frankie? We terrorized a whole kindergarten class of goblins.”

  He frowned. “We did?”

  She chuckled. “I’ll bet they obey their parents now.”

  “Okay,” he said. “And the day before that?”

  “That was the highlight of our week, Frankie. Don’t you remember how we saved the manticore before the mob could tear it to pieces?”

  A sense of relief swept over Raven. “So we’re basically Good Guys. We just look like monsters.”

  “Speak for yourself,” said Euryale. “I think I look pretty good.” She struck a pose that would have elicited wolf whistles if she was Lisa, but was mildly terrifying when assumed by a heavily weaponized medusa.

  “I misspoke,” he said, and hoped his nose didn’t instantly grow six or seven inches.

  “We’re a team, and a damned good one,” she replied.

  “Then maybe we’d better get back to work,” he said.

  “What exactly are we doing?” she asked. “It’s so pleasant down here,” she added, waving a hand at the dark, damp, bleak surroundings, “that I almost forgot we’re working.”

  “We’re trying to discover who put out the kill order on Eddie Raven,” he answered. “And since there was a kill order, why the shooter killed Mako and seriously wounded two others, and never even took a shot at Raven.”

  “He sounds like a very confused man,” offered Euryale.

  “It’s more than him,” said Raven. “Or bigger than him. Or something along those lines.”

  “I don’t follow you, Frankie.”

  “I . . . make that Raven . . . never got near him. I found the kill order weeks later, hidden inside Mako’s kitchen. Which means . . .”

  “. . . that the kill order went out to more than one party,” she concluded. Then she frowned. “But if that was the case, why didn’t Mako kill Eddie Raven the moment he entered Mako’s shop?”

  “Beats the hell out of me. These are all things we have to find out.”

  “Sounds like fun,” she said. “By the way, who’s paying us for all this?”

  He paused for a moment, then came up with the only answer he thought she would accept. “Eddie Raven.”

  She nodded her head. “Makes sense. So what’s our next step?”

  “I haven’t eaten all day,” said Raven. “How about you?”

  The snakes all began hissing and writhing wildly.

  “Frankie, I’ve asked you never to mention f-o-o-d in front of my hair.”

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “Anyway, I could go for some.”

  “Good,” he said. Suddenly he found himself staring at her hair. “Any suggestions?”

  “The usual place,” answered Euryale.

  “Lead the way,” he said.

  She turned and began walking until she came to a well-hidden, very narrow stairway about two hundred yards away. She then ascended halfway to street level, followed a corridor for another fifty feet, and came to a small room. Three sides were brick and one side glass, with a door in the middle of the glass, and she entered.

  Raven followed her, and tried not to pay attention to the screams and curses coming from the kitchen, since it was clear to him that they were not emanating from human throats.

  She sat down in a booth that looked to him like it was covered with skin. Raven wanted to think it was animal skin, but then he saw the remnants of some tattoos on it.

  “We come here often, do we?” he asked.

  She nodded, which upset a few of the snakes. “It’s easier than finding one restaurant for me and one for my hair.”

  A hunchbacked waiter limped over to their table, carrying a sword.

  “Welcome back, Euryale.”

  “Hi, Igor,” she said. “We’re good and hungry.”

  “Just you and Frankie?” he asked.

  “All of us.”

  “Okay,” he said, nodding his mildly misshapen head. “What’ll it be?”

  “The usual,” she said.

  “Fine,” he said. He tucked the sword into a sheath. “Then you won’t be needing this.”

  He walked off to the kitchen, and Raven turned to Euryale.

  “You kill your own food here?” he asked disbelievingly.

  She shrugged. “Sometimes my hair likes to play with its dinner. Problem is, it can get very messy.”

  “I can imagine,” he said, and then corrected himself. “No, I can’t imagine, and I’m much happier that way.”

  “You’re acting oddly today, Frankie,” said Euryale. “Why, the last time we were here, you were betting other customers on which of my follicles would deliver the death blow.”

  Suddenly they heard an inhuman scream coming from the kitchen.

  “What the hell was that?” muttered Raven.

  “It could be anything from the cook burning himself to the cook burning whatever they’re eating at the next table.”

  Raven frowned. “Has this place got a name?”

  “Originally it was Eat at Joe’s,” she said.

  “Originally?”

  “Then the new owners took it over.”

  “And what is it now?” asked Raven.

  “Almost the same.”

  “Eat at Joe’s?”

  “Eat Joe,” she answered. “Though I don’t suppose there’s been anything left of Joe for some months now.”

  Raven was about to voice his disgust when it occurred to him that a sandwich of Joe on rye bread sounded pretty tasty at the moment. He decided that if he watched Euryale’s snakes rip apart and gobble their dinner, whatever it was, it might do serious damage to his appetite, so he simply signaled Igor over and ordered a beer.

