A Logical Magician lm-1

by Robert Weinberg

  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.”

  “Uh, no,” said Jack. “That won’t be necessary. You can come up.”

  “Thanks,” said Walsh. “That’s all I needed for you to say.”

  “Odd choice of words,” said Simon, as Jack sank down onto the sofa.

  “I didn’t notice,” said Jack. “At least the money isn’t hidden here. That was a good idea, stashing it in your room.”

  “Great,” agreed Simon sarcastically. “Brand me as your accessory. At least, you’ll have company in jail.”

  A heavy fist pounded on the door to Jack’s apartment. Man and changeling looked at each other in astonishment.

  “That was awfully quick,” said Simon, “considering that you’re on the fifth floor.”

  “He must have caught the elevator the second I hung up,” said Jack, hurrying to the entrance. “Hopefully, I can talk my way out of this mess.”

  “All he needed for you to say?” repeated Simon. “As if he wanted you to recite a certain formula. Oh, hell,” he gasped. “Jack, he tricked you. Walsh is a…”

  The changeling’s warning came an instant too late. Jack pulled open the door to his apartment. Standing there, white-faced, red-eyed, stood a creature dressed entirely in black. Tall and stately, with a satanic smile and big, big teeth, Walsh was no IRS agent. But he was a bloodsucker all the same.

  “…vampire,” concluded Simon, unnecessarily.

  9

  Jack scrambled back into the kitchenette. Walsh leisurely folded, slamming the door behind him.

  “You can’t cross the threshold to my home unless invited,” declared Jack, his mind racing furiously. For the first time in his life, he regretted not reading Dracula. His knowledge of the undead was limited to their infrequent appearances in humorous fantasy novels, and several Christopher Lee film festivals he had attended as a teenager.

  Jack had no doubt about Walsh’s identity, even without Simon’s warning. The bogus IRS agent’s lack of an aura branded him supernatural. His glowing eyes and inch-long fangs proclaimed his grisly heritage.

  “A mere matter of semantics,” said Walsh. He spoke quite well, considering the size of his incisors. “This is the twentieth century, not the eighteenth. The entry hall to an apartment building serves as a common threshold for all the individual units. And you did invite me in.”

  Straining, Jack shoved the kitchen table in the vampire’s path. With an amused shake of the head, the monster grasped the formica top with one hand and squeezed. The hardened plastic exploded into dust. Vampires, Jack remembered immediately, were much stronger than ordinary mortals.

  “What do you want, Walsh?” Jack asked, retreating behind the kitchen chairs.

  “Information,” replied the vampire. He appeared in no hurry to catch Jack. From time to time, his gaze flickered over to Simon, standing motionless by the sofa. He seemed puzzled by the changeling’s presence. “My master wants to know all about you, Mr. Collins. And how you came to possess the talisman you carry.”

  “It was a gift,” said Jack, sliding around the last of the chairs and darting into the living room. Grasping at half-remembered solutions, he began reciting the only prayer he could remember.

  “Our father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name…”

  “Please don’t strain your memory,” said Walsh cheerfully. “That superstition died out a long time ago. Ditto, the cross thing. I departed this world an agnostic. None of those religious remedies affects me in the slightest. Why not be a good boy and just answer my questions? After all, we already know all about Merlin and his daughter.”

  “Oh yeah,” said Jack, pushing the sofa into the vampire’s path. Simon remained frozen in place. He had not said a word since Walsh had entered the apartment. “If you’re that well informed, what do you want from me?”

  “Mine is not to reason why,” replied the vampire. Reaching down, he latched onto the sofa with both hands. Effortlessly, Walsh wrenched it out of Jack’s grasp. Chuckling, he tossed it against the living-room wall. The whole apartment shook when it hit the floor.

  “Why did the old wizard give you the talisman?” Walsh demanded. “And what did he tell you about my master?”

  “Your master?” said Jack, backing up to the windows. He was out of running space. “Since when do vampires work for the Old Ones?”

  “A matter of professional courtesy,” answered Walsh. “Besides, doing a favor or two for a God never hurts. He promised me New York for finding you.”

