Simon's face crinkled with amusement. In the twilight, his eyes glowed amber. "Blame those damned faeries. Free-spirited, mischievous imps love causing trouble for the hard-working good folk of the earth. They replaced your true son with a shiftless, no-good changeling. Sure, he looks just like the boy, but that's part of the spell. Mark my words. Queen Titania's spoiling your offspring with sweets while this trickster wreaks havoc on your farm. He'll never admit it, but you know the truth."
Solemnly, Simon passed a hand over his face. For a brief instant, his features wavered, grew hazy. Then, an astonished Jack found himself staring at a mirror image of himself.
"Impressive, huh?" asked Simon, in Jack's voice. "You should see me after one of the 'Freddy Krueger-fests' at the Student Union movie theater. I scared a half-dozen co-eds into swearing off beer for a year."
"I'm still not sure I see how this changeling business ties in with exchange students," said Jack. "And switch back to your own face. Life's complicated enough without talking to myself."
"Your wish is my command," said Simon with only the slightest tinge of mockery in his voice. With another pass of his hand, he returned to normal.
"Exchange students?" prompted Jack. Keeping Simon focused on one subject was a full-time job.
"Sorry. My thoughts tend to wander a bit."
"I noticed," said Jack.
"Well, to give credit where credit is due, when you humans dreamt up explanations, you did a thorough job of it. It wasn't enough that changelings replaced human children. There had to be some reason for it. Despite all the talk of faeries acting by different rules of behavior, that actually was never the case. After all, we were created in your image. Your myths always provided us with motives that sounded suspiciously human.
"Anyways, Titania became the villainess. Poor Queen of the Faeries never stood a chance. First, some of your more eloquent bards brought her and Oberon into existence, as the romanticized ideals of pure love. Unfortunately, that meant never getting fat and pregnant. No matter what she did, the Queen remained radiantly beautiful.
"However, most of the peasants were far less noble and wholesome. They visualized faeries as much more..." Simon hesitated, and grinned. "Shall we say, earthier. She and Oberon used to make the satyrs blush, and that wasn't easy."
"Exchange students?" repeated Jack, with a heavy sigh.
"Like I said, the Queen got blamed for the changelings. According to popular belief, she desired kids to mother. She never let circumstances stand in her way. So, when the maternal instincts overcame her good judgment, she stole away some poor mortal child and replaced him with a changeling. Then, when the urge left her, we were switched back."
Simon chuckled. "Life was hectic but entertaining. You envisioned me and my kind as good-natured pranksters. And, so that's how we acted. Though there were a few of us not so pleasant. The dark side of the dream if you catch my meaning."
"Pickman's Model," said Jack, without thinking. "In the story, the narrator described a group of paintings dealing with the offspring of ghouls replacing normal children in a Puritan family. They all sounded pretty ghastly."
Simon cleared his throat. "Lovecraft got it right. I'm not sure what Merlin told you, but we supernaturals are true reflections of the dual nature of humanity. Among us can be found both good and evil entities. And all possible shades between the two."
He smiled. "Most faeries fall into that middle ground. We're neutral unless forced to take sides. Usually, when provoked we stand with humanity. Though most people find that hard to believe. They confuse mischief with deviltry.
"Even changelings have their purposes. If I drove my foster-parents to drink, it was for a purpose." He laughed. "An obscure purpose at times, I will admit. But for their own good, nonetheless. You have the word of Simon Goodfellow on that."
"Goodfellow?" said Jack. "The name rings..."
"Robin," replied Simon. "My cousin of sorts. He's the famous one. Nicknamed Puck by Willy Shakespeare."
"Willy?" asked Jack, but Simon was continuing with his story.
"Times changed and so did we. Like all supernatural beings, we evolved with the changes in civilization. It's our nature to adapt. Take the King and Queen of Faeries, for example. A few years back, they moved to Las Vegas and opened up one of those quickie honeymoon chapel and hotel combos. I got a Christmas card from them last winter.
