The last wizard

by Simon Hawke

“I’m not so sure,” said Makepeace. “I don’t like it. Suppose something happens.”

  Simko shrugged. “Then that’ll tell you what you need to know, won’t it?”

  “Just keep thinking about that beach and those girls in the thong bikinis,” Makepeace said. “Don’t take any foolish chances, Victor.”

  “Who me? Hey, I’m a pro, remember?” He glanced at Makepeace and smiled. “I’m touched by your concern. Really. Don’t worry, Sebastian. It’ll be fine. We’ll probably be on a plane back to New York in the morning.”

  Chapter 6

  The smell was what made the neighbors summon the police. When they got there, they immediately knew what they would find. Before they went into the townhouse, they all started pulling out handkerchiefs and lighting up cigars and cigarettes to help overcome the odor. They couldn’t overcome it, of course, but it always seemed to help a little.

  Ron Parker was a well-known lobbyist on Capitol Hill. He was forty-six years old, stocky, and slightly balding. A big man, physically fit, with the body of a onetime college football player, which he once was. He had been dead for several days, at least. The trouble was, they couldn’t figure out what killed him. He was lying on his living room floor, fully dressed, as if he had just returned from being out for the evening. But when they turned him over, they found his shirt open and runes carved into his chest.

  “What do you think?” one of the detectives asked the deputy coroner.

  “Offhand, I’d say it looks like a heart attack,” the coroner replied. “The cuts appear only superficial. Certainly not deep enough to be lethal, but we won’t know for sure until the autopsy.”

  “Hey, Marty, check this out,” one of the detectives said. He indicated two glasses sitting on the wet bar. There was a bottle of expensive single-malt scotch on the floor, unopened. The glasses were both about one-quarter filled with

  water from melted ice. “Looks like he was entertaining. He was just about to pour the drinks when it happened.”

  Detective Marty Massoglia frowned. “So, what, he has a heart attack and the person he’s with decides to cut him up a little, then just splits?”

  “Maybe she was married,” his partner said with a smirk. “And a kink.”

  Marty shook his head. “No, something smells bad around here, and it’s not just the stiff. Those look like runes carved into his chest. “ He turned to the lab man. “I want this whole place gone over for prints. And Doc, I want that coroner’s report a. s. a. p. “ He turned back to the corpse. “Look at the expression on his face. Doc, do heart attack victims ever look like that?”

  The deputy coroner shook her head. “Not usually, no.”

  “I didn’t think so,” Massoglia replied. “If you ask me, it looks like he was scared to death. “ He recalled a memo that had recently come down from the chief’s office. “I’d like a T-scan on this body, Doc.”

  “You think it was magic?” the coroner said.

  “What do you think?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I suppose it’s possible. I’ve never seen anyone killed by magic before. We don’t have a T-scanner, but I can have the Bureau send over an adept.”

  “Do it,” Massoglia said. “And get back to me right away.”

  “You want the other one done as well?”

  “What other one?”

  “We had a body come in yesterday, male, similar circumstances. Neighbors smelled the odor of decomposition. He’d been dead for several days, maybe as long as a week or more. It looked like a heart attack to me. We haven’t gotten around to the autopsy yet. We’re a bit stacked up. “ She chuckled at her own pun.

  “If it was magic, would there still be T-emanations after all that time?”

  She shook her head. “I have no idea. It’s not my field of expertise.”

  “Well, then let’s get an expert on it,” Massoglia said. “And as soon as you find out, I want to know about it right away.”

  “You’re thinking about that memo from the chief?” said Detective Bard, his partner.

  Massoglia nodded and pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Yeah. I was wondering what that was all about. I think somebody knows something we don’t. But if we’ve got a serial killer using magic to dispatch his victims, then the shit’s really going to hit the fan.”

  Kira couldn’t sleep. She stood out on the rooftop patio, dressed in a short robe. She would have liked to feel the coolness of the late summer air against her bare skin, but this was New York City, after all, home of the long-range apartment telescope, and besides, there were the guards up in the gun towers and the security cameras mounted on the outside of the building. She felt as if she were living in a fishbowl.

