by James Swain
“Want to see some more?” MJ asked when the video was over.
“How did you get inside my theater on Saturday?” Peter asked.
“Trade secret.”
“I could have you arrested for trespassing.”
“I wasn’t trespassing.”
“Taking videos is strictly prohibited during the show,” Liza jumped in.
“So sue me.”
“I just might do that,” Peter said.
“There’s more,” MJ said with a smirk. “I interviewed your classmates from private school and several of your teachers. They said you seemed to know the answers to questions before they were asked. One of your classmates said he once heard you talking to a ghost.”
“Are you going to put that on your blog as well?” Peter asked.
“It’s all going in,” MJ said.
Against one accusation Peter knew he had a fighting chance. But against a whole slew of accusations dating back to childhood he had little chance. MJ hadn’t just gone digging into his private life, she’d used an earth mover, and gathered enough secret information to expose him to the public and ruin whatever semblance of a normal life he enjoyed.
He started to laugh. It was the only way to respond without caving in. He nudged Liza with his toe, and she started to laugh as well.
“You don’t fool me,” MJ told them.
* * *
Peter rose from the table. MJ had resumed reading the menu while sipping her drink. She’d won this round, and she knew it.
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
He found the restroom and splashed cold water on his face. Drying himself with a paper towel, he stared long and hard at his reflection in the mirror above the sink.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall, tell me what the hell to do.”
His cell phone vibrated. He knew who it was without having to look at the face.
“I’m listening,” he said.
“Why don’t I cast a spell on her, and wipe her memory out?” Holly suggested. “I’ve gotten rather good at that, you know.”
“Will it harm her?” Peter asked.
“Of course. She’ll be a blathering idiot for the rest of her life.”
Peter groaned into the cell phone.
“All right, how about if I just make her blind?” Holly said.
“You’re not helping.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Any other ideas? Come on, I’m in a real bind.”
“Sorry, but I’m afraid that’s all I can offer you. The thing I don’t understand is, how did she get into your theater? Your security is awfully tight.”
Peter had been wondering that very thing himself. His security was so good that it had caught Dr. Sierra knocking on the front door that morning. So how had MJ snuck in and filmed him so many times without being spotted? After a moment the answer hit him. She’d had help.
“I’ve got to go,” he said.
Ending the call, he pulled up Snoop’s number. His assistant answered with dance music playing in the background. He was back at the pop-up club getting ready for tonight.
“How long have you and MJ been an item?” Peter asked his assistant.
“Who told you I was dating MJ?” Snoop said.
“I found out the hard way. Your girlfriend is writing an exposé about me. She used you to get into the theater. She’s going to tell the world that I’m a psychic, and ruin everything.”
“What? MJ’s a reporter?”
“Afraid so. You once told me that there wasn’t a computer that you couldn’t hack. Does that hold true for private computers as well?”
“Sure. They’re the easiest to get into. All you need is the person’s e-mail address.”
“Then do it.”
“Do what?”
“Do I have to spell it out for you in black and white?”
The line went silent. Then Snoop said, “But that’s a crime.”
“Like you haven’t committed crimes before? Call me when you’re done.”
Peter ended the call and headed back to the booth. MJ had gotten another tequila drink and had a sly smile on her face. Just you wait, he thought as he sat down.
He picked up a menu and studied the array of tasty appetizers. MJ was a formidable opponent, and he felt certain that this wasn’t the last time their paths would cross. To be forewarned was to be forearmed, and he pulled out his cell phone, and placed it on the table.
A minute later, it vibrated. Snoop calling. He answered it by saying, “All done?”
“Yup,” Snoop replied.
“What about backup?”
“That’s gone, too.”
“See you tomorrow.”
“Do I still have my job?”
“Of course. Just next time be more careful.”
Peter put his phone away. MJ was watching him. The smile had left her face. She was smart enough to know that something had gone down that wasn’t in her favor. He wondered how long it would take her to figure out what it was. He would have liked to have been there when that happened, but he had more important things to do, and he rose from the table.
“Time to get out of Dodge,” he said.
Liza rose as well. Without a word to MJ, they walked out of the bar. Under her breath, Liza said, “Are you just going to leave? She’s going to ruin you.”
“Not today,” he whispered back.
“What do you mean? What did you do?”
“She can’t hurt me anymore. I’ll explain in the cab.”
Peter gave MJ a parting look. The young blogger was on her iPhone trying to retrieve the clandestine videos she’d shot of him. She’d spent a great deal of time composing her exposé, and it seemed a shame that it had all been erased in the amount of time it took to strike a keyboard. She slapped the table in anger and looked across the room. Their eyes locked. If looks could have killed, he would have been six feet under pushing up daisies.
He waved pleasantly and headed up the stairs.
31
Lying in bed that night, Liza asked, “Is your life always this exciting?”
“Hardly,” Peter murmured, his eyelids heavy.
“Will it go back to normal soon?”
“Boy, I sure hope so.”
“Can you look into the future, and make sure? My heart beat’s still racing.”
