May and June blushed. All over, Jack noted with wide eyes. Hours later, he tried imagining what might embarrass one of the mall nymphs. His mind boggled at the possibilities.
“Dietrich von Bern claims Jack is yesterday’s news,” said July, arching one eyebrow. “According to the German, in a few more days he’s going to be running the whole show. He sounds pretty sure of himself.”
Simon sneered. “So did Hitler. And the Kaiser. And Bismarck. All the way back to Charlemagne. Overconfidence is part of the German national character. It’s bred into them like beer and sauerkraut.”
July stretched her arms over her head, setting the sweat on Jack’s back sizzling. But what she had to say cooled his passion instantly. “Von Bern intends sacrificing a bunch of human women to the dark gods. Burning them alive, if I remember correctly. Are you two planning to stop him?”
“Maybe,” answered Simon warily. “What’s it to you?”
“We hate human sacrifice,” said May. “We’re creatures of pleasure, not pain. Von Bern’s a handsome devil, and usually we enjoy partying with him. But he’s stepped over the line with this scheme.”
“Then you’ll tell us where the ceremony is going to take place?” asked Jack.
“Would if we could,” said May. “But von Bern keeps information like that to himself. Now that I think of it, though, I remember Jan saying she heard the German mention something about his hideout the other night.”
“Jan?” said Jack.
“Our other sister,” explained April. “Jan’s short for January. She’s off visiting the naiads at the aquarium today. You’ll have to return tomorrow evening if you want to talk to her.”
“Terrific,” said Jack, rising to his feet. They finally had a lead. “We’ll be back.”
“Oh, you can’t leave yet,” said May, also rising. “We don’t allow our guests to depart so quickly. That would be rude.”
“Oh, sure,” said Jack, realizing for the first time that without the nymphs’ cooperation, he was trapped in the courtyard. “We’re not in any rush.”
“That’s good,” said May, running one hand slowly along Jack’s arm. “Because what we have in mind might take a while.”
25
Nearly two hours later. Jack and Simon stumbled out into the momentarily deserted corridor. “See you tomorrow,” April’s voice echoed after them.
Gasping, Jack grabbed the water fountain and gulped down what seemed like a gallon of water. Afterward, he splashed several handfuls of the liquid in his face.
“Are they always so… enthusiastic?” he finally managed to ask his companion.
“They are incredibly vigorous,” said Simon, sticking his face directly into the stream of cold water. “Remarkable girls, especially when you consider they’ve been around for thousands of years.”
“Remarkable,” agreed Jack, straightening his clothes. “We should move. Cassandra’s probably wondering what’s taking us so long.”
Simon shrugged. “She knows the nymphs’ tastes too well to worry. Though, if I was you, I wouldn’t mention what went on in the courtyard to her. Ever.”
“It’s our secret,” said Jack. “Uh, Simon. The games the nymphs played with us… and that King Arthur nonsense Hazel mentioned this morning…?”
“Pretty much the same,” said Simon. “You understand why Merlin hushed up the whole incident?”
“You bet,” said Jack. “My lips are sealed. Permanently. Let’s hit those department stores. I definitely have to buy some new clothes. My wardrobe needs replacing. April’s nails ripped the back of my shirt to shreds.”
Jack soon discovered his bizarre appearance proved no deterrent to his spending money. Though most of the sales people eyed the floor when talking to him, they all readily accepted his cash. Five shirts, three pair of jeans, and several packages of underwear and socks swiftly filled his shopping bags.
“That should do it,” he decided, stuffing the loose change back into his pockets. Located a few stores away was the exit to the parking lot. “This has been a very satisfying day. I won’t forget our visit to the mall quickly.”
Glancing about, his gaze settled for an instant on a Radio Shack a dozen feet away. A window display of radios and CD players caught his attention. A memory from breakfast floated through his mind. Hazel’s portable radio needed batteries. “One last errand,” he told Simon, handing him the bags of clothing. “It won’t take a minute.”
