The Wizard of Sante Fe

by Simon Hawke

  "Joe . . ." said Paul wearily, "we're both tired. There's no point in driving ourselves—"

  "If you want to go, Paul, then I can't stop you," Loomis interrupted. "But this is our town and these are our people." He pointed to the body lying in the alley behind them. "Now are you going to help me or not?"

  Paul sighed with resignation. "Very well," he said. "I'll do whatever you ask."

  Kira and Billy were already back at Paul's house by the time Modred arrived. Their spirits were low. They had been too late. Moments too late. Ramses, flying high above them, had spotted what was happening in the alley off San Francisco Street and descended to warn them. The unicorns had immediately broken into a racing gallop, but they were not able to arrive in time. They had caught only a brief glimpse of the entity as they jumped over the police car and galloped down the alley, but then it disappeared and Merlin made haste to teleport them back to Paul's house before the police could recover from their shock and attempt to detain them.

  Modred appeared in the living room, shapechanged, and an instant later Wyrdrune stood in his place. He slumped down into a chair, opposite the couch Kira and Billy sat on. Broom brought him a cup of coffee. Sensing their mood, the familiar remained uncharacteristically silent and then left the room so they could talk.

  "I take it you saw," said Kira.

  Wyrdrune nodded.

  "We were too late," she said. "We only caught a glimpse of it before the spell dissipated and it disappeared."

  "Where'd you get the unicorns?" asked Wyrdrune.

  "Gomez," Billy replied. "'E brought them. I just about lost me lunch when they leapt over that car."

  "Gomez is proving to be quite resourceful," said Kira.

  "He's also proving to be a problem," Wyrdrune said. "Loomis is getting complaints about animal vigilantes running all over town." He glanced at Ramses, sitting on the coffee table, and blinked when he saw the sculpture move. "What the hell is that?"

  "Our aerial reconnaissance," said Kira. "Ramses, maybe you'd better be getting back to your mistress."

  "Can't I stay?" the enchanted sculpture said in its weird, electronic-sounding voice. "I was helpful, wasn't I? And if I go back now, Rhiannon will lock me up in my display case and I'll never get out again. Please let me stay and help. I won't get in the way, I promise."

  Kira glanced from Billy to Wyrdrune and said, "What do you think, guys? We could use an aerial spotter. We never would have gotten there at all tonight if it weren't for Ramses."

  Wyrdrune stared at the creature with fascination. "I've never seen anything like that," he said. "It's beautiful. And it can actually fly?"

  "Like a little silver and gold airplane," Kira said.

  "Amazing piece of conjuring," said Wyrdrune. "And exquisite workmanship, too. Rhiannon. The name rings a bell. Oh, right. She's one of the adepts we went to see tonight. Loomis said she threw a fit when she found out her familiar was gone. I take it this is her familiar?"

  "Please don't send me back," said Ramses. "I'd like to help. I never get to do anything."

  Wyrdrune smiled and gave a small snort. "All right. You can stay. But you'd better keep out of sight if Loomis comes around or we're liable to get arrested for grand theft."

  "How bad was it after we left?" asked Kira.

  Wyrdrune grimaced. "Bad. Two victims dead. The entity killed two cops and another one's badly injured. And Loomis suspects that Modred knows more than he's telling him. We tried to get him to cancel the fiesta, but he doesn't think he'll be able to do it." He shook his head. "Modred wanted him to institute a curfew. There are some things he just doesn't understand. Like proper police procedure, for one thing. Cops simply aren't trained to shoot first and ask questions later. It goes against everything they're taught. But if this keeps up, and more cops die, they're liable to get trigger-happy and some innocent bystander might get shot. I don't know what we're going to do if we can't find the Dark One before Friday. I shudder to think what might happen."

  "Where's Paul?" asked Billy.

  "He'll probably be along in a while," Wyrdrune said. "Modred didn't feel like answering any more of Loomis's questions, so he simply teleported away. And I guess that means he left Paul to hold the bag."

  "I'll bet Paul was thrilled," Kira said.

  "Yeah. Modred can be a real prick sometimes. You still have those unicorns?" asked Wyrdrune.

  "They're outside, in the yard, grazing on some grass."