  The vampire smiled, making him look even more ghastly. “So, you do know about the Old Ones. How very interesting. Please tell more.”

  He stepped closer, edging around a still motionless Simon. Walsh frowned, swirling his cape dramatically.

  “Don’t interfere in matters that are none of your concern, faerie,” he ordered, glancing at the changeling. “This affair isn’t any of your business.”

  “That’s your mistake,” said Simon unexpectedly and wrapped his arms around Walsh. Jerking his body around, he wrenched the vampire to the floor.

  “Run, Jack!” he shouted. “I can’t hold him long.”

  Caught by surprise, Jack froze. He wanted desperately to help Simon, but he had no idea how. Already, the vampire was pulling free from the changeling’s grip. He would be loose in seconds.

  Crosses and prayers no longer worked, but there were other ways to hurt a vampire. Struck by inspiration, Jack darted past the struggling supernaturals into the kitchenette. Wildly, he pawed through the bottles on his spice rack.

  Hissing like a locomotive, Walsh broke Simon’s hold and shoved the changeling hard into the far wall. The faerie collapsed to the floor in a daze.

  “I’ll deal with you later,” he growled at the Brit. The vampire turned to Jack, his red eyes blazing. He snarled, showing his huge yellow fangs. “No more Mr. Nice Guy. Talk or suffer the consequences.”

  “Take a bite of this,” yelled Jack and flung the contents of the spice bottle in Walsh’s face. A gritty powder caught the vampire across the cheeks.

  The monster shrieked in agony. His skin sizzled like bacon on a griddle. A hundred black burns dotted his features. He staggered back, hands clawing at his eyes.

  “Time to leave,” said Jack, grabbing a groggy Simon by the arm. Behind them, Walsh howled like a wolf. “Definitely.”

  Hastily, they scampered down the fire stairs. Jack had no idea how long Walsh would be out of action. Waiting for the building’s notoriously slow elevators was out of the question.

  Huffing and puffing, he and Simon tumbled out the emergency exit located at the side of the complex.

  “Where to?” asked the changeling. “He’ll be after us in a minute. And this time, he’s not going to be so polite.”

  “The gym,” said Jack, pulling in one deep breath after another. “If we can make it there, I think we can arrange a surprise or two for Mr. Walsh.”

  “Forward the Light Brigade,” declared Simon. “Etc., etc.”

  Wearily, Jack set off towards the athletic center. Moving was an effort. It felt as if there were lead weights attached to his arms and legs. The day’s activities were wearing him down. He needed to rest. But first he had to deal with a vampire.

  “Sorry for hesitating,” said Simon, as they ran. “Damned monster scared me witless. We faeries weren’t raised to be heroes. Vampires are out of our league.”

  “No need to apologize,” wheezed Jack. “You acted when it mattered. That’s what counts.”

  The changeling laughed. “Simon Goodfellow to the rescue. By the way, what was that stuff you threw at our toothy friend? I didn’t know they made anti-vampire powder.”


  “Not exactly, but close enough,” answered Jack. “According to the legends, vampires can’t stand garlic. So I emptied a container of garlic salt on Walsh. It worked better than I expected.”

  Simon whistled in admiration. “Pretty quick thinking. Maybe Merlin picked the right guy after all.”

  “You better hope so,” said Jack as they ran up the steps to the athletic complex. “For both our sakes.”

  10

  It took Walsh twenty minutes to find them, which didn’t give Jack the time he needed to prepare his trap. He and Simon were still moving equipment when they heard the fire doors slam open upstairs.

  “That sounds like a pretty pissed-off vampire,” said Simon. “Those doors are reinforced with steel. They weigh a ton.”

  “Close enough,” agreed Jack, licking his lips apprehensively. “If I can stall Walsh for a few minutes, will you be able to finish setting things up? We won’t have a second chance.”

  “No problem,” said Simon. “It’s a piece of cake. The big question is whether or not he’s actually vulnerable to your surprise.”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” said Jack, pulling off his clothes. Naked, he slid into the pool of hot water at his feet. “We have to gamble I’m right. Unless you prefer trying to drive a stake through his heart?”