Stepping into the store, Jack looked around for electrical supplies. Not finding them, he strolled further back into the shop. And found his path blocked by a huge exhibit advertising the chain’s new CD-ROM computer.
“Nice system,” said Jack, momentarily distracted by the hardware. He bent over and ran his fingers over the computer keyboard, calling up the tutorial. As he did so, a ripple of cold fire crossed his body.
“Bad move,” he said to himself and glanced at his reflection in the monitor. His normal, non-purple features glared out from the glass. “I’m not sure why, but that was awfully dumb, Jack,”
Anxiously, he backed out of the store and into the mall. Simon’s eyes bulged when the changeling saw him.
“The spell wore off,” said the faerie softly as Jack clutched one of the shopping bags up to his face.
“Right you are,” said Jack, his voice muffled by the heavy paper. “Maybe our luck will hold and no one will notice. Head for the car.”
“I’ll steer,” said Simon, linking arms with Jack. “Ready?”
“Ready,” said Jack and, without thinking, stepped forward—directly into the path of a tiny, white-haired old lady. The collision sent them both sprawling to the floor.
“I’m terribly sorry,” said Jack, scrambling to his feet. Bending over, he offered the woman his hand. “The packages I was holding blocked my view.”
“No problem,” said the old lady, peering curiously at Jack’s face. “My, you look so familiar. Do I know you?”
Before Jack could answer, the woman nodded as if answering her own question. “Help, help!” she shrieked in a voice louder than most air-raid sirens. “Murderer!”
“What the hell?” swore Jack, straightening in shock. All over the mall, people were staring at him and the little old lady at his feet. Out of the corner of an eye, Jack spotted a mall security officer hurrying towards them.
“Drug lord! Drug lord!” the white-haired woman screamed. “Help, help, help!”
“We’re trapped,” wailed Simon.
“Not yet,” said Jack. Reaching with both hands into his pockets, he pulled out all of his loose cash. Though he had spent freely, there were still hundreds of dollars left.
“Free money!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, and threw the bills into the air. “Free money!”
The mall erupted like a volcano. Crowds appeared out of nowhere. People shot out of store fronts as if propelled by cannons. Men and women, children and adults all raced madly for the cash cascading onto the pavement.
“Free money!” Jack shouted again, and tossed the rest of his reserve high over his head.
No one was immune to the siren song. Girls and boys battled over loose change. Men and women crawled on the floor, grabbing at any paper that moved. Even the little white-haired old lady shut up and lunged for a twenty floating past her face. A dozen yards away, the security guard struggled desperately with a teenager for a fifty. No one noticed Jack and Simon sprinting for the exit.
“Never underestimate the power of cold cash,” declared Jack as they burst through the doors and into the parking lot “And, in a showdown between greed and justice, take greed every time. It’s a sure bet.”
“There’s Cassandra,” said Simon, pointing down a row of parked cars.
“Get that beater started!” he shouted to the Amazon. “Security’s after us!”
The old wreck’s motor roared to life as Jack and Simon ripped open the back doors and hurled themselves inside. Not waiting for an explanation, Cassandra backed the auto into the aisle. Fo
ot pressed down on the accelerator, she sent the car roaring past the long row of parked cars, heading for the street.
Ahead of them, sirens wailed. Red lights flashing, a mall patrol car roared into view. Tires squealing, the vehicle sped swiftly towards the end of the aisle, seeking to cut off their escape route.
“No way they’re stopping me,” declared Cassandra savagely, and she slammed the gas pedal to the floor. “Hang on.”
Engine bellowing in pain, black smoke cascading from its tailpipe, the old car thundered forward. Ahead of them, the police car screeched to a halt, blocking all but a few feet of the aisle. Two security officers jumped out of the vehicle, took one frightened look at the massive wreck heading straight at their car, and ran for cover.
“Cowards,” sneered Cassandra, and she slammed both feet onto the brake, spinning the steering wheel at the same time. Rubber burned as the auto wrenched sideways. Spinning furiously, it smashed sideways into the side of the security vehicle. The police car groaned in pain as the force of the collision hurled it backwards. Metal screeched against metal as for one instant the two cars remained locked in a steel embrace. Then Cassandra’s foot hit the accelerator and sent her car howling through the enlarged opening into the street.
