A Wizard of the White Council

by Jonathan Moeller

  And there was one other detail that blinked red in Krastiny’s mind.

  He remembered a visit to the United States some years back. Wycliffe had introduced him to his speechwriter, a nervous-looking man named Simon Wester. Krastiny closed his eyes, working through the memories. Marugon had arrived that very night from the other world. A few days later that vile corpse creature had appeared, the dark spirit in the shape of a black lion. The next morning Marugon claimed to have killed Lithon Scepteris, the deposed child king of a nation on his world, though six of his winged demons had been killed in the process.

  Krastiny picked up his smartphone, dialed a number, and lifted it to his ear.

  Someone picked up. “Hacker.”

  Krastiny rolled his eyes. Schzeran had a penchant for the overdramatic. “This is the Professor. I want you to look something up for me. Wycliffe Consolidated Shipping’s database. See if there’s a file for a man named Simon Wester.”

  “Roger that. Give me a few minutes.” Krastiny waited, listening to the rapid clicking of laptop keys. “Ah, here we go. Yeah. Simon Wester. Old record, metadata says it hasn’t been accessed for years.”

  Something clicked in Krastiny’s brain. “When did he quit Wycliffe Consolidated Shipping?”

  Schzeran told him.

  Krastiny smiled.

  Simon Wester had quit a few weeks after the appearance of the dark spirit. There were too many coincidences. The erased records, the girl matching Marugon’s description, the former speechwriter who had quit. Marugon had hinted that Lithon Scepteris had companions.

  Might some of them have survived that night?

  “Boss?” said Schzeran. “You still there?”

  “Yes. Find Simon Wester’s current address. Then call Bronsky, get back here, and outfit a van. We’re going to have to do some field work, I’m afraid.”

  Chapter 11 - Reunion

  Anno Domini 2012

  Simon Wester sat on the couch and stared at the TV.

  “Election Day is only three days away,” said the perky news announcer, “and the Gracchan Party maintains an overpowering lead in the polls.” A picture of Jones and Wycliffe appeared on the corner of the screen. “It appears virtually certain that William Jones and Thomas Wycliffe will be the next president and vice president of the United States …”

  Simon sighed and rubbed his hands over his face as the reporter droned. He remembered walking into Wycliffe’s office with a gun all those years ago. He should have drawn the weapon and splattered that lying, vicious monster’s brains all over the back wall. But the thought of Goth Marson still turned his spine to jelly, just as it had all those years ago. And what would have happened to Katrina and the children if he had shot Wycliffe?

  Simon still had nightmares of the winged demon holding Katrina in its clawed grasp, its dark wings closing around her.

  “For the first time in centuries, a third party appears poised to capture both the White House and a substantial number of seats in Congress,” said the reporter, smiling at the camera.

  “God,” said Simon. “I should have shot that man when I had the chance.”

  The door rattled. Simon whirled, staring at the front hall. For a moment he expected a winged demon to storm through the door, fires burning in its deep eyes.

  Instead Katrina stepped inside, brushing something from the sleeves of her coat.

  “It started snowing out,” she said, hanging her coat up. “The Midwest winter is on its way.” She frowned. “What’s wrong with you, college boy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Her eyes flicked to the TV and her face darkened. “Oh. Jesus Christ. Turn that bullshit off.” She strode over and flicked off the TV.

  “Thank you.” Simon grunted and sat up straighter before she could admonish him for slouching. “Any more of that and I would have had to throw a brick at the TV.”

  “We just bought a new TV.” Katrina set her purse down on the coffee table. “I don’t want to have to buy another one.”

  Simon chuckled. “You’d have to write another book to pay for it.”

  She gave him a look. “I just finished one. I think I’m entitled to some time off. Is Mary home?”

  Simon nodded again. “She came home about an hour ago and went right to bed. I guess she was pretty tired.”

  He stared at the blank TV. Katrina fiddled with her car keys, tucked them in her purse, and then straightened the curtains.

  “You know,” she said, “we have to talk.”

