The last wizard

by Simon Hawke

  The door burst open and Manly rushed into the room. “Get away from her!” he shouted.

  The President’s husband looked up sharply as, involuntarily and guiltily, he jerked back, stepping away from her, his eyes trying to focus. “What the hell?”

  Manly saw the blue glow sparking in Maria’s eyes and emptied his entire pistol magazine in rapid fire, pumping all fifteen rounds into her as she fell back onto the bed.

  Talon recoiled from the contact, his consciousness snapping back into his own body as he doubled over, still feeling the burning pain of the bullets slamming into Maria as he was in the act of transferring his spirit into her. For a moment he was disoriented and the swirling shield around him flickered and sparked out. Instantly, he realized his vulnerability, but before he could throw the energy shield back up, a large, dark figure rose up behind him and he felt powerful fingers close around his throat.

  “Hey, muthafucker, remember me?” said Rafe.

  Gasping for breath as he felt his larynx being crushed, Talon concentrated fiercely, with his last ounce of will, his eyes flaring with a bright blue glow.

  “I—don’t—fucking—think—so,” Rafe said, as he jerked the necromancer’s head around, stepped forward quickly, then came down hard, bending Talon over backward sharply and snapping his spine over his knee with a sharp crack. Talon’s cry was cut off abruptly, then he collapsed to the cavern floor as Rafe released him, stood up, and kicked the body. “End of story,” he said.

  And then the roof of the cavern started to cave in.

  The last thing Rafe remembered was a bunch of swirling lights enveloping him, so blindingly bright he couldn’t see, and he thought, This is it, man, this is what happens when you die.

  Except he didn’t die. He came to inside a helicopter. He heard the sound of the blades whirring overhead. Several soldiers were crouching over him, one of them apparently a medic.

  “I think he’s going to be okay,” the medic said.

  “Are you all right, mister?” A female voice. Rafe moved his head and saw a dark-haired young girl looking down at him with concern.

  He blinked. “Don’t know,” he said. “What the fuck happened?”

  A young man with long, curly blond hair leaned over him. “What’s your name, friend?” he asked.

  “Rafe. Who’s askin’?”

  “The name’s Wyrdrune. And you just saved the world, Rafe.”

  “No shit?”

  Wyrdrune grinned. “No shit.”

  “Well, damn. You be sure to tell my parole officer.”

  The soldiers laughed.

  “You’ve got my guarantee, Rafe,” Wyrdrune said.

  “Works for me,” said Rafe. And then he closed his eyes and went to sleep.

  Epilogue

  “Amazing,” said McClellan as he listened to the story. “The most powerful threat humanity ever faced and an ex-con thug takes him out.”

  Wetterman shook his head. “The President wants to give him a medal. I can just see this guy at a ceremony in the rose garden.”

  “Oh, I think he’ll be okay,” said Makepeace. “He knows how close he came to dying in that cave-in. He figures he’s got himself a new lease on life, a chance to start all over. He wants to go back to school and finish his education, then train to become a paramedic. I’m all in favor of that. I think the least we can do is help him out.”

  “This is the same guy who tried to kill you,” said McClellan.

  “Talon tried to kill me,” Makepeace corrected him. “Rafe was just his instrument. He had no will of his own. Besides, he’s been cooperating fully. Can you imagine the money he could make from selling his story? He’d be world famous. We’re asking him to turn down quite a lot. And he knows it.”

  “Well, I’m sure that little account you established in his name was an incentive,” Wetterman said dryly. “He’ll be the world’s only paramedic millionaire.”

  “The man has simple tastes,” said Makepeace with a shrug. “And he just wants to be useful.”

  “The media’s going crazy over this whole thing,” McClellan said, shaking his head. “What the hell are we supposed to tell them?”