“Easy as pie,” she said, laughing merrily. “You boys survive okay?”
“Physically or mentally?” asked Jack, trying to force his fists to unclench. “What about pursuit?”
“Real cops will be after us in a few minutes,” said Cassandra. “Not to worry. There’s a haunted cul-de-sac up ahead. It’s invisible to mere mortals. We can hide there till nightfall.”
“Haunted?” said Jack. By now, nothing surprised him. “What about ghosts?”
“Spirits know better than to fool with an Amazon, Jack,” said Cassandra, “They’ll stay out of sight. Damned spooks are afraid of their own shadows. If they had them.”
Jack sighed. Merlin hadn’t lied. Magic was everywhere.
“One minor problem,” said Cassandra, as she steered the car onto a dirt road that seemed to appear out of nowhere. Up ahead, he spotted a rickety old wood bridge crossing a moss-covered stream. The haunted cul-de-sac.
“What’s that?” asked Jack, envisioning goblins, demons, perhaps even a dragon or two waiting for them in the shadows.
“We need a new car. This old heap is shot. It’s fine for smashing police cars. But won’t do us much good if von Bern shows up. We’ll need some real fire under the hood to give that limo of his a race.”
“Even after throwing money to the crowd, I have plenty of cash left back at Hazel’s trailer,” said Jack. “Tomorrow morning, we’ll go automobile shopping. Then, hopefully, at night, January will reveal the location of von Bern’s hideout.”
He clenched his hands together in frustration. “We’re running out of time. Even if we discover where the German has his prisoners, I don’t know how to rescue them. And there are only four more nights till Beltane.”
26
The rest of the evening proceeded exactly as Cassandra predicted. They left the haunted cul-de-sac shortly after eight o’clock and returned to the trailer camp without difficulty. At ten, Jack suffered through the indignity of watching reports of his appearance at the shopping mall on the Sunday Night News. Each time the reporter referred to him as “the alleged drug kingpin of Chicago’s South Side,” Jack winced. Merlin would have to be a magician to repair the damage to his reputation.
Channel 9, with an hour news program to fill, devoted a whole section of their broadcast to his exploits. Along with an interview with Benny Anderson, they ran a montage of close-ups made by his students and classmates. Jack slumped lower and lower in Hazel’s sofa as he listened to their remarks. The statements painted him as a combination of the Marquis de Sade and Hannibal Lecter. Sandra Stevens, eager as ever to grab the spotlight, assured the unseen newsman that “Professor Collins rarely displayed any interest in his students,” and “he often came to class looking as if he was zoned out on drugs.”
Jack chewed on his lower lip in disgust. He didn’t regret the many extra hours he had spent tutoring Sandra. That was part of his job. What he did regret was giving her a passing grade for trying hard. Getting ready for sleep that night, his only consolation was that at least he didn’t have to wake up early for classes the next morning.
Hazel insisted he drain another potion before bed. “It will sharpen your memory while you sleep and when you rise,” she told him. “If Merlin’s daughter contacts you in dreams, this drink will ensure you remember what she says.”
Closing his eyes and holding his nose, Jack gulped down the formula. As before, it tasted dreadful. “Don’t you have any potions that taste good?” he asked.
“Lots of them,” said Hazel. “Problem is, they don’t do much of anything. Only the vile ones work right. It’s part of the lore.”
“I should have guessed,” said Jack, “People expected witch’s brew to be nauseating, and thus it was. Belief led to definition.”
Worn out, Jack drifted off to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. And found himself floating in a featureless, gray void. Megan Ambrose hovered only a few feet away.
“Jack,” she said, sounding relieved. “I was beginning to think you’d never arrive. I’ve been reciting poetry aloud to keep from going crazy. It’s incredibly boring having your mind awake while your body remains asleep.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve had a busy day.”
