Dark Magic

by James Swain

  “Agreed.”

  Snoop clicked his mouse. “Okay, we’re in the FBI’s system. Nice home page. I’m typing the Order of Astrum into the search engine. You hit pay dirt. They’ve got a file on them.” He spun the laptop around, and slid it across the table. “The clock’s running. Go!”

  Liza started reading. Her skin was tingling, and she felt like Alice jumping down the rabbit hole. The first paragraph practically knocked her sideways.

  “Holy cow,” she said. “It says the Order of Astrum has been linked to several ruthless dictators who are enemies of the United States, and they are considered a threat to national security.”

  “You were expecting the Boy Scouts of America?”

  She tossed a peanut at Snoop, and continued reading.

  “This is amazing,” Liza said a few minutes later. “According to this, the Order of Astrum wasn’t always bad. There are five members, four boys and one girl. In 1942, when they were little kids, they used their psychic powers to help the British fight the Nazis. It says a group of American generals asked for a meeting, and were taken to a town called Marble in southern England. The children conducted a séance, and made furniture move around the room. When the séance was finished, the children told the generals which towns the Germans were stationed in. It says this information was used to plot the Normandy invasion.”

  “Sounds like there’s a movie here,” Snoop said.

  Another peanut hit Snoop in the face.

  “Better hurry. You’ve only got a couple of minutes left,” he cautioned.

  “Afraid of the men in black running you down again?”

  “You think I’m kidding? Just wait.”

  Liza went back to reading the file.

  “Oh, my God,” she said. “It says that the Order of Astrum went silent after the war. In 1988, the FBI’s New York field office was contacted by a British couple who claimed to be members of the Order, who had fled England with their son to escape the other members. The couple’s names were Claire and Henry Warren.”

  “So?” Snoop said.

  “Those were Peter’s parents.”

  “What? Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Peter showed me their pictures.”

  “Let me see that.”

  Liza slid the laptop across the table. Snoop found the spot, and read aloud.

  “‘The Warrens claimed the other three members of the Order were selling their services to the highest bidder, and were in league with the Devil. When the Warrens were asked to rejoin the group, they refused, and were threatened by the other members.’

  “The FBI protected the Warrens for six months. Right after the protection was lifted, the couple were abducted and murdered after attending a show in New York. The FBI believes the Order was behind the killings.”

  Snoop looked up from the laptop. “Wow. Do you think Peter knows any of this?”

  Liza shook her head. Peter had confided in her that he knew little about his parents. Now, she thought she understood why.

  “Who’s going to tell him?” Snoop asked.

  “I guess it’s up to me.”

  Snoop looked at his watch. He slid out of the booth, and made a bee-line for the front door. Going outside, he looked back at her through the window and rapped loudly on the glass.

  “Damn it,” Liza swore.

  She wanted to read the file again. There were still many things she didn’t understand. The town of Marble had produced five psychic children. Two of those children had produced Peter. She tried to imagine what could have happened in that small town to cause such an amazing thing to occur. Had something mysterious happened that had caused the children to become psychics? And if something had happened, what was it?

  Snoop was jumping up and down, waving at her. He’d already been arrested by the FBI once, and she didn’t want him to get arrested again. She joined him outside.

  “Did you turn the laptop off?” he asked.

  “No—was I supposed to?”

  “Yes. Leaving it on makes it easier for them to find us. We need to get out of sight.”

  They crossed Second Avenue and ducked into an alley where they stood hidden in the shadows. Soon the ground was littered with peanut shells.

  “Maybe they’re not coming,” Liza said.

  “Fat chance.”

  A black GMC Terrain sport-utility vehicle braked across the street. The doors sprang open, and four figures wearing hoodies piled out, and entered Ball Four.

  “Is that the FBI?” she asked.

  “Sure is. They always drive GMC vehicles. The hoodies are new.”

  A deafening noise came out of the sky. A black chopper without visible markings hovered over the office buildings on Second Avenue like a giant insect waiting to strike.

  “Chopper’s new, too,” he added.

  A minute later the four figures emerged from the bar. There were three men and one women. The man in charge was a stocky African-American, mid-forties, with graying temples and a deep scowl. Cradled against his chest was Snoop’s laptop. He talked into a cell phone while staring across the street into the alley where they were hiding.

  “He sees us,” Liza squeaked.

  “Maybe not. Just be still,” Snoop replied.

  The four FBI agents got back into the van. As it drove away, the chopper rose into the sky, and was swallowed by the dark clouds. The air trapped in Liza’s lungs slowly escaped. She wouldn’t have believed this if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes.

  “Sorry I doubted you,” she said.

  They emerged from the alley. Liza checked both ends of the street. Something didn’t feel right, only she couldn’t get a handle on what it was. The city seemed almost too quiet.

  They headed up Second Avenue, ducking raindrops.

  “That was intense,” Snoop said.

  “I really didn’t mean to get you involved with this.”

  “You don’t have to apologize.”

  She squeezed his arm. “Thanks.”

  They had reached 62nd Street. As they came around the corner, they both stopped dead in their tracks. The black Terrain was parked by the curb, and the four FBI agents stood on the sidewalk, wearing laminated badges around their necks. The man in charge pointed an accusing finger.