  “With or without?” asked Igor.

  “With or without what?” asked Raven cautiously.

  “Blood of an Innocent,” was the answer.

  “An Innocent what?” asked Raven.

  Igor shrugged. “I’ll have to see what we’ve got back there that’s still alive and kicking.” A sudden scream echoed through the building. “Or yelling.”

  “How about just a glass of water?”

  “Same question, pal,” said Igor. “With or without?”

  “Just water,” said Raven firmly.

  Igor shook his head in wonderment. “Boy, we sure get our share of weirdos in here,” he said as he walked back to the kitchen.

  “You look upset, Frankie,” said Euryale, reaching over and laying her hand on his. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, never fear.”

  “Of dinner?” he said, frowning. “I hope not.”

  “The case,” she said. “The one or more guys who may or may not want to kill Eddie Raven—and why one of them shot his friends instead.”

  “Only one of them was his friend. He’d never seen the other two before.”

  “Very strange,” she said, frowning beneath the snakes that served as bangs. “Everything about this case is weird.”

  “An understateme
nt,” agreed Raven.

  “For instance, where is this Eddie Raven? And why haven’t we spoken to the two people who survived being shot?”

  He wanted to say, I’m speaking to one of them right now, but of course he didn’t.

  Dinner, such as it was, arrived a moment later, preceded by unearthly screaming and howling, and Raven tried to look away while her hair played with its dinner—but everywhere he looked he encountered a more frightening sight. Finally he just leaned back, closed his eyes, waited for the last scream to end very suddenly, and sighed deeply.

  “I’ve been to a lot of places recently,” he remarked. “In fact, I’ve been a lot of people. But this is definitely the strangest.”

  “Isn’t it thrilling?” Euryale said enthusiastically.

  “That’s one word for it,” replied Raven. “Not the one that pops to mind ahead of all others, but what the hell.”

  Two of the larger hair follicles got into a spat over the last piece of dinner, the larger one won, and Euryale turned to Raven.

  “Okay, Frankie,” she said. “We’re sated now.”

  “We?” said Raven, frowning.

  “My hair and me,” she answered. “Let’s go catch the bad guys.”

  “Given our surroundings, maybe we’d better define them first.”

  “I have an even better idea,” offered Igor, approaching them. “Pay for your dinner first.”

  Raven reached into a pocket, fumbled around for a few seconds, and withdrew a bill.

  “We don’t want your money, pal,” said Igor.

  Raven frowned. “What do you want?”

  Igor looked down at the hand. “Oh, a thumb and a forefinger ought to do it.”

  “They came in here with me and they’re leaving with me,” growled Raven. “Now you can take the five I’m offering you, or you can take my spare comb, but that’s your only choice.”

  “Why do you have a spare comb?” asked Igor curiously. “You’ve barely got enough hair to merit one comb.”

  It would take too long to explain that it’s Eddie Raven’s comb and it made the transition with me.

  “I live in hope,” replied Raven.

  “You’ve come to the wrong place,” said Igor. “Around here, people die in hope.” He paused thoughtfully for a moment. “Or without it,” he added.

  “One of them’s going to die without his fingers if he grabs for anything but the bill,” said Raven.

  Igor looked at the five-dollar bill, then at the unforgiving expression on Raven’s monstrous face, and finally sighed, grabbed the bill, and retreated to the kitchen.

  “I hope they’ll let you come back here,” Raven said to Euryale.

  “Why wouldn’t they?” she asked.

  He jerked his head in Igor’s direction. “Him.”

  She smiled. “Not to worry. He’ll probably be on the menu next month.” She paused, then added thoughtfully, “Maybe sooner.”

  “Ready to go?” he asked her.

  “Yes,” she said. “I need some external diversions.”

  He stared at her with a puzzled expression.

  “My hair,” she explained. “It’s starting to snore.”

  “Ah!” he replied. “Okay, let’s go.”

  They walked out of the restaurant, back into the tunnel, and then the subway.

  “Damn!” he muttered. “I forgot.”

  “Your wallet?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Our appearance. We can’t go back up on the sidewalk in the middle of Manhattan looking like this.”

  She stared at him, frowning. “Your shirt’s not that dirty, Frankie.”

  “It’s not a matter of clean or dirty,” replied Raven. “It’s a matter of blending in or scaring the hell out of people.”

  Not to worry, Eddie. You’ve still got a mission to accomplish.

  Raven froze, concentrating, but there wasn’t anything more. Finally he looked over at Euryale.

  “Was that you?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so,” she said, frowning. “What do you think I did?”

  “Kind of whispered into my mind.”

  “I was thinking how much better you looked than Boris Karloff,” she replied. “Is that what you heard?”

  He shook his head. “No, definitely not.”

  She shrugged. “Then it wasn’t me.”