  “Not tonight,” said Simon. “I was never very good at that sort of stuff. You ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” said Jack. “Better turn on the jets. The switch is in the coach’s office.”

  “Yeah, I know the spot. The staff worries that some enterprising students might otherwise use the equipment as a hot tub.” The changeling leered. “As if a lock or two could stop me.”

  Another door slammed, this time on their floor.

  “Hurry up,” said Jack. “If that water isn’t running by the time he arrives, I’m vampire chow.”

  “I’m gone,” said Simon, and he was. Thirty seconds later, the whirlpool tub roared into life.

  Sighing with relief, Jack immersed himself in the swirling water up to his neck. The massaging effects of the whirlpool worked wonders on his sore muscles. The humming of the motor soothed his jangled nerves. Closing his eyes for a second, Jack relaxed and let the tension drain out of his body. It felt terrific.

  The door to the training room crashed open, destroying Jack’s moment of serenity. Walsh strode into the chamber, head held high, lips curled back in a snarl of rage.

  “It’s the end of the line for you, Collins,” declared the vampire. Gnashing his teeth together, he approached the huge whirlpool tub. “You think taking a bath will protect you from me? I’m a vampire, fool, not a dust devil.”

  Trying to stay calm, Jack watched the monster draw close. Walsh looked terrible. A hundred tiny puncture marks dotted his face and hands. It looked like he had been on the losing end of a fight with a sewing machine. The garlic salt had hurt the vampire, but not enough. The trick had merely enraged the monster. Walsh was hungry for blood—Jack’s blood.

  Jack prayed that his memory of the legends concerning the undead was accurate. If not, he was in big trouble. And the world was doomed.

  Mouth open to reveal his immense fangs, Walsh reached out with both hands to pull Jack out of the tub. Then stopped abruptly, as if encountering an invisible shield rising up from the bath.

  “What the hell?” said Walsh angrily and tried furiously to push his hands forward. They didn’t budge. Snarling with rage, the vampire flung himself at the whirlpool. And bounced back as he smashed into the same transparent barrier.

  “Running water,” said Jack, releasing the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. “Vampires can’t cross it. In the legends and folk tales it means streams and rivers and such. But, I guess the definition includes whirlpools as well. Even ones in a bath or pool.”

  “Stupid trickery,” said Walsh angrily. As if testing the power of the spell, the vampire lunged savagely at Jack. With the same lack of success.

  “Stalemate,” said Jack. A flicker of movement behind Walsh caught his attention for a second. Making not a sound, Simon was setting up a row of lights behind the vampire. “You can’t touch me, but I can’t leave the whirlpool. We’re deadlocked.”

  “I’ll tear out one of these lockers and smash you flat,” declared Walsh. “Maybe it won’t be as much fun, but it’ll get the job done.”

  Jack licked his lips. He hadn’t thought of that. “I’m sure your boss would be thrilled by the publicity,” said Jack. “Especially with the plans he has for those kidnapped women.”

  The last remark was a stab in the dark, but it hit the target. “How do you know what’s planned?” asked Walsh suspiciously. “The ceremony won’t take place for nearly a week.”

  “Two can keep a secret,” declared Jack solemnly, “if one is dead. There’s a lot more than two in your motley crew.”

  The vampire grimaced, distorting his features into something barely human. “I warned von Bern that his inept band of half-wits would ruin everything. Idiots, all of them, in their fancy motorcycle jackets and studded boots. I should have been put in charge of the operation, not that dumb German. Only reason he got the job was his fancy sword and title.”

  Walsh’s eyes narrowed. “I’m talking too much. Way too much. Not that it matters, ’cause you’ll never tell anyone.”

  Behind the vampire, Simon raised a hand, signaling all was ready. Jack muttered a silent prayer to Bram Stoker. And to modern science.

  “Ever go to a tanning salon, Walsh?” he asked casually.

  “What?” snarled the vampire. “WHAT!”

  “I didn’t think so,” said Jack, half-rising from the whirlpool. “Maybe since they use… sun lamps!”