  “You’re both under arrest,” he declared.

  “Shit,” Snoop swore. “Busted again.”

  19

  Peter had walked from the Lower East Side to his brownstone uptown in the rain. It had given him time to think about what had happened outside Lester Rowe’s apartment. As a kid, he’d never been much of a fighter, preferring to talk his way out of tight situations, or take off running. So how had he managed to beat Wolfe to a bloody pulp? And how had the walking stick flown out of his hand like it had a mind of its own? He didn’t know. But Max did. He’d sent his teacher several texts, and had not heard back. Max was avoiding him.

  The front door to his brownstone opened. Peter bounded up the steps, thinking it was Liza. She’d sent him several texts, and he needed to apologize to her for not responding. A man built like a baseball umpire came out, his body thick and solid.

  “Who are you?” Peter asked.

  “Special Agent Garrison, FBI. You must be Peter Warlock.”

  Peter froze. What was the FBI doing inside his house? He decided to make light of the situation, for no other reason than he didn’t know what else to do.

  “That’s right. I’d invite you in, but I see you’ve already made yourself at home.”

  “Cut the comedy. I’m not in the mood.”

  Garrison looked as mean as a junkyard dog. Peter entered the brownstone, and the snarling FBI agent slammed the door behind him.

  “Start walking,” Garrison said.

  Peter went down the hall with Garrison on his heels. He entered the kitchen to find Liza and Snoop sitting at the breakfast table with three grim-faced FBI agents hovering around them. His friends flashed brave smiles.

  “You guys okay?” Peter asked.


  “Not really,” Liza said softly.

  “Having the time of my life,” Snoop replied, his voice filled with false bravado. “You’re not going to believe this, but one of these agents actually arrested me when I was in college.”

  “That’s amazing. Which one?”

  Snoop pointed at the lone female in the group. “Special Agent Nan Perry. We’re buds.”

  Garrison stood in the doorway with his arms folded. “Both of you, cut the conversation. Your friends have been illegally accessing classified information, and are in serious trouble.”

  “What kind of classified information?” Peter asked.

  “The Order of Astrum.”

  Peter glanced at Liza and Snoop, and saw his girlfriend lower her eyes. This was her doing. Damn, Peter thought. Liza knew about the Order, and now the FBI were here. He needed to regroup, and figure out a way out of this mess.

  “If you don’t mind, I’m going upstairs to throw on some dry clothes,” Peter said. “Help yourself to some coffee and whatever’s in the fridge. I’ll be right back.”

  “Not so fast. I’ve got some questions to ask you,” Garrison said.

  Peter went to the doorway where Garrison stood. “This is my home. I’m not going to be told what to do by you, or anyone else. If you don’t like that, arrest me. Or, you can let me change my clothes, and then we can have a nice, friendly conversation. It’s your call.”

  Garrison scowled at him. He looked like he just might take Peter up on his offer, and haul him off to jail. Then his face softened.

  “All right. You can change your clothes, but I’m coming with you.”

  “I can change myself. Really.”

  “Shut up, kid.”

  Peter walked out of the kitchen with Garrison breathing down his neck. The other three agents remained behind, and continued to watch his friends as if they were dangerous criminals.

  * * *

  Upstairs in the bedroom, Peter pulled fresh clothes from the closet, and went into the bathroom to change. Garrison stood by the window, looking down at the courtyard.

  “Make it fast,” the FBI agent said.

  “Are you going to time me?”

  “I just might.”

  Locking the bathroom door, Peter sat down on the toilet, and buried his head in his hands. This was bad. He didn’t want Liza and Snoop to go to jail. He loved Liza, and Snoop was the closet thing to a brother he’d ever had. He was ready to fall on his sword before he let anything happen to either one of them. After a minute had passed, Garrison banged on the door.

  “Hurry up.”

  Peter got undressed. In his pocket was the DVD he’d taken from Lester Rowe’s apartment. If Garrison did arrest him, he didn’t want the FBI agent seeing what was on the DVD before he did. He hid the DVD in the cabinet beneath the sink.

  His cell phone sat on the washstand. It began to vibrate, and he picked it up. Max had sent him a text. It was about time his teacher got back to him.

  U OK? Max asked.

  YEAH WHERE R U?

  JFK JUST PUT ROWE ON PLANE

  FBI IS HERE

  !!!!!!! SAY NOTHING!

  HAVE TO TALK TO THEM

  WHY?

  LONG STORY

  TELL ME!

  MY GIRLFRIEND KNOWS ABOUT ME

  THIS IS BAD

  NO KIDDING

  “What the hell are you doing in there?” Garrison said through the door.

  “My hair,” Peter called out.

  “Fifteen seconds before I break the door down.”

  Peter told Max he’d talk to him later, and folded his phone. Throwing on dry clothes, he opened the door to find Garrison standing outside. The FBI agent pointed at the doorway.

  “Move,” he said.

  * * *

  They returned to the kitchen. Garrison added a chair to the table, and told Peter to sit down. Peter parked himself in the chair while staring at Liza and Snoop. They both looked petrified. It was now or never if he was going to save his friends.