  “A shaded version of the truth,” said Wetterman. “Cult of necromancers, renegade adepts, terrorist ransom demands, the need for more controls and more thorough screening in adept certification… There’s going to be a lot of backlash from this, but we’ll get through it. And we’ll be able to use it to push through some stricter legislation. We’ll just all keep our mouths shut about immortals. I don’t think the public’s quite ready for headlines right now. Scandal always plays better than murder. Fortunately for us.”

  “Are you quite sure Talon was the last of them?” McClellan asked.

  “Yeah,” Wyrdrune replied. “It’s over. Finally.”

  McClellan heaved a sigh of relief. “Well, thank God for that. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since all this started. But I’m still not really clear about what happened to the runestones.”

  Wyrdrune’s hand went to his forehead, feeling the spot where the emerald runestone was once bonded to his flesh. It was gone now, just as Kira’s sapphire had disappeared from her palm and Angelo’s ruby had vanished from his chest. “To tell you the truth, I don’t really know,” he said. “None of us do. The last thing we remember was battling Talon in that cavern. But we weren’t really there. That is, we were, in a manner of speaking, but we had been transformed into energy… pure life force, out of which the spirits of the Council manifested.”

  “But you said a number of them died,” said McClellan. “Or their spirits died. I don’t know, I’m still confused about that part. What exactly happened?”

  “We couldn’t tell you, exactly,” Kira replied. “After all, we’re dealing with levels of enchantment no human truly understands. Or may ever understand.”

  “The best way I can figure it is that old story about cats having nine lives,” said Angelo. “We each had one. The spirits of the milestones were the other eight. Only in our case, we each had four of them. Some of those lives were lost. But the runestones lost them, we didn’t. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here, would we?”

  “That’s assuming you’re still you,” McClellan said.

  Wetterman glanced at him, uneasily.

  “I feel like me,” said Angelo with a shrug.

  McClellan grunted. “Yes, well… we may never know.”

  “You could always run a T-scan on us,” Wyrdrune said. “If we’re actually immortal mages, it should read off the scale. “ He smiled. “But then, you’ve already done that, haven’t you?”

  McClellan glanced at Wetterman, then smiled. “Yes, as a matter of fact, we have.”

  “And?” said Kira.

  “You all read perfectly normal. For high-level adepts, that is. Nothing quite so dramatic as Sebastian’s reading, which is right off the scale. I guess the runestones gave you all a boost before they went to wherever the hell it was they disappeared to.”

  “When Gorlois merged with me, his runestone shattered,” Billy said. He shrugged. “Whatever’s left of the other three is probably still down in that cavern, buried under tons of rock.”

  “But what became of the surviving spirits of the Council?” asked McClellan.

  “What becomes of anybody’s spirit?” Makepeace replied. “Where does the soul go when its time on earth is done?”

  “Are you telling me you know?” McClellan asked.

  Makepeace raised his eyebrows. “No. Do you?”

  McClellan grimaced. “So that’s it, huh? That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

  “What more is there to tell?” asked Makepeace.

  “Why do I have the feeling there is more and you’re just not telling me?”

  “Because, my dear Mr. McClellan, you are at heart and you will always be a government bureaucrat,” said Makepeace. “No answer will ever satisfy you fully. You will always think there’s more. But I’m afraid you will have to search for those answers i
n books about philosophy and religion. And all you will succeed in finding is more questions.”

  “Thanks,” McClellan said. “You’ve been loads of help. So… what happens now?”

  “I dunno about the rest of you,” said Billy, “but I’m going back to England. I spent a lot of years just scraping by, living on the streets, and now I’ve got some money—more than I ever thought I’d have, thanks to old Modred’s bank accounts, which we’re all splitting up between us—so I think I’ll buy me a mansion in the country where I can live like a proper gentleman and throw some of the biggest parties the London social set has ever seen. ‘Cept I won’t be inviting any o’ that lot. Just working-class sorts like meself. And then maybe I’ll start a band or something. Always wanted to do that.”

  “You’re a mage-level adept and you’re going to become a musician?” Wetterman said with disbelief.

  Billy shrugged. “Why not?”

  “Because the ITC could use you, that’s why not.”