“Your image appears much sharper tonight,” she said. “Maybe you’ll retain more of our conversation. Did you remember my warning about Beltane?”
“Not really,” he admitted. “However, I’ve since pieced together von Bern’s plans. You didn’t, by chance, tell me the location of his hideout the other evening?”
“No,” said Megan. “I have no idea where we are. I gather you don’t either.”
“Not yet,” said Jack. “But I hope to find out tomorrow. I’m meeting with a nymph named January who knows something important.”
“A nymph?” said Megan, her voice noticeably cooler. “You didn’t mention any nymphs in our previous discussions.”
“I only met them today,” said Jack. “They seem like nice girls.”
“So I’ve heard,” said Megan icily. “Why don’t you tell me all about your busy day. Jack? It sounds… fascinating.”
“It began with a witch named Hazel,” said Jack, launching into a description of his activities for the past fifteen hours. A firm believer in protecting both his reputation and his life, he minimized his encounter with the four nymphs. Though, from a certain glint in Megan’s eyes, he suspected she was not so easily fooled.
“Witch Hazel, Simon Goodfellow, and Cassandra Cole,” she remarked when he finished reciting his adventures. “I’ve heard good things about them. You’ve assembled a fine band of adventurers, Jack.”
He nodded. “I almost feel like Jim Phelps on the old Mission Impossible TV show. Each supernatural adds a special talent or skill to our team. Hazel has her spells; Cassandra’s the muscle; and Simon provides the information.”
“Don’t forget the most important member of the group,” said Megan softly. “Jack Collins. He’s the one with the brains. Without you, Jack, nothing would happen. The others aren’t leaders, they’re followers. They need you to make the right decisions.”
Jack grimaced. “That’s the problem, Megan. So far, I haven’t done a damn thing to justify their faith in me. Or your father’s either. If I’m supposed to save the world, civilization is in big trouble.”
“Nonsense,” said Megan.
She snapped her fingers and was instantly at Jack’s side. “Wonderful what you can do in dreams,” she said, as she circled one arm around Jack’s neck and pulled his mouth to hers.
An eternity or two later, she released him. “Kissing in dreams isn’t real,” she sighed, “but it’s better than nothing.”
Jack agreed. Megan’s kiss wasn’t as fiery or as passionate as the nymphs’ embr
aces, but it touched him in a place the others never came close to. His heart.
“What was that for?” he asked.
“No reason,” she replied. “Or every reason. Call it a confidence booster. I have faith in you, Jack. Take my word for it. You’re the right choice. I know it.”
“I’m not stupid enough to argue with the girl of my dreams,” he said. “But making love here isn’t going to save you from being burnt alive by Dietrich von Bern.”
“You’ll stop him,” said Megan.
“I wish I shared your confidence,” said Jack. “Finding von Bern’s headquarters is only the first step. After that, I’ve got to defeat him and the Border Redcaps somehow. And I don’t have a clue to his weakness.”
“He must be vulnerable to something,” said Megan.
“That’s what’s driving me nuts,” said Jack. “According to the old legends, cold iron defeated the forces of darkness. But I’ve seen firsthand that’s not true anymore. Iron and steel no longer affect the supernaturals. Until I understand why, nothing about them makes sense.”
“I’m not sure I follow what you’re saying,” said Megan.
“There has to be an underlying logical basis to the rules governing the existence of the mythical creatures living on our world,” said Jack. “Your father worked out the principles of how you are all created. Again and again, I’ve witnessed the truth of his deductions. Every supernatural entity obeys the specific beliefs, the particular legends that brought it to life. Though they’ve evolved over the centuries, Simon and Hazel and the nymphs and all the rest are still true to their original nature. The universe requires consistency. There has to be cause and effect. But, if that’s true, why isn’t cold iron deadly to von Bern and his unholy crew?”
Megan shrugged. “Modern times?”
“Uh-uh,” said Jack. He tapped his fingers together in frustration. “Rules are rules, no matter when they are applied. Consider, for example, Walsh the vampire. He still couldn’t cross running water. And sunlight killed him.”
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