The Wizards of Central Park West_Ultimate Urban Fantasy

by Arjay Lewis

  The three men walked to the raised wooden structure.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re back to your old obnoxious self, Dru. I was beginning to like you.”

  Drusilicus sneered, but kept silent.

  Marlowe raised his hands and announced, “Isa Ya! Ri Ega!”

  The room began to shimmer before them, as if a heat haze distorted their view. Then, with a flash of white light, the room was empty once again.

  As Eddie stood openmouthed, Marlowe walked to the corner of the platform and reached under it to extract an onyx mortar and pestle. He poured the contents of his cauldron into the stone chalice and began to grind the ingredients.

  “You guys are so blasé about all of this,” Eddie marveled.

  “It becomes an everyday experience, lieutenant,” Drusilicus clarified. “That way no one is overly impressed with oneself.”

  “And when are you going to start doing that?” Eddie pointed out.

  “Would you two limit your barbs to when I am not witness to’t?” Marlowe pulverized the contents with a firm hand.

  “So, what’s our plan?” Eddie focused his attention on the older man.

  “You and I shall search out your son,” Marlowe affirmed. “Drusilicus, I shall ask you to remain here.”

  “Here? I have appointments—”

  “I need someone to observe the houseguests,” Marlowe explained.

  “Why me?” Drusilicus lamented, not happy with the arrangement.

  “Because you have a better chance of seeing if they are doing anything untoward,” Marlowe reasoned. “And you are experienced enough to know if they are casting any unusual spells. They trust you.”

  Which is more than I do, thought Eddie. Then again, last night he helped my momma. But where was Dru when the warlock attacked? That voice…so familiar…

  Marlowe reached up and touched the hat on his head.

  “Oh dear, I forgot to send the hat with everything else.” He took it off, folded up the chapeau, and placed it into a pocket of his robe.

  They quickly made their way up the stairs.

  “Now, remember, Drusilicus, I am carrying a mirror. If you need to contact me, just call.”

  “Where do you intend to seek him?” Drusilicus asked.

  “Is that what the potion is for?” Eddie wondered.

  “All shall become clear.” Marlowe opened the door to the upstairs. The room had undergone a change since Eddie’s arrival. It was still as large, but it was dark, as if black curtains now covered every window.

  Marlowe was completely undaunted by the change and called out, “Daniel?”

  “No need to shout,” Daniel said from the other side of the door, which made Eddie cry out in surprise.

  “Sorry,” Daniel apologized. The vampire looked very different. He wore a long, black coat that covered his entire body, a black felt hat pulled low over his face and very dark sunglasses. It made his head appear to be floating in midair, the white skin against the dark clothing.

  “Thank you for coming down, Daniel,” Marlowe said.

  “I wanted to tell you right away,” Daniel took Marlowe aside. He lowered his voice so Eddie could not hear them as they spoke.

  “I still don’t know why he keeps him here,” Drusilicus murmured to Eddie.

  “He seems like a nice guy.”

  “Vampires are not nice, lieutenant. They feed on blood, and live perverse and immoral lives. They want nothing less than all wizards destroyed."

  “Why?”

  “We seek to bring illumination, they wish to bring unending night. Our goals are in direct opposition.”

  Daniel and Marlowe separated, and Drusilicus reverted to silence. As Marlowe returned, Kraft moved to the staircase quickly and was up the stairs in a few short moments.

  “Why didn’t he just turn into a bat?” Eddie’s eyes followed Daniel.

  “Hmmm?” Marlowe said absently, and looked back to the stairs. “Oh! Well, Eddie, a vampire cannot change his form during the day. Whatever shape he is when the sun rises, he remains until it sets.”

  “So where are you off to?” Drusilicus enjoined.

  “Central Park, Drusilicus,” Marlowe said, as if it were obvious.

  “How could the Great Evil be there…and with a hostage?” Drusilicus seemed concerned. “Greywacke the First created it as a place of power.”

  “You’ve said that before,” Eddie interjected. “I thought the park was designed by two guys named Vaux and Olmstead.”