  “Nothing personal, but you’ve already used me,” Billy said. “I figure I’ve done my part. Now I’m going to kick back and have some fun, if it’s all the same with you.”

  “Well, you’re certainly entitled,” Wetterman replied. He glanced at the others. “What about the rest of you?”

  “Once a cop, always a cop,” said Angelo. “Commissioner McGuire’s arranged to transfer me to the Bureau. I want to do fieldwork. The streets were always what I knew best. And I like catching the bad guys, though of course this last act is going to be a little tough to follow.”

  “And you two?” asked McClellan, glancing at Wyrdrune and Kira. “Got any immediate plans?”

  “I’ve offered them both jobs,” said Wetterman, “but they’ve turned me down flat. Of course, it’s not as if they need the money.”

  Wyrdrune and Kira glanced at one another and smiled. “We haven’t made any long-term plans,” said Kira, “but we think a vacation is definitely in order.”

  “We’ve made some good friends along the way,” said Wyrdrune. “We just might spend some time visiting with them without having to worry about people trying to kill us for a change. After that, we’ll see.”

  “And what about you, Sebastian?” asked McClellan. “Going back to teaching? Might seem a little tame after all this.”

  “You haven’t seen the current crop of freshmen,” Makepeace said wryly.

  “We could use you in Washington, you know.”

  Makepeace looked scandalized. “Perish the thought! I have a reputation to consider.”

  McClellan grinned. “Okay, well, I tried. Oh, by the way, the President has invited you all to the White House for dinner next week. It will be a strictly private affair, no press, no VIPs. I trust you will all accept?”

  “We’ll be there,” Wyrdrune said. “But after that, we’re gone.”

  “Well, if you ever need anything from Washington, you know whom to call,” McClellan said, getting up. “I’ll see you at the White House next week. I’ll be in touch about the arrangements. Transportation and everything else will be on the U. S. government. I figure it’s the very least that we can do. The whole world owes you a debt of gratitude. Too bad most of them will never know about it.”

  “That suits us just fine,” said Wyrdrune. “We’ve had about all the attention we can handle for a while. All I want to do now is take a nice long cruise on a slow boat going nowhere in particular.”

  “So, when are we leaving?” Broom said as it swept into the room, wearing a navy blue yachting blazer and a captain’s cap atop its handle. “I’ve always wanted to go on a cruise. Dancing, entertainment, shuffleboard, aerobics… and it’s about time somebody waited on me for a change. “

  They all burst out laughing.

  Agent Manly turned off the television set and leaned back in his chair, opening a beer. They were handling the media pretty well, all things considered. After the story first broke, there was the predictable outcry over stricter controls on magic and demands for further investigations and the usual groups came out in opposition of “unnatural forces,” but it all blew over fairly quickly after new, stricter legislation governing magic use was introduced in Congress and other sensational events crowded the “necromancy cult” off the evening news and onto the back pages of the tabloids.

  The story that got the biggest play was the President’s divorce. There was a scandal, charges of numerous “indiscretions” on the part of the First Gentleman, but the truth about the straw that broke the camel’s back had been very neatly hushed up. Which was just fine with Manly. He was glad it was all over. And the President was better off, as far as he was concerned. The public sympathy was with her. She was a hell of a woman, Manly thought, and she certainly deserved much better. Recent reports had her linked with her chief of staff, who had revised his original opinion of Manly considerably after that night and offered his apologies. They had gotten to know each other better since then and occasionally played tennis at his club. Dan was a stand-up guy, thought Manly. He was okay, once he loosened up.

  The phone rang and he picked it up. “Manly,” he said.

  “O’Connor,” came the distinctly feminine reply, in slightly mocking kind.

  “I beg your pardon?” Manly said.

  “Katherine O’Connor? Remember me?”

  Manly sat up suddenly, almost spilling his beer. “Madame President?”

  “Ah, I see you do remember. I’m so glad. I was beginning to think I hadn’t made a very strong impression.”