  “We do,” said Simon. She sat down besides him and leaned against him, and Simon put his arm around her “So what do you want to talk about?”

  “You know, Simon.”

  He sighed. “Please tell me you want to have a baby.”

  Katrina snorted. “You know better. We’ve got to make up our minds about this.”

  Simon licked his dry lips. “Wycliffe. What we’re going to do about Wycliffe.”

  She nodded, her hair brushing his jaw. “He’s going to be the vice president. And we both know Jones is probably nothing but a puppet. Wycliffe will be running everything. And that means the country’s going to be controlled by a man who wants to kill our children.”

  “Wanted to kill them,” said Simon. “He thinks they’re dead.”

  “For now.” She sighed. “But you remember what Conmager told us. That old Wizard Prophesied that Lithon would defeat Marugon. That means Wycliffe will find out someday. Or that devil Marugon will. And Ally. She’s special, we both know that. We can’t keep them secret forever, Simon.”

  “I know,” said Simon. “So what are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Simon stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t think even Conmager knew what he was supposed to do. Maybe we should have told them. Ally and Lithon, I mean. The truth.”

  “Why?” said Katrina. “They don’t remember. They both turned into good kids. I don’t think that would have happened if they still remembered all the…awful things that happened. That we went through. Jesus. I still wish I could forget.”

  “I guess I thought it was over,” said Simon. “Marugon and Wycliffe though the children were dead, Conmager was dead, we both quit working for Wycliffe…I…I suppose we forgot that it wasn’t really over.” He stroked her hair. “We’ve had some good years, haven’t we?”

  “Yeah,” she said, her voice soft. “But they were the eye of the storm, Simon.”

  Simon nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “We’d better leave the country as soon as possible. Maybe when Ally finishes this semester…Wycliffe won’t have taken office yet. Or sooner.”

  “Why?” said Simon.

  Katrina gave him a look. “Don’t be dense. Wycliffe’s going to the head of the government, and you can’t hide from the government. They’ll find us, eventually, no matter what we do. But it’ll take them longer if we’re out of the country.”

  “Where would we go?”

  “I don’t know. The UK, maybe, or Germany.”

  Simon shook his head. “But that wouldn’t do us any good, or at least not much. They’re allies of the United States. It would only take them less time to find us.”

  “Then we’d better leave,” said Katrina, “before Wycliffe figures out we’re here.” She shivered. “God, Simon. Do you remember that honors dinner this summer, when Wycliffe saw us?”

  “I remember,” said Simon. “I hadn’t been that scared since…since that night Conmager told us we had to run.”

  “He looked right at them, Simon. He looked right at Ally and Lithon and saw them both. And that bastard almost figured it out. I saw it on his face. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied, or if he’d talked to us alone, he would have figured it out.”

  “We’re going to have to tell the kids the truth,” said Simon. “At least we never lied to them.”

  “But we never gave them the whole truth, either.”

  “No,” said Simon, “no, we never did.”

  “Lithon will take it we
ll,” said Katrina, the warmth from her body soaking through his clothes. “He’s the most resilient kid I’ve ever seen. Hell, he’s the most resilient human being I’ve ever met. But Ally…I don’t know how Ally will react.” She shifted, looked up at him. “And we can’t tell her what to do about this, Simon.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Ally’s nineteen years old. She’s an adult. Well, not quite, but you know what I mean. She’ll have to make her own decision about this, about what she wants to do. Lithon will do whatever we tell him to do. But Ally will have to make up her own mind.” Katrina rubbed her eyes. “Especially because we don’t really know anything about her. We know Lithon is really Lithon Scepteris, King of Carlisan, and all that other stuff Conmager told us. But Ally…we don’t know anything about her. We don’t know her parents, or where she was from, or anything else.”

  Simon yawned. “Katrina. I don’t know how I’m even going to begin to tell them all of this.”

  “We’ll have to tell them both at once,” said Katrina. “When we have Lithon’s birthday party, maybe. We can tell them everything.”

  “All right.” Simon yawned again.