  "There's only one thing we can do," Wyrdrune said. "Get out there and ride around. If we're lucky, we might get close enough to where the Dark One is for the runestones to detect his presence."

  "We were already working on that," said Kira, taking out the map of the city. "We've divided the city into sectors. We've already covered most of this area here tonight," she said, pointing to the map she had laid out on the table. "We can start here and work our way north and east. We should be able to cover at least two more sectors tonight."

  Wyrdrune shook his head dubiously. "We'll never get it all done by Friday."

  "You got any other ideas?" she asked.

  "No. This is about the best that we can do. But first thing tomorrow, we'll have to get a car. We should have done that as soon as we arrived in town. Otherwise we'll just exhaust those animals, to say nothing of ourselves." He exhaled heavily. "We're going to need to get some sleep. The last thing we need is to go up against the Dark One when we're tired."

  "We can work in shifts," said Kira, "and if any of us detects the presence of the necromancer, we can teleport back here and get the others."

  Wyrdrune nodded. "Sounds like a good plan. Let's just hope the Dark One doesn't realize we're close before we're ready for him. We'd be better off working doubles, so that one of us can rest while the other two cover the town. That way, we don't divide our strength as much."

  "It still means taking a chance," said Kira.

  "Not as much of a chance as we'll be taking if we're dead on our feet when we meet the Dark One," he replied. "The runestones can replenish our energies, but not without cost. We'll need all our strength when the time comes."

  "Well, then we might as well get to it," Kira said. "We've only got a couple of days left."

  "Joe! Joe Loomis!"

  Loomis looked up as he heard his name called. He and Paul were just getting into the car to leave when he saw Ginny Fairchild shouting and waving at him from behind the police lines.

  "It's your reporter friend," said Paul.

  "Let her through," Loomis called to the policemen. She came running toward them.

  "I was afraid I'd miss you," she said.

  "I've got a long night ahead of me, Ginny," he said. "I'm not trying to stonewall you, but I haven't got time for a lot of questions now."

  "Okay, then the questions can wait awhile," she said. "But I've got something you might want to know. It's about your British friend, Cornwall."

  Paul glanced at her sharply.

  "What about him?" Loomis asked.

  "He's not a cop," she said.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "He's not with Scotland Yard, Joe. He's an imposter."

  Loomis frowned. "What are you trying to pull, Ginny? I checked him out. I put in a call to Chief Inspector Blood of Scotland Yard and he vouched for him. Said he's one of their best officers."

  "Well, that's very interesting," Ginny replied. "Because I know a guy who works for the B.B.C., met him on a skiing trip, and I gave him a call to ask what he knew about this Inspector Cornwall and the black magic killings they had over there. He's got contacts at Scotland Yard and he called a friend of his who's on the force and his guy never heard of an Inspector Michael Cornwall."

  "There must be some mistake," said Paul.

  "No, there's no mistake," she said. "He checked. There's no record of anyone named Michael Cornwall working for Scotland Yard, not as an inspector or any other kind of cop. What's more, they don't have any adepts on their police force. None at all."

  "Are
you absolutely sure?" asked Loomis.

  "Positive."

  He turned to Paul. "What do you know about this?"

  Paul moistened his lips and shook his head. "I don't understand," he said. "There has to be some sort of mix-up."

  "There's no mix-up, Professor," Ginny said. "Your friend's a ringer. He's impersonating a police officer."

  "But Chief Inspector Blood vouched for him," said Loomis with a frown.

  "Are you sure it was Chief Inspector Blood you spoke to?" Ginny asked.

  "Yes. I called the Yard and asked for him. Cornwall gave him as a reference . . ." He stopped abruptly, then glanced at Paul. "You said this guy's a friend of yours. You went to school together."

  "Yes, that's right," said Paul, feeling a tightness in his stomach.

  "How long has it been since you've seen him?"

  "Well . . . it's been a while, but—"

  "You mean you haven't seen him since you were at school together, right?"

  "Well . . . yes, that's true, I guess."

  "That was the College of Thaumaturgy in Cambridge, wasn't it, Professor?" Ginny asked. "That's where you went to school together?"

  "Yes."

  "That's interesting. Because there's no record of anyone named Michael Cornwall ever attending the College of Sorcerers in Cambridge. Why is that? I wonder."