  She didn’t want to sleep and worry kept her awake, anyway. She was tired of being cooped up, waiting for something to happen; tired of the boring day-to-day routine they had fallen into ever since they had been moved into the penthouse; tired of the dreams. She didn’t remember any of them, but she knew she had them every night. They were the sort of dreams that were deeply unsettling, that she was aware of while she had them, but then she would wake up and, for a fraction of a second, she would recall what she had dreamt and then it would be gone, like a screen being suddenly erased. And she could not remember what she’d dreamed. She wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  The pressure was getting to them all. But it was more than just the waiting. It was the wondering. Wondering what the runestones would do. What her runestone would do to her.

  So far, she was the only one who had remained unchanged. What had happened to them since it all began had turned their lives upside down and changed them all, but the others had gone through changes that were much more profound than anything she had experienced.

  It began with Billy, who was just a kid when they had met, a streetwise little Cockney boy who packed a knife and knew how to use it. Young, but by no means innocent. The changes had begun for him when Merlin’s spirit reluctantly possessed him, drawn to him because of their blood tie. Then Gorlois’ ring came into his possession and with it, the bond with Gorlois’ spirit. Billy became three people—himself, an ancient mage, and an even more ancient immortal, the last of the Council of the White. It had been difficult enough for her to grow accustomed to Billy shifting personalities like a multiple, so she could only imagine what it must have been like for him.

  And then the physical transformations had begun. At moments of extremity, Gorlois would manifest and suddenly Billy would simply disappear and in his place would stand a fully armored knight over six feet tall, complete with sword and shield. They never saw his face and Gorlois had never spoken when he manifested. He did his talking with his deadly blade. Billy, at those times, was… somewhere else, totally submerged.

  Then, when she thought that they had lost him, Gorlois and Merlin had both committed the supreme sacrifice to save him—with neither knowing what the other had intended. As Billy lay dying, both mages had simultaneously fused their life forces with his, effecting yet another transformation, resulting in the Billy she now knew. He was no longer the same person. He had changed physically, grown years older in the moment of the merging, and his personality had altered. He no longer even spoke or acted quite the same way. Kira often wondered what would happen if a change like that came over her.

  It could. She had seen it happen to Wyrdrune. He, too, had gone through a series of changes which had affected him deeply, though not in any way that was physically obvious. When Modred died—or when his body had died—the runestone he had been bonded with absorbed his life force and chose Wyrdrune, so that for a time he had carried two runestones in his flesh. She still recalled how it had shocked her when she discovered that Wyrdrune could physically metamorphose into Modred. She had never known for sure which one she would be with in bed. Both of them, she supposed, even though sometimes it was physically Wyrdrune and sometimes it was Modred. She loved them both, in different ways and for different reasons, but it was bizarre to have two lovers in one body—a
body that could change suddenly and without warning.

  Now the runestone that was Modred’s and then Wyrdrune’s had bonded with John Angelo, a man she lived with but still scarcely knew. A part of her would always regard John as a cop—and as a former burglar, she had never been fond of cops. But John carried Modred’s life force. Only Modred—or what was left of him—was damaged and she did not know if he could ever be the same. She no longer saw him. And Angelo could not provide the answers to her questions. He still had many questions of his own.

  On the surface, he was flip and cocky, friendly, outgoing, giving the impression of always being in control. But he had a lot of shields, not just the gold one he once carried as a cop. She knew that he had been in therapy, still went regularly, and she wondered what he told his shrink, who had top-security clearance and probably didn’t sleep too well at night, either.

  “Having dreams again?”

  She turned and saw Wyrdrune standing in the open sliding glass doorway. He had thrown on a blue terry-cloth robe. She shook her head. “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”

  She gave a slight snort and smiled wanly. “Both, I guess.”

  “You want to talk? Or would you rather be alone?”

  “Talk,” she said. “We don’t seem to do much of that anymore.”