  “That is what your history books tell,” Drusilicus puffed out his chest. “But it is a creation by wizards for wizards. That is why the arches are all named for some of our most famous brethren.”

  “Like Riftstone?” Eddie said.

  “Exactly,” Drusilicus smiled.

  “So, is there a guy named Driprock or Pinebank?” Eddie named two other park arches.

  “Driprock is a fine man,” Marlowe remarked, “a bit unlucky, but well-respected.”

  “I was kidding.”

  “All that has occurred revolved around the park,” Marlowe challenged. “The attacks, the stolen talismans—it all took place there.”

  “But it is a place of power, Marlowe,” Drusilicus argued.

  “Yes, but a place of power can be used for good or ill. The Great Evil has found a way to use the park for his own dark purpose. Daniel has now given me the final bit of information I needed to find him.”

  Drusilicus looked dubious, as if Marlowe didn’t possess the ability to find a needle in a needle stack.

  “And I’m here to help,” Eddie affirmed.

  “And when did demons become part of your training?” Drusilicus inquired.

  “Since last week.”

  Drusilicus started to say something, thought better of it, and sullenly shut his mouth.

  Marlowe, as this exchange took place, poured the powder from his mortar into an envelope he pulled from his robes.

  “Let us make haste!” he said to Eddie.

  As they passed through the door of Marlowe’s townhouse, Marlowe’s robes and staff changed in the blink of an eye into a tweed jacket, sweater vest, pants, and sensible shoes, and his staff returned to a mere walking stick.

  Eddie quickly transformed his staff into the credit card and hid it back in his wallet. However, as he shut the door, he thought he saw someone watching them from inside the house. He glanced back, yet saw no one.

  The two men walked across the street into the park through Mariner’s Gate. As he and Marlowe crossed the street, Eddie caught a glimpse of someone ducking out of sight with little finesse.

  They strolled past the playground and up the incline to reach Summit Rock. They stood near the small stone wall on the asphalt path, where they had a beautiful view of the park.

  It was a glorious Sunday, and they watched as people flew kites and played softball in the distance.

  Marlowe walked to the stone staircase and knelt as he worked his hands through the remnants of a long-dead fire.

  “What’s this?” Eddie said.

  “Ashes of the first sacrifice.” Marlowe pulled out a pair of tweezers and the envelope he’d used earlier. He sorted a few pieces that looked like fragments of burned bone, and put them in the envelope.

  “What’s it for?”

  “It’s the last ingredient of the potion that will track your son.”

  “What do we need another potion for?” Eddie complained. “Can’t you just wave your stick and follow him?”

  “Eddie, you must remember, we do battle with one who knows our ways. Therefore, we must augment our abilities.”

  Marlowe rose and pulled out a small bottle, which held what looked like dirty water. He pulled the small cork, carefully poured the contents of the envelope into it, sealed it, and shook it vigorously.

  “So, we dip our staffs in that stuff, and it will lead to my son?”

  “Oh no, Eddie.” Marlowe uncapped the liquid, which resembled very wet mud. “We drink it!”

  Eddie
looked at the bottle in Marlowe’s hand, and his mouth puckered as he recalled the taste of the potion he’d ingested the previous night.

  “Do we have to, I mean, can’t you just drink it, and I’ll follow you?”

  “Eddie, I’ve added a little something special to make it impossible for either a wizard or demon to detect our approach.”

  Marlowe took a large swig and swallowed the mouthful in one gulp.

  “Ah!” Marlowe savored. “I even added extra vitamins, minerals, and a pleasant chocolate flavor.”

  “Really?” Eddie took the proffered potion.

  “Try it!”

  Eddie chugged it down in one gulp.

  He dropped the bottle, and fell into spasms of coughing.

  “What the hell?” Eddie bleated, “that was awful!”

  “Hmm?” Marlowe murmured innocently as he retrieved the fallen bottle and reinserted the cork. “I may have exaggerated the quality of the chocolate taste.”

  “You’re telling me!” Eddie spat to get the taste out of his mouth. “Man, do I need a Tic-Tac.”