“Ask me tomorrow, okay?”
Liza rested her head on his chest and stared at the grisly images on the flat-screen TV. They were halfway through season two of The Walking Dead, one of the better zombie shows in recent years. They had come to the series late, and rented the episodes from Netflix. They were both hooked on the show, only Liza didn’t like the fact that in the first season the zombies had staggered around with wooden legs, while in the second they ran like deer. She was thinking of going online to post a negative comment about it.
The episode ended with a zombie getting its head shot off, just like all the other episodes had. Peter started to ask Liza if she wanted to watch the next episode, when he realized she was fast asleep. She looked like an angel, and he kissed her forehead.
“Thanks for not running away,” he whispered.
He killed the TV and the picture was reduced to a tiny blip, which hung there for a while before vanishing. The bedroom fell dark. The day had started out lousy but ended well. While he hadn’t stopped the shadow people or found Dr. Death, he’d reunited with Liza, and that was all that mattered. Alone, there was only so much he could accomplish. But with Liza by his side, just about anything seemed possible.
He didn’t really understand it. He’d had plenty of girlfriends before Liza, but none of the relationships had been this deep. She was more than just his lover and soul mate. She was also his assistant, and with him almost every waking moment of every day. His previous assistants had found him too demanding, and had all quit. Not Liza. She’d embraced the challenge of performing on stage every night. It was hard work, and to her credit, she’d never once screwed up a trick.
He did eight shows a week, fifty-one weeks a year, along with a few dozen private events sprinkled into his schedule. Liza had been with him for two years, and not made a single mistake. Had she ever dropped a prop or forgotten a cue? Had she ever not floated perfectly in midair, or not magically jumped out of an empty box when she was supposed to?
He couldn’t remember a single time when she hadn’t been perfect. Not one. But that was impossible. Everyone who performed magic made mistakes. It was part of the business, and there was no getting around it. It was how you learned, and grew.
Yet Liza didn’t make mistakes. Not any that he’d been aware of. The matinee this past Saturday was a perfect example. She’d been hidden inside the secret compartment of the Dollhouse illusion when the shadow person had kidnapped her spirit and taken her into the future. It had been a hair-raising experience that would have sent anyone else to the hospital. Not Liza. Not only had she escaped from Dr. Death, she’d also ended the trick correctly, and taken her bow beside him.
He decided that he was being irrational. Liza made mistakes just like everyone else, and he just wasn’t catching them. Love was blind that way.
A noise from downstairs lifted his head. A tinny clanging sound. His hand instinctively touched the five-pointed star hanging around his neck. Then he checked for the star around Liza’s neck. It was there as well. They were both protected.
He slipped out of bed and into his bathrobe. The floor was cold to his bare feet. Down the stairs he went to the first floor, the noise growing louder with each step. His destination was the living room, where Butch sat on the mantel banging his toy cymbals. He touched the hidden switch behind the panda’s neck and the music stopped.
The main keypad for the security system resided in the foyer. He checked it. The place was locked up tight. No intruders had slipped in. At least, not any human intruders.
He inspected the downstairs rooms, expecting to see his favorite things smashed to bits, or at least the illusion of that. But that wasn’t the case. Each room was how he’d left it before going to bed. In his study the computer was turned on, the screen saver of Harry Houdini hanging upside down in a straitjacket lighting up the darkened room.
His last stop was the kitchen. The pantry doors were wide open. He stuck his head in to see if any food items were missing. He clearly remembered closing the pantry doors before coming to bed. Had the shadow person reopened them?
If so, why?
He knew a thing or two about ghosts and spirits. The longer they remained stuck on earth, the more cranky and mean they became. If a ghost or spirit stayed too long, it turned into a destructive force, capable of all sorts of mayhem. The shadow people had impressed him as these very types of destructive forces. Yet their behavior was also strange. One had thrown a shoe out the window at him, while another had raided his kitchen pantry.
Cold air danced around his bare legs. Icy, invisible fingers touched his skin. He felt himself drawn to the other side of the kitchen and stood at the window facing the courtyard. The courtyard was his private sanctuary, and contained a wrought-iron table and two wrought-iron chairs. When the weather was warmer, he and Liza ate breakfast there and split the newspaper. His breath fogged the window. Liza’s chair was now occupied by a shadow person. A piece of its face was visible, and a piece of its hand. It was the same evil spirit he’d encountered in Grand Central.
The shadow person lifted its hand in a macabre salute. Peter felt his blood start to boil. How many times were these damn things going to invade his home? The only solution was to destroy every last one of them, and he was more than ready to do that.
The back door had a variety of locks. He opened each of them and stepped outside. From the foyer, the security system started to wail. He decided that was a good thing. Liza didn’t need to be sleeping while a shadow person was lurking around.
The shadow person floated out of the chair, its body a quivering mass. It almost seemed frightened of him. A psychic could get rid of an otherworldly spirit through physical force. It wasn’t pretty, but dealings with the dead seldom were. As he grabbed it with his hands, its essence turned to a vaporlike substance, and slipped out of his grasp as if melting away.