  He frowned. “We talk. Don’t we?”

  “Not the way we used to.”

  He nodded. “Ah. The heavy, introspective stuff, you mean.”

  She gave him a sharp glance. “Are you making fun of me?”

  He held up his hands. “No, no, not me. Just trying to lighten up the mood.”

  “I don’t want to lighten up the mood.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’ve changed, you know.”

  He nodded. “I know. I couldn’t help it It’s as if Modred left a part of himself behind in me. I don’t think he did, literally, but he’s had a strong influence. Guess I just don’t think the same way anymore. Does that bother you?”

  “I don’t know. In some ways. I guess it does, but not the way you think. “ She looked out over the city and felt the wind blow through her hair. “I’m wondering about me. What will happen when it’s my turn. If it will be my turn. I just don’t know. I don’t want to change.”

  “We all change.”

  She shook her head. “Not like that. You get the dreams, too. I know. I wake up in the middle of the night sometimes from your tossing and turning. You mumble to yourself.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “What do I say?”

  “I don’t know. It’s unintelligible. Sometimes you sort of whimper in a small voice. I put my arms around you and you stop.”

  “Hmm. I didn’t know that.”

  “You don’t remember the dreams, either, do you?”

  He shook his head. “No, not really. Little snatches of them, sometimes. Voices murmuring. Chanting. I can’t really understand them. I don’t know if it’s the language or if it’s just indistinct.”

  Kira sighed. “Why don’t they ever talk to us? Why don’t they ever tell us anything?”

  He knew she meant the stones. “Maybe they can’t.”

  “You don’t really believe that.”

  “No, I guess not. Maybe they’re just trying to protect us.”

  “From what?”

  “From knowing too much.”

  She snorted. “As if we could do anything about it if we did.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. It would be nice to have a life again, someday.”

  “You think we ever will?”

  He remained silent for a moment. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “I hope so.”

  “I want it to be over.”

  “So do I. So does everybody.”

  “But at the same time, I’m afraid to find out what will happen when it’s over. What will they do? Will they leave us or will they stay? And will we still be the same? As we are now, I mean. “ She shook her head. “I don’t know if we can ever go back to being the way we were.”

  “Would you want to?”

  “In some ways, yes. I like the way it was in the beginning.”

  He smiled. “In the beginning, you couldn’t stand me. I don’t think I’d like it if we went back to that.”

  “That isn’t true, you know. I always liked you. Right from the first.”

  “You thought I was a putz.”

  “Well… you were. But I liked you anyway, in spite of that.”

  “You sure as hell had me fooled.”

  “That was the general idea.”

  “Ah. I’m glad you cleared that up.”

  She moistened her lips. “What would you do, if it was over? I mean, if it was up to you?”

  “Depends what happens to us, I guess. Offhand, I think I’d like to get certified officially. Maybe go back to school, get my grad degree, and teach.”

  “Teach? You?”

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged. “I just have a hard time picturing you as a college professor. I don’t know if I can see you fitting in with the schoolies.”

  “Why?”

  “None of them have ever done anything. Most of them don’t know anything about the real world. I don’t know how you could be happy in a classroom after all you’ve seen and done.”

  “Merlin was.”

  “Well, you’re not Merlin.”

  “No, Billy is. Sort of.”

  “That’s another thing. What about Billy?”

  “What about him?”

  “What’s he going to do? We’ve all been together, like a family. It would be strange not having him around.”

  “Who says he’s not going to be around? Why, has he said anything?”

  She shook her head. “No. I haven’t talked to him about any of this. Like I said, we never talk. Not anymore. Not about what will happen… after. It’s as if we’re all afraid to talk about it. And then there’s John. In some ways I feel close to him, and in others, I feel as if we’re living with a stranger.”

  “I imagine he probably feels the same way.”

  “How do you feel about him?”

  “He’s one of the good guys,” Wyrdrune said. “Modred wasn’t, though. I think that bothers him. I think it bothers him a lot. John’s a straight-ahead sort of guy. With him, what you see is pretty much what you get. Modred was considerably more complex. I don’t think John is very comfortable with being complex. He tends to like things black and white.”