  “Fresh out.” Marlowe took out a small, thin branch from his pocket. “Chew on this.”

  Eddie put the stick in his mouth. It tasted like birch beer.

  “Birch root. Cleanses the palate.”

  “After that stuff, even chewing a tree tastes good,” Eddie grimaced. “I thought wizards didn’t lie.”

  “I didn’t lie. I misled.”

  “You are more slippery than an eel.”

  “Why, thank you, Eddie.”

  Eddie chewed on the stick and followed Marlowe as he walked south down from the height of Summit Rock. Then he turned and headed east.

  “So what did Daniel tell you?”

  “He found the demon’s hiding place,” Marlowe announced, triumphantly.

  “What? How?”

  “I have been sending Daniel out at night on a special mission to track down Abraxas’ lair. It took him days…well, nights. But last night near dawn, he saw the creature return to the hideaway.”

  “And it’s here in the park?”

  “Yes,” Marlowe said as they followed a walking path parallel to West Drive and over the 79th Street transverse road. “In fact, it is in the heart of the park. I should have realized it at once. Follow me.”

  Marlowe began to walk with his short, fast stride and Eddie jogged to keep up.

  Everywhere Eddie looked he saw people enjoying the park. Some were laid out on blankets on the grass in the warm sunshine, others jogged or walked a dog, delighted to be released from the tiny confines of a Manhattan apartment. Still others merely strolled alone or with a companion, savoring the oasis from rushing traffic and the fast-paced existence only a few hundred feet away.

  Without a word exchanged, Marlowe and Eddie turned left and crossed a bridge, landscaped with large stones on the far side of the short span. A sign sat on an ornamental metal pole that read “Bank Rock Bridge.”

  “Damn,” Eddie spat. “Ol’ Bankrock got a bridge named after him.”

  “Hmm? Ah, yes. He made quite a fuss over not getting an arch, so Greywacke named this for him.”

  “Guess he was a pain even a hundred and fifty years ago?”

  “I try not to judge my fellow wizards. However, Bankrock has been much the same as long as I’ve known him.”

  They walked up stone stairs carved into glacier rocks and proceeded to the Rustic Arch, a twelve-foot-tall, narrow passageway of cut stones that looked as if it belonged at the entrance of a church and not standing in the middle of a park.

  It was too narrow to let them pass through together so they went one at a time, and began to ascend more stone steps up the winding path into the Rambles, wild and overgrown as an untouched wilderness.

  Their pace increased; the two men began to resemble race-walkers, as they both moved so quickly.

  The lake was to their right, and beyond it tall buildings shot above the highest trees like a mirage that hovered over a desert.

  They passed over a tiny rustic bridge, made to resemble a wild collection of intertwining branches, as if it grew naturally, instead of being planned and placed in position.

  Although Marlowe moved quickly, his breath was still slow and steady. Eddie was once again impressed by the old man’s stamina. He was beginning to get winded and envied the ability to keep going untiringly.

  Eddie finally pulled on Marlowe’s sleeve, wheezing, “Can we slow down a bit?”

  Marlowe’s pace decreased to a more reasonable speed, and Eddie fought to catch his breath as they approached another bridge.

  “Eddie, you will enjoy this!” Marlowe said. “The view from the Bow Bridge is one of the most spectacular sights in Manhattan.”

  The path widened out, and a heavily ornamented bridge appeared before them. Eddie could see how it got its name, as it lifted in the center like the graceful curve of a hunting bow. It also occurred to him that it might be named in honor of some guy named "Bow.”

  The bridge was constructed of heavy cast iron, painted white, the balustrades decorated with a repeating pattern of fanciful interlaced circles.

  They walked over it, and Eddie looked at the water sparkling on both sides, and the panoramic view that allowed him to see two skylines: Fifth Avenue to his left, and Central Park West on his right.

  Eddie found it funny that in his day to day work in the park he’d never taken the time to stop and enjoy these sights.

  “Are we close?” Eddie asked with a sudden concern for Douglas, “or are we going to have to walk the whole park?”