“No, you don’t.” With the tips of his fingers, Peter pinched the visible piece of flesh on the shadow person’s face, and held it tight. It felt like worn leather.
“How do you like that?” he said triumphantly.
The shadow person wiggled and squirmed, but could not escape. He made his other hand into a fist. The shadow person let out a tortured sound as if begging for mercy. Could it be reasoned with? He was willing to give it a try. He spoke where its ear should have been.
“Leave me and my friends alone. If you don’t go away, I’ll destroy you. Do you understand?”
“Peter, who are you talking to? What’s going on? Why is the alarm ringing?”
Liza stood in the doorway with a sleepy expression on her face. She wore one of his dress shirts and her favorite Garfield slippers. She stepped outside.
“What is that you’re holding?” she asked.
“I caught one of them,” he replied. “Please stay back.”
“Oh, my God, you really did. This is so creepy. What is that thing on its face?”
“Skin.”
“Ecch. Why are you holding it?”
“It was the only way I could stop it from escaping. Want to touch it? I dare you.”
“You’re not funny, Peter. That thing is dangerous. Please get rid of it.”
The shadow person had shrunk in size, and did not seem the least bit harmful now. That was another illusion, courtesy of the dark world which it inhabited, and he twisted the piece of skin as if to rip it from its face. It screamed and began to corkscrew into the ground.
“You’re hurting it,” Liza said in alarm.
“And your point is?”
“No, Peter. I can’t let you do that. No matter how evil it is.”
He disagreed, but was not going to have an argument over it. He’d shown the shadow person he meant business, and maybe that was all he really needed to do. He released the piece of skin and watched the shadow person float straight up into the night sky. It sailed higher and higher into the night like a lost balloon. Stars shone down, their light passing straight through it.
The threat had passed, and Peter felt himself relax.
A glimmer of light caught his eye. From far above, a tiny object began to fall noiselessly through space. As the object entered the courtyard, Liza let out a shriek.
“Watch out!”
Peter jumped in front of Liza and stuck his hand into the air. The object landed in his palm and he wondered if the flesh would burn off or his fingers might explode. But neither of those things happened. All he felt was a slight stinging sensation.
He brought his hand down and stared. Liza let out a gasp. His own sharp intake of breath was equally loud. Not a meteor or a falling star, but a lady’s art deco Cartier watch. It was the same watch the shadow person in Grand Central had been wearing. Its face was cracked, the hands of time stopped at ten minutes of ten.
“What does it mean?” Liza asked.
Peter wasn’t sure. The world was filled with the Devil’s playthings. If the watch was such an object, it would have a simmering aura around it, which was in fact the Devil’s fingerprints.
The watch had no such aura. It was a perfectly normal timepiece, as far as he could tell. Had the shadow person dropped it during her ascent into space? Or had it purposely fallen from her wrist? There was no way to be certain why it now rested in his hand.
He knew only one thing for certain. He was freezing to death. He grabbed Liza by the arm, and pulled her inside.
PART III
THE LITTLE DEMON
32
Central Park was a lush oasis within the city’s concrete jungle. Here, joggers ran at all times of the day and night, dogs were walked, lovers sought refuge, and horse-drawn carriages clip-clopped on twisting roads
designed to slow motorists down.
Milly Adams was a woman of rituals. Each morning, she awoke at the crack of dawn, fixed herself a poached egg over toast, ate it while reading the morning paper, and when she was done, left her apartment and journeyed across the street to a well-worn bench that sat beside one of the park’s most popular footpaths, where she stayed for the next hour or so depending upon the weather and her mood, talking to no one, enjoying the sights.
It was here that Peter found Milly at eight o’clock the next morning. The park was filled with joggers huffing and puffing their way into shape, and Milly was watching them pass by with a keen eye, as if she knew their futures with just a casual glance. Peter asked if he could join her.
“Of course.” Milly patted the spot beside her. “Sit down right here.”
Peter took the spot. Milly had helped raise him, and was the closest thing to a mother that he had. He hated spoiling her morning, but didn’t see that he had any other choice. Holly was out of control, and Milly needed to rein her niece in before Holly ruined his life.
“I need to talk to you about Holly,” he said.
“You sound terribly solemn. Is she still scrying on you?”
“Yes, yes, and yes. I made the mistake of encouraging her yesterday when I discovered a reporter spying on me. Now she keeps texting me every five minutes.”
“But she’s love in with you, and says you have feelings for her.”
“Of course I have feelings for Holly. I also have feelings for you. But that doesn’t make us in love, does it?”
Milly laughed under her breath. “I suppose not. But Holly is young and infatuated. You need to go gently with her. Let her down easy, as they say.”
Milly did not understand the gravity of what was taking place. Holly had held him against his will in her apartment through the use of a spell. She was also using her powers to stalk him, and that didn’t feel like any kind of love he’d experienced before.
“Holly won’t listen to me,” he said in a quiet but firm voice. “I have enough problems in my life right now, and she’s only making them worse. Please talk to her, Milly.”