  Walsh whirled around, but it was too late. Simon flicked a switch and a half-dozen bright lights blazed. The vampire shrieked and raised his arms trying futilely to block the rays. But, there was no escape.

  Simon had arranged the sun lamps in a semicircle, with Walsh at the center. The whirlpool blocked off his only avenue of retreat. With a cry of despair, the vampire sunk to his knees.

  “I’m baking,” he screamed, “I’m baking.”

  Jack gulped and fought to hold down his dinner. Walsh wasn’t lying. The vampire’s skin blackened and cracked like paper in a fire. And turned to ash. In seconds, the monster’s face and arms had disappeared into a cloud of soot. As if in slow motion, Walsh’s clothing collapsed in on itself, like a balloon suddenly deflating. All that remained was a small pile of fine, black powder.

  “Think if we mix this stuff with a batch of plasma it would bring him back to life?” asked Simon, smirking. “Dehydrated vampire.”

  “I have no desire to find out,” said Jack, splashing the dust with water from the whirlpool. He stepped out of the tub. “I want my clothes. Another minute in that spa and I’d be a size smaller.”

  Simon held up the vampire’s black cape. “What should we do with this thing? And the rest of his clothes?”

  “Burn them,” said Jack, remembering a Robert Bloch story about a vampire’s cloak. “The sooner the better. After which, we put the lights away and straighten up this place.”

  Jack yawned. “Then, maybe, we can get some sleep.”

  11

  Jack woke with a splitting headache. It felt as if someone had been using his head as a kettle drum all night. Groggily, he blinked his eyes several times trying to clear his vision. Hovering at the fuzzy edges of his mind was the image of a girl. A slender, good-looking young woman with pixieish features, he vaguely remembered her haunting his dreams. She had been desperately trying to tell him something, but he couldn’t recall a word she said.

  “Damn it,” he muttered, sitting up in the bed. He hated waking up feeling this rotten. First in the office building, now in his apartment. Not that he had much choice the time before, when Merlin and Megan had been kidnapped. Megan! With a start, he recognized her as the girl in his sleep.

  Anxiously, he tried to grasp the fleetin
g figments of his dream. Jack felt sure that Merlin’s daughter had been trying to contact him. Perhaps she even had a message from her father. Or wanted to pass along some clue to where they were being held. The literature of fantasy was filled with tales of dream messages. Unfortunately, the stories never dealt with the specifics of such communications.

  Under normal circumstances, Jack slept fitfully, and rarely remembered a thing when waking. Today was no exception. No matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn’t recollect a thing about his dream. If Megan had told him anything, it had been lost on awakening.

  Yawning, he padded into the kitchenette and made himself some breakfast. Originally, he had balked on returning to his rooms after his encounter with the vampire. If Walsh had been able to locate him there, so would any of the monster’s allies. Simon considered the apartment a death trap. Which ultimately was the reason Jack decided to spend the night there after all.

  “They know the location,” he had told the changeling after they had finished cleaning the gym. “And they know that I know that they know the location. So, understandably they know that I know the place isn’t safe. Continuing that chain of logic, they therefore accept the fact that I would never risk staying in the apartment. Since they’re convinced I would never use it, that makes it the perfect spot for me to hide. It’s elementary games theory. Besides, I’m tired, I don’t have any other place to go, and the bad guys all probably think I’m dead.”

  “You left me way behind on the ‘I know, they know’ routine,” said Simon, shaking his head, “but you’re right about them thinking you dead. Most supernatural, particularly those dedicated to evil, hold humans in pretty low regard. The notion that you could possibly defeat a vampire on your own would strike them as sheer lunacy. Until one of their sensitives finally notices Walsh’s gone, you’re safe.”

  “All I want is a good night’s sleep,” said Jack. But even that had been denied, due to Megan’s unsuccessful attempt to contact him through his dreams. Chewing on a Pop-Tart, Jack wondered why the heroes of all the novels he consumed never worried about what to do next. They always had such nice, clear-cut plans of action to follow. Or stumbled about the scene until they discovered what to do. He didn’t even know where to start stumbling. Life was unfair.