  “That’s because he’s a cop.”

  “No, he’s just John. McGuire’s a cop, too, and they’re not very much alike at all.”

  “That’s because McGuire never worked the streets,” said Kira. “He never really got his hands dirty. John knows all about that. And he also knows just how dirty Modred’s hands were. You can pick up a lot of dirt in several thousand years. And now that’s all a part of him.”

  “It didn’t seem to bother you when it was Modred.”

  “That’s because it didn’t bother Modred. Modred accepted what he was. Angelo can’t deal with it. That’s why he’s in therapy.”

  “I see. So, let me get this straight… it’s okay for a man to be a professional killer when he accepts himself for what he is, but if it bothers him, you’ve got a problem with it?”

  “That isn’t what I meant and you know it.”

  “Do I? Sounds to me like you’re the one who’s having trouble dealing with it,” Wyrdrune said. “John didn’t ask for any of this. “ “Oh, like we did?”

  “No, but you and I have been there from the start. He’s still playing catch-up. And for a while there, he really lost himself. None of us had to go through anything like that. Maybe you should try cutting him a little slack.”

  “That’s unfair. I haven’t been giving him a hard time.”

  “No, but you haven’t exactly been his friend, either. You were right about our being like a family. We share a bond that nobody else will ever truly understand. Even we don’t
fully understand it. But you’ve been acting as if John is some kind of outside interloper. On the surface, you act friendly enough, but you don’t really include him. There’s a wall. You think he’s not aware of it?”

  “Why, what has he said?”

  Wyrdrune grimaced. “He hasn’t said a thing about it. He’s not that kind of guy. He holds a lot of stuff inside. And don’t say it’s because he was a cop. It’s because that’s just the way he is. The funny thing is, he reminds me a lot of you.”

  “Of me?”

  “The way you were in the beginning. You say you liked me, or were attracted to me or whatever, but you bent over backwards not to show it. I didn’t have a clue. I thought you couldn’t wait to get rid of me. You just didn’t want me to know how you really felt because you thought it might make you vulnerable. Lot of wisecracks on the surface, that tough ‘I-grew-up-on-the-streets’ act, but it masked the fact that you were scared. Scared of what was happening to us and between us. We used to talk about how maybe it was the runestone that brought us together, but now you’re telling me you liked me from the start. Well, okay, I was attracted to you, too. So why couldn’t we just tell each other?”

  “Well, it might’ve had something to do with the fact that there were people trying very hard to kill us at the time,” she replied dryly. “There were other priorities. Such as survival.”

  “Yeah, but when things like that go down, it usually brings people closer,” Wyrdrune said. “You kept pushing me away. At least until you finally figured out I wasn’t going to hurt you. And now you’re doing the same thing with John.”

  “It’s not the same thing at all.”

  “I think it is, only the reason’s different. You always had a thing for Modred. I understood that. Modred was handsome, suave, intelligent, and dangerous, like a superhero with a dark side. Part human, part immortal, with incredible charisma. What woman could resist all that? And yet you did, because of me, and I loved you for it, because I knew how much you were attracted to him. Hell, if I were a woman, I would have been attracted to him, too. As a straight male, I responded to him with admiration, even knowing what he was. He had done things I found absolutely reprehensible, but at the same time, I recognized his good qualities. He was both nobility and evil embodied in one package. After his spirit bonded with me, I thought you would enjoy having your cake and eating it, too. You could be his lover without cheating on me. It was something we both wanted to do—me and Modred, I mean—because we both cared for you. It was kind di kinky, in a way, but I enjoyed it. It was like being someone else and making love to you. Like doing it and watching it at the same time. Having my own feelings and yet sharing his. But now Modred’s part of Angelo and you can’t have him anymore. It’s as if John took him away from you and you’re jealous. But he never meant to do it, Kira. It’s not his fault. I never begrudged you having Modred. Why do you begrudge John?”