"From what I hear from my cousins, the Queen is still quite a looker. Now, though, she blends right in with the local scenery. Half the tourists in town think she's a retired hooker or porn queen. Word is that she and Oberon plan to write a sex manual. Probably title it A Thousand Years of Pleasure. Boy, that would be a book hot enough to scorch your fingers."
"Exchange students," said Jack.
"Oh, sure. There's not much room for changelings in the modern world. We're impostors by definition. More than that, our basic nature dictates that we have to be disruptive and annoying as well. Which makes us less than welcome wherever we go.
"For a time, I played the role of the long-lost relative. That was fun, though repetitive. After a while, it was like living in one of those 1940's screwball comedies. Maybe you've seen a few? They're the ones where the husband everyone thought dead turns up the day of his wife's remarriage?"
Simon rolled his eyes. "Fortunately, we supernaturals are hard to kill. Otherwise, the two of us wouldn't be talking tonight. I've been shot, stabbed, and electrocuted more times than I like to remember. It was a lot worse, a lot worse, when I assumed the role of the long-lost heir who turns up the morning the will is scheduled to be read. Wow! Talk about imaginative ways to eliminate people."
"Then posing as an exchange student...?" began Jack.
"...is just another variation on the theme," said Simon, completing the thought. "Among us faeries, it's called the 'know-it-all gambit.'
"Each year, I transfer to another university. Using a magical interface, it's easy to fool the school computers into accepting my phony credentials. Ditto for issuing me thousands of dollars in credit for room, board and tuition. Fortunately, nobody in the admissions office ever bothers doing background checks on foreign exchange students."
"This 'know-it-all' role also explains your smug, superior attitude, I take it?" asked Jack.
"You got it, Jack," said Simon. "It's my duty to get on everyone's nerves. I'm here to shake things up a little bit on campus. People need an obnoxious, 'too-damned-smart-for-his-own-good' character to despise. It's healthy for the soul. Or so I've been told, since I don't have one."
"What about your popularity with the fair sex?" asked Jack. "I don't remember that being covered in any stories about changelings I read."
"Titania and Oberon aren't the only ones with lust in their hearts, Jack," said Simon, his grin widening. "I can't help it if you humans created me with a surplus of roguish charm. And a wild streak that prompts me to use it whenever possible."
The changeling paused, the smile disappearing from his face. "I've answered all your questions. Each and every one. It seems only fair to me that you do the same."
Simon shook his head. "Rose-colored contacts and Merlin the Magician? The implications of that combination worry me. Actually, they scare the hell out of me. What's going on, Jack?"
Jack told him.
Chapter 8
"HAND ME ANOTHER beer, would you?" asked Simon a half-hour later. The changeling gulped down the contents of the bottle with one swallow. It was his fifth, and as far as Jack could tell, the beer had not affected the supernatural being in the least. Jack suspected it would take a tremendous amount of alcohol to dent Simon's inhuman metabolism. A lot more than he had in his refrigerator.
With a loud burp, the changeling handed Jack back the empty bottle. After Jack's summary of the day's events, they had retired to his nearby apartment to puzzle out the complexities of the situation. Simon looked ready to cry. Or burrow under the cushions of the sofa and hide.
Jack's apartment consisted of a parlor, tiny di
ning room and kitchenette combination, and a bedroom. A short, narrow corridor linked the rooms. Right in its middle was the door leading to the building hallway. At present, man and changeling sat on a battered old blue sofa situated in the center of the living room.
"You want to explain to me why you're trying to drink yourself into a stupor?" asked Jack. "Things can't be that bad."
"They can't?" retorted Simon. Rising to his feet, he stalked over to the icebox and retrieved another beer. Hooking the cap between his teeth, he twisted his jaw sharply, pulling the metal cleanly off the glass. "Wanna bet?"
"Would you care to be more specific?" said Jack, opening his bottle of beer with an opener. He had a feeling that he was going to need a drink. Probably several. "I'm not very good at reading minds."