  "That's impossible," said Paul, feeling the ground slipping out from beneath his feet.

  "No, I checked," she said. "What's more, I checked with the B.O.T. in England and there's no registration for an adept named Michael Cornwall. They've got two Cornwalls, one in Leeds and one in Manchester. The one in Leeds is Sheila Cornwall and the one in Manchester is named Alastair Cornwall and he's sixty-two years old."

  "But Cornwall's an adept," said Loomis. "That's beyond question."

  "If that's the case, then he's not registered in Great Britain," Ginny said.

  Loomis grimaced tightly. "I knew there was something about that guy that bothered me," he said. "Paul, you said he was staying with you?"

  "Yes, that's right," said Paul, feeling helpless.

  Loomis pursed his lips. "I think we'd better take a run over to your house and have a word with him," he said. "Ginny, you want to come along?"

  She grinned. "Try and stop me."

  Loomis did a double take when Broom answered the door before Paul could open it. What he saw before him was a long brown pole with a clump of straw bristles attached to one end. It looked like the sort of broom a cartoon witch could be expected to ride, only it had spindly arms ending in hands with rubbery fingers. It also had a red nightcap perched atop its pole.

  "What the hell is this?" Loomis asked, taken aback.

  "You're asking me?" Broom said. "Three o'clock in the morning and you come barging up the front walk, making enough noise to wake up all the neighbors, and you're asking me what the hell is this?"

  "It's a new animation spell I tried out," said Paul, improvising. "Joe, Ginny, this is Broom. Broom, this is Lt. Joe Loomis, of the Santa Fe Police, and Ginny Fairchild. She's a reporter." He hoped Broom would take the hint and not blow the whole thing.

  "The police?" said Broom. "What, is something wrong? What's the matter, you're in trouble? You get caught driving drunk? What?"

  Ginny giggled. "I think it's wonderful, Professor!" she said. "Where can I get one?"

  "He keeps coming home with company at three o'clock in the morning and you're liable to get one sooner than you think," said Broom. "I suppose you want me to make coffee now?"

  "No, Broom, that won't be necessary," Paul said. "We won't be needing you. You can go back to sleep . . . or whatever it is you do."

  "Sleep? You wake me up in the middle of the night and you expect me to get some sleep? How am I supposed to sleep with all the comings and goings around here all the time?"

  "What's going on?" asked Kira. She stood at the head of the stairs, unself-consciously wearing nothing but a torn black T-shirt and a pair of very brief panties.

  "I'm sorry, honey," Paul said quickly, trying to meet her eyes and give her a warning look. "This is Lt. Joe Loomis of the police. And Ms. Fairchild here is a reporter. They came to see Michael. Apparently, there's been some sort of mix-up. Ms. Fairchild seems to think that Michael isn't what he claims to be, that he's impersonating a police officer."

  "Michael?" Kira said, picking up her cue. She came down the stairs, brushing her hair back out of her eyes and looking not quite awake. "Michael's not here. Aren't you going to introduce me?"

  "Oh," said Paul. "Sorry. I'm forgetting my, manners. Joe, Ginny, this is my friend Kira."

  "I'm sorry I'm not dressed," she said. "I was asleep."

  "We're sorry to disturb you," Loomis said, noticing with interest the fingerless black glove she wore, but not remarking on it. "Where is Mr. Cornwall?"

  Kira shrugged. "Out, I guess. What's this about him impersonating a police officer, Paul?"

  "I'm not really sure," said Paul. "Ginny says she checked with someone at Scotland Yard and found out that they didn't have anyone named Michael Cornwall working for them. Obviously, it's some sort of mistake—"

  "It's no mistake," said Ginny.

  "Didn't he say he was going back home to get some rest?" asked Loomis.

  "Yes. Yes, he did say that," said Paul.

  "Do you mind if I look around?"

  "No, not at all. Be my guest."

  "Well, if it's all the same to you, I'd like to go back and get some sleep," said Kira. "Unless you want to check my bedroom," she added. She looked at Loomis and winked. "I'm sure Paul would want to know if Michael's hiding in there."

  Loomis cleared his throat and glanced at Paul uneasily. "If you have no objections?"