  “Right this way, Eddie.” Marlowe led him on the path past Navy Hill in silence, and as they turned the corner, Bethesda Terrace appeared before them. The sun shimmered down on the fountain and the fanciful architecture of the grandiose two-level sandstone construction.

  Eddie looked at the older man.

  “Is that where we’re going?” Eddie pointed at the terrace.

  The path led to the large, round fountain, which was capped with a tall monument where an angel stood atop, as if guarding the fountain below.

  “Where else but the ‘Heart of the park’?” Marlowe observed. “The monster has been hiding here the entire time.”

  “Where? In the fountain?”

  “Look past it, Eddie,” Marlowe indicated.

  Eddie shifted his eyes away from the movement of the fountain, but it took effort. The bronze sculpture and the dancing waters pulled his attention so completely, it was easy to believe it was the only thing that should be noted.

  Next to it, Eddie saw an elaborate building. Two wide staircases ran up either side, up to street level or down to the lake level. They were massive, heavily sculptured and decorated.

  As they drew closer, Eddie could see that the building would have once been called an arcade. It was made from cut stone, and open to the air with seven large Romanesque arches that spanned from the paved ground to the roadway above. On the top was a low wall of pierced stone, and a guardrail to prevent anyone from accidentally falling from the upper deck.

  The fountain and terrace were busy in the late morning light. People congregated around the cooling spray of the water. A man strummed a guitar on one of the huge stairways, couples passed hand in hand, and tourists took in the sights from the upper terrace.

  Marlowe unhesitatingly stepped on the red brick and granite stones of the walkway past the visitors and right to the open arcade.

  They fell into shadows as they entered the building, an open space that lead to yet another huge staircase on the far side of the access road, which ran above their heads.

  Two men, who appeared to be in the middle of a transaction, turned angry eyes toward the newcomers. There was an immediate recognition that Eddie was a cop, and the two men hastily left.

  Eddie shook his head. He recognized the type as easily as they did him; druggies doing a deal.

  He looked up at the ceiling to take his mind off them and gasped.

  “Look at that,
” Eddie pointed at the elaborate mosaic on the ceiling. The colors wove into hypnotic patterns of blues, blacks, yellows, and browns that suggested a museum work as opposed to a display in a dark, empty, outdoor tunnel.

  “Ah, yes,” Marlowe glanced up and smiled. “Minton tiles, very rare. In fact, this is the only outdoor display of them in the world. The designer, Owen Jones, was a friend of Greywacke, who helped him develop the finishing process.”

  “They are so beautiful, almost magical,” Eddie gaped, surprised he’d never seen this hidden treasure before.

  “As a matter of fact, they are magical,” Marlowe informed. “What you are looking at, Eddie, is a coded message that only another wizard can translate. This building, Bethesda Terrace, is the spiritual center of the park.”

  “And these tiles, they tell you something? Maybe where my kid is?”

  “I read them as easily as you would read a road map, Eddie,” Marlowe indicated the walls around them. “Do you see the niches?”

  Eddie’s eyes had adjusted to the lesser light of the arcade after the bright sun of the terrace. He could see within the arcade sections of the walls bedecked with three-dimensional arches carved into the sandstone, which mimicked the arches open to the terrace, only smaller in scope. The center of each niche was painted with figures and designs.

  Marlowe glanced around, saw they were alone, and gave a delicate wave of his cane, which caused a small ball of light to rise up to the ceiling and light up one of the mosaics.

  The light only made the phenomenal artwork more beautiful, with its patterns and sweeping lines.

  Marlowe looked back at the wall, and gave one more check up and down the great hall to make sure they were unwatched.

  He gestured with his cane, murmured words under his breath. Then he strode to the alcove and laid his hand on the carved arch and pushed.

  There was a “click” as if an elaborate mechanism gave way behind the wall, and with a rumble of stone and a sound like rusted hinges, the wall slid back.

  Eddie looked out at the entrance arches. No one paid any heed to them. Yet, he had the odd sense that there was someone who watched them.

  “Eddie,” Marlowe said in a whisper.