Simon shrugged his shoulders. "Don't take this the wrong way. Jack. You're a nice guy and a really good math teacher. Unfortunately, neither of those traits strike me as qualifications for a champion of humanity. No offense, but you're not the hero type. I mean, I knew St. George, Professor Collins, and you're no St. George. His accountant maybe, but no dragon slayer. You catch my drift?"
"But Merlin said I was the only one who could save the world," said Jack defensively. "Right before he was kidnapped he told me that straight out."
"Then," said Simon somberly, draining his beer bottle and handing it to Jack, "the world is in deep, deep trouble. Assuming of course that the old geezer hasn't lost a few screws in this prediction business."
The changeling's tone brightened noticeably. "What do you think? Any chance the famous wizard might have bitten off more than he could swallow? Maybe we're worrying about nothing."
"I don't think so," said Jack. "Merlin struck me as being pretty well grounded. There was no hint of senility in anything he said. Besides, that ignores the supernatural motorcycle gang who grabbed him and Megan."
"Damn," said Simon, his expression souring. "I hate when you humans use logic. I much prefer wishing and hoping myself."
The changeling wandered back to the refrigerator and latched onto another beer. "You're running low on brew. Better buy some more. You got any chips? Beer always tastes better with chips."
"Try the cabinet over the sink," said Jack. All of Simon's worries had obviously not damaged the changeling's appetite. "I figure the first thing we should do is search for the kidnappers. They're our only lead."
Simon, his mouth full of potato chips, gasped, almost choking. "We?" he managed to sputter out. "Uh, who volunteered me? I'm a poor faerie, not a companion of heroes. Remember the mischievous elf, good-natured trickster, I spoke about? Nothing in that description covers saving the world."
Jack smiled. "On the other hand, you mentioned that all supernatural beings reflect man's dual nature—good versus evil. You squarely lined yourself up with the good guys. Well, it's time to stand up and be counted, my friend. I need your help."
The changeling groaned. "You're crazy, Jack. Absolutely, totally crazy. We can't defeat one of the Old Ones. You have no concept of how powerful those monsters are. He'll chew us up for an afternoon snack. A small snack at that. I might be on the side of the angels, but I prefer staying alive. And challenging the overwhelming forces of the dark isn't a way to remain that way."
"Merlin selected me," said Jack stubbornly. "That much I understood. He thought I could handle the job, and I fully intend to try. With or without your help."
Simon pulled a box of cereal out of the cabinet. "I didn't say I wouldn't help. Just give me a little time to consider my options. In the meantime, I'll continue thinking you're nuts. Do you mind if I nibble on this?"
"Go ahead," said Jack. He frowned. "Don't they feed you in the dorms?"
"Sure," said Simon, munching on a handful of frosted corn flakes. "Three meals a day. Normally, I don't eat anywhere near this much in the cafeteria."
"Then why," asked Jack, gritting his teeth, "are you acting tonight as if you haven't had a bite of food in weeks?"
"Annoying, isn't it?" replied Simon, grinning. "Which is exactly the reason I do it. I'm only being true to my nature, Jack. If, after a while whenever we're together, you're not angry with me, then something's wrong. My whole purpose for existing is to drive people nuts. Even my friends."
"Fair enough, I guess," said Jack, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration. Then, as a new thought struck him, he stared directly at the changeling.
"Why don't we follow that line of reasoning one step further. By your own admission, you know it all. That's another part of your character. Well, then, I think it's time for you to share some of your wisdom. Let's discover how much information you really possess. Like, for example, who or what is this Old One and why are you so terrified of him?"
Simon paused in the midst of crunching a mouthful of cereal. "That's a good idea," he said. "Wonder why I never thought of it."
The changeling swallowed the rest of the flakes. "I'm filled with knowledge. Jack," he declared. "Not everything in the world, of course, but an awful lot. My mind is like an encyclopedia. Ask me the right question and I'll provide you with the correct answer. But I can't extrapolate on pure guesswork. I need to be pointed in the right direction."
"I understand," said Jack. "It's no different than working with a computer. They're great at retrieving tons of relevant data. But only if you know what you're looking for. I think I can manage."