  “Let’s talk about it in the morning,” said Katrina. “We’re both tired. We can’t decide anything now. Hell, we can’t decide anything without Ally, anyhow.”

  “All right,” said Simon.

  Katrina smirked and rubbed against him. “You’re very agreeable tonight, college boy.”

  Simon nodded. “Yes.”

  Her smirk widened, a sparkle coming to her eyes. She climbed to her feet and took his hand. “Then why don’t you follow me?”

  Simon grinned. “All right.”

  They went upstairs.

  And for a while, they managed to forget about Wycliffe.

  And what he might do to their children.

  ###

  Simon blinked awake, staring at the gray shadows on the ceiling. Katrina lay against him, her head resting on his chest. It was half past seven in the morning, and he didn’t teach until two-thirty in the afternoon. He could afford to sleep for a few hours. And with Katrina lying against him, he really didn’t want to move…

  Someone banged on the bedroom door.

  Simon jerked in surprise. Katrina yawned and lifted her head, hair falling over her face.

  “Mom? Dad?” Lithon’s voice came through the door. “Someone going to take me to school?”

  “Can Mary take you?” yelled Simon.

  “She left for work already!”

  Simon winced. “Okay, Lithon!” he called through the door.

  Katrina muttered something and wrapped herself in the blankets. “It’s your turn to take him.”

  Simon hauled himself out of bed and began pulling on some clothes. “It’s always my turn.”

  Katrina gave him a nasty smile and rolled over onto her side, letting the blankets fall away. “I’ll make you appreciate it when you get home.”

  Simon scooped up his car keys from the dresser. “That is so not fair.”

  “Why? Because it always works?”

  He shoved the keys and his wallet into his pocket and leveled a finger at her. “That’s precisely it. Because it always works.”

  Her smile widened. “Then you’d better hurry back.”

  Simon slipped out the door and into the hallway. Lithon stood on the stairs, fidgeting with impatience. “Dad, c’mon, let’s go. We’re going to be late.”

  Simon plodded down the stairs. “Kiddo, you have way too much energy.” Lithon bounded down the stairs past him, backpack bouncing against his shoulders. “When I was your age, my mom had to drag me out of bed to go to school.”

  “Grandma says you were always slow for your age,” said Lithon. He reached into the closet, pulled out Simon’s coat, and handed it over. “She also says you lived at home until you were twenty-six.”

  Simon tugged on the coat. “You shouldn’t listen to everything Grandma says.”

  They got in the car and drove to school. Lithon gave him a hug and hurried inside. He had gotten up on his own, gotten himself dressed, had even packed his own lunch. Simon could not figure out what he had done to deserve such a good kid.

  He drove back home, his thoughts whirling. He liked his life here in Chicago. He loved his wife, loved his adoptive children, and loved his job. Between his professor’s salary and the royalties from Katrina’s books, both published and self-published, they had a good life. He did not want to change it, but he had no choice. His life was not normal, and his children most certainly were not normal. They were meant for greater things.

  “Eye of the storm,” muttered Simon, remembering what Katrina had told him last night. “Eye of the storm.”

  He wondered when the storm would break. Still, Katrina was waiting for him to come back to bed, and the anticipation pushed any other thoughts from mind. He turned onto his street, a gray van in his rearview mirror. He tapped the accelerator, pulled into his driveway, and put the car into park.

  The gray van followed him into the driveway.

  Simon fumbled with the keys and turned off the engine. A dozen contradictory thoughts flashed in his mind. The gray van had Idaho plates. Maybe the driver just wanted directions. But he could not shake the image of the van’s doors bursting open, a dozen winged demons with machine guns boiling out…

  He pushed aside the image and got out, walking towards the gray van. The van’s passenger door opened, and a youngish man in khaki pants and a battered overcoat climbed out. Gel held his black hair in little spikes, and a number of earrings gleamed in his earlobe.

  “Hey,” he said, “how you doing?”

  Simon folded his arms and adopted the pose he used with troublesome students. “Just fine, though I am wondering why you’re parked in my driveway.”