  “I have a proposition for you,” Peter said.

  Garrison stood at the head of the table with his arms crossed. “How come you keep talking when you’re not supposed to?”

  “Sorry. Want to hear it?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “You obviously want to talk to me. If that wasn’t the case, you would have run Liza and Snoop to the station house, and booked them. Correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “I’ll be more than happy to talk to you, but you have to let my friends go.”

  “I don’t think so. They’ve already admitted to hacking our computer.”

  “That’s half the story. I told them to.”

  “Doesn’t matter. They still broke the law.”

  “They both work for me. I would have fired them if they said no.”

  “Is that so? Why did you do that?”

  “Let them go, and I’ll be happy to tell you.”

  Garrison did a slow burn. “I don’t like your attitude.”

  “And I don’t like the FBI.”

  The special agent came around the table, and got in his face. “What did you say?” Garrison acted like he might rip Peter’s head off. The young magician held his ground.

  “My mother and father were murdered when I was a kid,” Peter said. “This morning, I discovered that the FBI knew the Order of Astrum was responsible for their deaths, but never shared the information with the police. Like I said, I’m not a big fan of your employer.”

  The words hit Garrison hard. He stepped back, unsure of how to respond. Liza caught Peter’s eye, and mouthed the word Wow! Snoop nodded approvingly.

  It was hard to admit when you were wrong. Harder still when you had to do it in front of a roomful of people. The words that came out of Garrison’s mouth were a surprise.

  “Sounds like the FBI owes you an apology,” Garrison said.

  “It would be a good start,” Peter said.

  “I’m sorry we never spoke to the police about the Order of Astrum’s involvement in your parents’ murders,” Garrison said. “They had a right to know. And so did you.”

  Nothing was going to change the way Peter felt about his parents’ deaths. But it was still nice to hear Garrison say the FBI had not handled things right.

  “Thanks,” Peter said. “Now how about letting my friends go?”

  20

  “You win,” Garrison said. “Your friends can go.”

  Liza and Snoop broke into smiles. Garrison wagged a finger in their faces.

  “Keep your noses clean,” the FBI agent said.

  Snoop walked out of the kitchen with a lift in his step. Liza came around the table, and kissed Peter lovingly on the cheek.

  “You’re a star,” she whispered.

  “Get out of here before he changes his mind,” Peter whispered back.

  Liza hurried out of the kitchen. Moments later, Peter heard the front door open as Liza and Snoop left the brownstone. He breathed a sigh of relief, knowing his friends were safe.

  Garrison turned to his team, and told them to wait in another room. The three agents filed out.

  “I need some coffee,” Garrison said.

  Peter fixed a fresh pot. Soon they were facing each other at the table, the hostility between them all but gone.

  “You go first,” Garrison said.

  “I’d never heard of the Order of Astrum until last night, when one of their members tried to kill me during a show,” Peter said. “A British guy named Wolfe.”

  “Who told you Wolfe was a member of the Order?”

  Peter sipped his drink. Detective Schoch had told him Wolfe was part of the Order. He wasn’t going to give her up any more than Liza or Snoop.

  “Wolfe had the Order’s tattoo stamped on his neck,” Peter said. “One of my assistants recognized the tattoo, and told me about the Order.”

  “How did you make the connection between the Order and your parents’ deaths?”

  “I saw it in a drea
m last night.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was there the night my parents were abducted, and repressed the memory. It came out last night, and I saw the men who did it. One of them had the Order’s tattoo on his neck.”

  “You were there.”

  “That’s right. So what’s Wolfe’s deal? You must have some idea.”

  The ball was back in Garrison’s court. When the FBI agent did not respond, Peter gazed into his guest’s troubled eyes, and read his thoughts. He knows something horrible is about to happen, and doesn’t know how to stop it.

  “Tell me what you’re afraid of. Maybe I can help,” Peter said.

  “Who said I was afraid of something?”

  “It’s written all over your face.”

  “Is that so. Are you psychic?”

  “I don’t have ESP, but I do have ESPN.”

  “Ouch. Just answer the question.”

  “I see things that other people miss.” He paused. “I can help, if you let me.”

  Garrison drummed the table. He had a face like an open book. Now it was saying, “What the hell do I have to lose?”

  “All right. I’ll tell you what I know,” Garrison said.

  * * *

  Peter refilled the special agent’s mug. Garrison appreciated the gesture, and dipped his chin.

  “I run a special division of the FBI called the Pattern Recognition Unit,” Garrison said. “We solve cases through data mining and information analysis. You familiar with this?”

  “I think CSI did an episode about it,” Peter said.

  “I’ll give you an example. There was a serial killer in Boston who was slashing women the third Friday of every month. The Boston police were stymied, so the case was handed to us. We mined several thousand pieces of data to see if anything popped. Turns out, a movie theater in Boston was showing splatter flicks every third Friday. We contacted the mental hospitals to see if any patients got turned on by that stuff. Wouldn’t you know, there was a guy who did, and he’d been missing for months. We caught him.”