He drew in a deep breath. Maybe now he would get some answers. "Shall we start again with the obvious question? Who or what is this Old One and why is he such a threat to modem civilization?"
The changeling closed his eyes, as if pondering his reply. It took him a few seconds to answer. There was a note of quiet desperation in his voice.
"What Merlin told you about the lifespans of supernatural beings wasn't absolutely true, Jack," said Simon, his expression serious. "We don't grow old and die, nor can we be killed by most conventional methods of murder. However, we all have our weaknesses and vulnerabilities. Even in its dreams, mankind wasn't foolish enough to make us invulnerable. Except for one tiny segment of our population. The Gods."
"The Gods," repeated Jack, beads of sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. "The Gods?"
"Humanity envisioned its own creators as omniscient, omnipotent, and immortal," continued Simon. "They weren't supposed to die. That worked fine for the early, small civilizations of prehistory. They rarely encountered other cultures. But think of the problems that arose once empires started forming. Gods, as well as civilizations, clashed.
"Fortunately," continued Simon, "what man can imagine, he can unimagine. Or consign to limbo. And so it was with the ancient Gods."
"Huh?" said Jack, totally confused.
"If enough people believed in a supernatural entity, their thoughts brought it to life. Even if all those believers later died, their creation remained. Such was the case with my race, the faeries. Humanity stopped believing in us long ago. Instead, you no longer gave us any thought. So we survived, adapting to the changing world. But that was not the case with the Old Gods."
"Mankind disbelieved them out of existence," whispered Jack, the truth unfolding in his mind. "They were destroyed the same way they were created. By pure thought."
Simon nodded. "Judaism, then Christianity, wiped the Old Ones away. People not only worshipped one God, they firmly rejected the possibility of any other. They denied them. 'Thou shall have no other God before me,' the Bible commanded, and so it was. All of Jehovah's rivals were unimagined out of existence. The ancient Gods disappeared. But disbelief proved to be a lot more complicated than creation.
"The only way to completely vanquish the Old Ones is for no one to believe they exist. No one. Need I remind you how often all humanity has agreed on anything? You can count the times on no fingers. Blame the lunatic fringe. Feeding on their doubts, the earliest Gods of civilization, the pagan, bloodthirsty Gods of prehistory, maintain a tenuous grip on this world. They lurk in the outer dark, waiting for an invitation to return. And,
from time to time, some utter fool manages to summon one of them back."
"How?" asked Jack.
"Beats me," said Simon. "Who cares? The important fact is that an incredibly powerful supernatural being, one with Godlike powers, has returned to the Earth. And that spells trouble with a capital T."
"Then this sort of thing has happened before?" asked Jack. "Often?"
"Ever hear of the Thule Society in the 1920's?" replied Simon. "They resurrected the dark Germanic God, Wotan. Then along came Hitler. And the Second World War. Talk about cause and effect, Jack. It took all the witches and warlocks in England working together to banish the Norse deity back to the outer darkness. We don't have the manpower or the time to match that feat. Not if the forces of night are already on the move."
"I'm still not clear..." began Jack when the lobby intercom buzzed.
"You expecting company?" asked Simon.
"Not really," said Jack, glancing down at his watch. It was nearly midnight. By now, he had dismissed his fears about the campus police as groundless. But none of his friends ever visited this late.
The intercom buzzed again, loud and insistent. It kept on ringing.
Slightly nervous, Jack pressed the transmit button. "Who is it?" he asked. "What do you want?"
"Bernard Walsh, from the IRS, Mr. Collins. I'm investigating a series of suspicious withdrawals made today at several cash stations throughout the Loop. You seem to be involved with the transactions. Mind if we talk?"
All of the muscles in Jack's arms and legs tied themselves into knots. "It's awfully late, Mr. Walsh," he managed to say after several false starts. "Couldn't we discuss things in the morning?"
"Sorry, Collins, but it can't wait till then. The IRS believes counterfeit credit cards are quite serious matters. If you prefer, I can return shortly with a search warrant."
A Logical Magician Page 6