  "Oh, for God's sake, Joe," said Paul with a sour grimace. "Hell, go ahead."

  Loomis went up the stairs.

  "I'd better follow him," said Kira. She smiled at Ginny. "Wouldn't want him to plant any dope or anything. You going to be long, Paul?"

  "I'm afraid I have some things to do with Lt. Loomis," Paul replied. "It looks like it will probably take all night."

  "Hmm," said Kira. "If you keep leaving me alone like this, maybe I just might invite Michael to my bedroom. He's sorta cute."

  "Very funny."

  She came up to Paul, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him on the lips. "You know you've got nothing to worry about," she said, then licked his earlobe. "Don't work too hard. I'll see you in the morning." She glanced at Ginny and smiled. "Nice meeting you."

  Ginny watched her as she went back up the stairs, adding a provocative little wiggle to her walk. "One of your students?" she asked Paul archly.

  "Uh . . . no," said Paul. "Not really."

  "Bit young for you, isn't she?" Ginny said with a wry smile.

  "She says she prefers older men."

  "Mmm. Don't we all?" Ginny cast an appraising glance at her surroundings. "Very nice. I like what you've done here."

  "Thank you."

  "Did you do it all yourself or did you hire a decorator?" She moved around the living room, glancing at his bookshelves, the tapestries, the handwoven Navajo rugs, and the bronze sculptures.

  "I did it myself, over a period of years," said Paul. He tensed as he saw her approach the coffee table, where Ramses stood, totally immobile, as if he were a perfectly ordinary piece of sculpture. Except he was an extremely well-known piece of sculpture made of solid gold and silver set with precious stones that just happened to be alive, thought Paul. And belonged to one of the wealthiest and most influential adepts in Santa Fe.

  "You've got some lovely pieces," Ginny said, looking over some of the bronzes.

  "Just a few things I've picked up here and there over the years," said Paul, watching. He cleared his throat. "Would you care for a drink?"

  She turned toward him. "I wouldn't mind. Got any Scotch?"

  At that moment Loomis came lumbering back down the stairs. "That young woman doesn't seem to have a whole lot of respect for the law," he said
wryly.

  "What did you expect?" Paul asked with a note of irritation. "You show up at three o'clock in the morning and want to search our bedroom for a man who's supposedly impersonating a British police officer. Someone who also happens to be a very old friend of mine. Did you expect her to be thrilled?"

  "I'm sorry, Paul," said Loomis. "It's nothing personal. I'm only trying to do my job."

  "Yes, well . . . I was about to offer Ginny a drink. Would you like one as well?"

  "Not while I'm on duty. Besides, we haven't got the time," replied Loomis. "We've still got a lot to do tonight. I told your girlfriend that if Cornwall comes back, I want to see him, pronto. She said, 'Yes, sir,' and saluted me." He grimaced. "I trust she will give him the message?"

  "Oh, I think you can count on that," said Paul.

  Loomis grunted. "Right. Let's get on with it. Ginny, where can we drop you off?"

  "I thought you said I could come along," she said.

  "To confront Cornwall with your accusations, yes," said Loomis. "But he's obviously not here and I'm not about to have a reporter tagging along while I question suspects."

  "Joe . . . I thought we had a deal."

  Loomis stopped by the door and gave her a patient look. "Ginny . . . you're getting a lot more out of me than any other reporter in town. Don't push it, okay?"

  He opened the door and held it for her. She shrugged with resignation and went outside. Loomis held the door and glanced at Paul. "Sorry to take you away from your friend, Paul," he said. He smiled. "You keep surprising me. Hell, if I had a girl like that to come home to, it would be Christmas every night."

  "Joe . . ." Paul paused on the steps outside the door. "What Ginny said about Michael . . . Look, there has to be some mistake. Perhaps she got her signals crossed or there was some kind of computer error or something, but—"

  "Whatever it is, we'll find out," said Loomis, interrupting him. "One way or the other."

  Paul frowned. "What does that mean, 'one way or the other'?"

  "It means I'm not taking anything at face value," Loomis replied. "Maybe Ginny got her information wrong. If that's the case, then we've got no problem. But on the other hand, if she's not wrong, then that means your friend Cornwall pulled the wool over your eyes as well as mine. And that puts him right up on top of the suspect list."