  Manly cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I, uh, was hardly expecting the President to call. How may I be of service?”

  “Well, if you’re not busy this Friday night, I’m having an intimate little dinner at my place and I seem to be without an escort at the moment. I suppose I could ask Dan, but you know how the gossip is in this town. They’d have us shacking up and then I’d have to marry him. So, what do you think?”

  Manly cleared his throat. “Excuse me, ma’am?”

  “Kathy,” said the President. “I’m asking you out, Pete. How about it?”

  “You mean, like… for a date?”

  “Well, unless you have other plans, of course. I’ve taken the liberty of checking and I know you’re not involved with anyone at present. So what do you say? Dinner at my place Friday?”

  “At the White House?”

  “That is where I live, yes.”

  “Well, uh… I’d be honored, ma’am.”

  “Kathy.”

  “It would be my pleasure… Kathy.”

  “Good. I’ll be entertaining some very special guests I’m sure you would enjoy meeting. Cocktails at six sharp. Black tie.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Great, I’m looking forward to it. Good night, Pete.”

  “Good night, Madame Pres… uh… Kathy.”

  She chuckled and hung up the phone.

  Manly sat there just staring at the receiver. “Damn,” he said. “I’d better get my suit pressed.”

  They sat at their usual table in the back of Lovecraft’s, pitchers of dark Guinness stout before them. Morrison Gonzago looked down at the table mournfully.

  “So that’s it, then?” he said. “You’re just going to disappear and I’m never going to hear from you again?”

  “Oh, I didn’t say that,” Makepeace replied. “You’re my best friend, Gonzo. You may hear from me, in time. But I shall have to be discreet. And it really would be for the best if you did not know where I was. Or who I was, in my new identity.”

  “Won’t be the same around here without you,” said Gonzago, shaking his head. “When are you leaving?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Already? What about that dinner at the White House?”

  “I fear that you shall have to communicate my regrets to the President,” Makepeace said. “But I think it would be for the best if I made myself scarce as quickly as possible. I’m the last immortal now. For the moment, they may feel gratitude toward me, but i
t won’t be very long before that wears off and they start to worry about me, because I have more power than any of their registered adepts. And I will always be different. People tend to mistrust those who are different. Especially when they’re only part human. Who knows, perhaps there are others like me somewhere, half-breed fairy survivors, hiding among human society. And if there are any of us left, besides myself, I’d like to try and seek them out.”

  “I’ll miss you, my friend.”

  “I’ll miss you, too, Gonzo. But I’ll get in touch someday, if I can. Meanwhile, here’s something to remember me by.”

  Makepeace placed a small leather pouch on the table between them. Gonzago picked it up, opened the drawstrings, and shook out three gems into his palm—a sapphire, an emerald, and a ruby.

  “So… the famous runestones,” he said, gazing down at them. “They look so ordinary.”

  “They are now,” Makepeace replied. “The magic’s gone. They’re just ordinary precious stones. But I thought you might like to have them.”

  “What happened to them?” asked Gonzago, looking up at him. “Where did they all go? The ones who survived, I mean.”

  “Here,” said Makepeace, touching his heart.

  “In you?”

  “Their energy replenished me,” said Makepeace. “They were hurt and severely weakened. And I was dying. I thought I had a lot more time, but I was wrong. My sensitivity had begun to fade. That was the first sign. I should have noticed it, but what with everything else that was happening, I suppose I just didn’t pay very close attention. And then, toward the end, I became injured and I used up about all the life force I had left in the battle with the dragons. Healing Rafe pretty much finished me. I was already dying when the surviving spirits of the Council brought Rafe and the others up out of the cavern. Between what little fading life force I had left and theirs, we had just about enough to effect a merging.”

  “So then… does that mean you’re a true immortal now?”

  Makepeace shrugged. “Perhaps, but I’m not really sure. All I know is that I’m different. I always was, and I always will be. I’m a fairy,” he added with a smile, “and the world has grown much too mundane for fairies.”