  To Simon’s surprise, the pose worked, and the young man began to sputter. “Um…listen, Professor Wester. My name’s Kyle Allard.”

  “Well, pleased to meet you.” Simon tapped his foot. “Now, is there a reason you come all the way from,” he made a show of glancing at the van’s plates, “Idaho? Or did you come just for the pleasure of my conversation?” The driver’s door slammed shut. Simon tried to peer around but couldn’t see anyone.

  “Actually, yes,” said Allard. “My boss Mr. Regent wants to talk to you.”

  “Your boss?” A prickle of fear touched Simon. “And just who would your boss be?”

  “I am,” said a rough voice.

  A middle-aged man limped up the driveway, his steel-headed cane rapping against the cold concrete. He wore a ragged army jacket, dirty jeans, and a heavy boots. A tangled gray and brown beard encircled his head, mixing with his greasy hair. Simon caught a glimpse of faded scars on his jaw and neck, hidden beneath the beard.

  Allard waved a hand. “May I introduce Mr. Regent, the…”

  “Professor Wester and I are already acquainted.” The man called Regent rapped his cane against the driveway. “Well. Simon Wester. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

  Simon almost recognized the ragged man. “I…ah…do I know you? You…seem almost familiar.”

  Regent snorted, an odd expression playing over his face. “You always were a damn fool, Dr. Wester. A damn fool, though your heart was in the right place. Though I’m not surprised you don’t recognize me. I look rather the worse for the wear, I imagine.”

  “I…” A horrible sense of unreality gripped Simon. “I…”

  “It’s time we talked, Simon,” said Regent. “We are all in very great danger.”

  An overwhelming sense of déjà vu slammed into him. He remembered standing on the front walk of his mother’s old house, the day after he and Katrina had found Lithon and Ally in the woods. The red van had pulled up, and Conmager had gotten out, striding up the front walk, that black staff in his hand. Simon’s eyes darted to the black cane in the man’s hand, over the lines and hollows of his gaunt face.

  “Oh my God,” said Simon. His voice trembled. “Co
nmager.”

  It was Conmager beneath the scars and beard and ragged clothing. He did indeed look much the worse for the wear, yet his eyes still held the glint of steely determination.

  “Conmager?” said Allard. “Who the hell is Conmager?”

  Conmager slapped him on the side of the head. “I am, idiot. Pay attention.”

  “This can’t be,” said Simon. “You’re dead. You killed yourself. I saw you die.”

  Conmager snorted. “Did you, now?”

  Simon shook his head. “Well…no. But there was the explosion. I saw the warehouse on the news, later. It had been blown to shreds. Ally said that you had broken your staff. You killed yourself to save us.”

  Conmager muttered something. “Terribly unobservant. You’re almost as bad as young Allard here.” Allard rolled his eyes, and Conmager’s expression softened. “Yet I cannot blame you. You were meant to think that I was dead. And if I managed to fool Lord Marugon, then I certainly would fool you.” He blinked. “In fact, I was certain I would die.”

  “How is it that you’re still alive?” said Simon. “God. It’s…it’s good to see that you’re not dead. That was an awful night.”

  “It was.” Conmager’s expression turned grave. “And more dark nights are ahead of us, I fear. We have much to discuss.”

  “Simon?” The front door slammed shut. Katrina appeared on the porch, a bathrobe wrapped tight around her. Allard grinned and ogled her, and Simon resisted the urge to hit him. “Who are you talking to?”

  “Hello, Katrina,” said Conmager. “I read your last book, by the way. Very nice. Though I think the main character was based on me.”

  Katrina frowned. “Who are you? I’ve seen you before, I know…” She gasped, her face going white. “Conmager?”

  Conmager nodded. “Yes.”

  Allard snickered. “You’ve never had that effect on women before.”

  Conmager raised his hand. “Shut up, son.” Allard shied away from him.

  “You’re dead,” said Katrina, still gaping at him.

  “Not quite,” said Conmager, “though I came very close. May we come inside?”