  Rofocale? thought Raven. Are you conscious again?

  Just barely, came Rofocale’s reply.

  What did you mean? I know I have a mission to accomplish.

  I meant that you can’t accomplish it in the subway system, fifty feet under the ground.

  I can’t show myself like this, answered Raven.

  I know.

  Well then?

  You won’t have to, Eddie. Just climb up to ground level and step outside, and you’ll be Eddie Raven again.

  And—he tried to decide what name to call her, then realized they were still on a case—Velma?

  She’ll be as she was.

  Okay, said Raven. Is there anything else I should know?

  Just one thing, answered Rofocale.

  And what is that?

  Time’s running short.

  7

  They reached street level, walked to a door, and opened it.

  “What the hell is going on here?” muttered Raven. “Where’s the city?”

  He looked down the dirt street, past a few horse-drawn carriages, then turned to his companion.

  “You’re Lisa again!” he exclaimed.

  “I’m Elizabeth,” she replied.

  He looked at his hands, which seemed normal, then felt his face.

  “And I’m not a monster anymore!”

  “You never really were,” she said.

  “Still, it’s good to be Eddie Raven again!”

  She shook her head. “You’re not, I’m afraid.”

  He frowned, looked around for a mirror or something else that would reflect his image, saw a storefront window behind him, walked over to it, and stared.

  “That’s me,” he said. “I just don’t wear these kinds of clothes.”

  “Those are precisely what you wear,” she said.

  “And you don’t wear high-necked floor-length dresses,” he continued.

  “I most certainly do.”

  “What the hell is going on?” demanded Raven. “Where the hell are we?”

  “We are in Meryton, in Hertfordshire,” she replied, “and please watch your language. You’re starting to attract stares, Mister—”

  “It’s Eddie,” he interrupted her. “We’ve been through too much together to be so formal.”

  “Actually, it’s Fitzwilliam,” she said. “But it’s far more proper for me to call you Mr. Darcy.”

  Where have I seen or heard those names before? thought Raven. Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth . . . Elizabeth who? He shut his eyes for a moment and concentrated. Son of a bitch! It’s Elizabeth Bennet, and we’re living in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice!

  “Suddenly you look happy,” she said.

  “That’s because I’ve figured out who and where we are,” he replied.

  “I didn’t know it was a mystery.”

  “There are bigger mysteries than that,” he said. “At least I don’t have to solve them while I’m Frankenstein’s monster or its near cousin.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Darcy.”

  “Not to worry, Elizabeth,” he replied. “As long as I know.” He noticed her frowning. “What’s the problem?”

  “You should address me as Miss Bennet.”

  “My mistake,” he said. “How about if I just call you Lisa?”

  She frowned and made no reply.

  “No, huh?” he said.

  She tu
rned and looked at the public building behind them, and half smiled. “I think you left all your manners on the other side of that door, Mr. Darcy.”

  “So I take it you don’t want to call me Eddie either?”

  She simply stared at him in silence.

  “I thought not,” he said. He looked up and down the street, frowning.

  “What seems to be the problem, Mr. Darcy?”

  “Same as usual,” he replied. “Trying to figure out how to get home from here.”

  “What is the matter with you, Mr. Darcy?”

  “You got a pen and a thick notepad?” he responded.

  “Does this pass for humor among London’s fashionable set?” she asked.

  “God, I hope not,” said Raven. He sighed, looked around at what appeared to be the very small town, and turned back to her. “So may I walk you home, Miss Bennet?”

  “All four miles?” she replied.

  “Why don’t I hire a carriage?”

  “Didn’t you bring your own carriage, or at least your horse?” she asked. “Your estate is some two hundred miles farther out in the country than mine.”

  Think of a good answer, Eddie, he told himself. She’s already got her doubts about you. Convince her that you don’t know where either of you live or how to get there and she’ll walk away and leave you alone in a land that seems as unfamiliar as Oz or Camelot.

  “My horse seemed a bit sore,” said Raven at last. “I don’t want to take a chance on his becoming lame. I thought I’d give him a few hours to relax and see if he’s any better later in the day.”

  She nodded her approval. “Very sensible,” she said. “I just hope we can get him to home, or at least some shelter, before nightfall brings the ravening hordes again.”

  The ravening hordes? Raven bit his lip just as he was about to ask what she was referring to. Play it by ear, Eddie, he told himself. The one thing you can’t do is scare her off before you learn the ground rules to this place.

  “I’ll make sure he’s well protected,” said Raven aloud. “What about you and your family?”

  “We’re probably safe,” she replied, then paused, considered what she had said, and repeated the word. “Probably.”

  “Oh?”

  “George Wickham, whatever he actually is, seems taken with my sister Jane. I don’t imagine he would kill the rest of the family to impress her.”