The Witching Hour

by James Gunn

  “Me, boy. I start on my vacation Monday.”

  “Come on, Jack! Who thinks you’re important besides your wife?”

  “Listen to the man talk! That just shows you don’t know my wife.”

  “Give, Jack! This is important. Who’s the luckiest man in Washington?” I repeated impatiently.

  “Don’t you even tell me whether it’s animal, vegetable, or — ?”

  “Someone important. Someone you’d know about”

  “At cards, love or horses?”

  “All of those, maybe, but especially in getting where he wants to be. Top of the heap, maybe.”

  “Well, well.” Jack was thinking now. I could hear wheels starting to spin. “‘Tain’t the Great White Father. The honeymoon is over, and he don’t like it so good. The word is going around that he won’t be running again. Hell, man! There’s only one boy that fits. Never seems to need money. All of his enemies have bad luck, but he comes up smelling like a rose. And in the last year or so all of his intraparty rivals have died or retired with poor health or something — ”

  “His name, Jack, his name.” I was excited now.

  “You know it, boy. Names are dangerous. (“You’re telling me!” I muttered.) Get more people in trouble than any other thing. No telling who might be tapping this line.”

  “Give me a clue, Jack!” I said eagerly. “I have to be sure.”

  “America’s biggest, bestest, one-man self-help organization. Look in today’s headlines or yesterday’s or tomorrow’s. You’ll see his name. No doubt about it. The party might not like it, and a lot of Americans might feel like cutting their throats, but he’s gonna sweep the convention unless somebody fixes his little red wagon. And probably get elected, too. That’s private stock, boy. Don’t spread it around.”

  “Got it,” I said exultantly. “He’s out of town now, isn’t he?”

  “Him?” Jack hesitated. “Wait a second.” I could hear him yelling over the teletype clatter to somebody across the room. “Sorry to disillusion you, sonny,” he said. “The great man was seen this morning taking a brisk walk around the block.” He sounded disappointed himself. “For a moment I thought you might be going to do the American people their greatest service.”

  “Thanks, Jack,” I said dully. “Can’t think of anybody else in his class, can you?”

  “There ain’t nobody in his class, son. They’re all dead or behind bars.”

  “Okay, Jack. Let me know if I can do anything for you.”

  I lowered the phone gently into the cradle and turned slowly to Ariel and Uriel. I shrugged. “I guess you heard. It was a thought, anyway.”

  “Don’t get discouraged so easy, son,” Uriel said, and his eyes were sparkling. “You’ve got him.”

  “Maybe you didn’t hear after all,” I said in amazement. “He was seen in Washington this morning.”

  “Yes?”

  I snapped my fingers. “That’s it. He flew back to shake any possible suspicion.”

  “Could be,” Uriel said, “but I don’t think so. Too risky switching back and forth. More chance somebody would spot him.”

  “What then?”

  “Casey,” Ariel said. “Did you ever hear of a simulacrum?”

  “An image?” I said.

  Uriel nodded. “That’s the hard way, of course. He could have left somebody in disguise, but there’s nobody he can trust with his real identity. He can assign a few minor jobs, but he has to do all the big things himself. That’s his weak point. That and his lust for power.”

  “And overconfidence,” I said, thinking back.

  “Maybe,” Uriel said.

  “Then we’ve got him!” I said eagerly.

  Uriel gave me a reproving glance. “We can’t proceed on guesswork. We must have proof. It might be the wrong man.”

  “What loss?” I shrugged.

  “Casey!” Ariel said, frowning.

  “What do you want him to do? Come up and present his birth certificate?” I said disgustedly. “For magicians and witches, it seems to me that you two are awfully particular. But don’t mind me. I’m Just a novice at this thing.”

  “You don’t understand,” Ariel said firmly.

  “The greater the power, my son,” Uriel said, “the greater the responsibility.”

  “That ain’t the way I heard it,” I said. “The greater the power, the greater the corruption.”

  Ariel turned her back toward me. I could see from the set of it that I had gone too far.

  “Look,” I said. “I’m sorry. But after we’ve got a lead like this, the first break in the case, and you aren’t going to make any use of it — ” I took hold of Ariel’s shoulders and tried to turn her around, but she seemed to be made of stone. “Ariel,” I said softly. “I’m sorry. I’ll go along with whatever you say.”

  She looked back over her shoulder. “Well-l-l,” and she turned around to face us.

  “You’re jumping to conclusions again,” Uriel said patiently. “We aren’t going to throw this away. There’re some things we can do without harm. This, for instance.”

  He rubbed out the circle I had drawn on the rug and chalked in another one. He started inscribing equations around it. After a moment he hesitated and rubbed his forehead. “My memory isn’t as good as it used to be,” he apologized. “I wish I had that book. Must have lost it somewhere.”

  I went to the desk, pulled out the drawer, and removed the manuscript from its underside. “This?” I said.

  “Yes,” he said happily. “Dear me, yes. You are a help. Where did you find it? Never mind.”

  He went back to his task, consulting the manuscript occasionally. When he was finished, the rug was almost covered with chalk marks. “There!” he said, getting creakily up off his knees.

  I looked at it dubiously.

  “It’s an old Chaldean spell. An exorcism,” he explained. “In cases of this kind, it’s helpful to recite the verbal equivalent, too.”

  He entered the circle and lifted his face toward the ceiling. Little, white-haired, cherubic, he was not my idea of a magician. He was more like a professor about to expand on some dull minutiae.

  He began to chant in a low and surprisingly effective voice.

  “He who makes the image, he who enchants, the evil face, the evil eye, the evil mouth, the evil tongue, the evil lip, the evil word … “

  Shivers ran up and down my spine.

  “Spirit of the sky, exorcise them! Spirit of the earth, exorcise them!

  “The Magician has bewitched me with his magic, he has bewitched us with his magic;

  “The witch has bewitched us with magic; she has bewitched us with her magic;

  “He who has fashioned images corresponding to our whole appearance has bewitched our appearance;

  “He has seized the magic draught prepared for us and has soiled our garments;

  “He has torn our garments and has mingled his magic herb with the dust of our feet;

  “May the fire god, the hero, turn their magic to nought!”

  I let out my breath and realized that I had been holding it for a long time.

  “My goodness,” Uriel said. “I feel better already.”

  He looked better. The pallor beneath the rouge had changed to a healthier pink. I felt better, too, and I had felt good before. My neck had been sore and stiff. I touched it tentatively. It seemed as good as ever.

  “What now?” I asked.

  “Now,” said Uriel vigorously, “is the time for the counterattack. We must trick him into showing his true face.”

  Silently I pointed toward the back of the mirror leaning against the wall.

  “Ideal!” Uriel said. “Now, where would be the best place? I’m afraid the Crystal Room is out.”

  “How about his rooms?” I suggested. “He won’t be expecting us to come after him.”

  “His rooms?” Ariel said, frowning.

  “The penthouse,” I said.

  “The very thing,” Uriel said. “I don’t kn
ow what we’d do without you, son.”

  “But will he be there?” Ariel asked, her lower lip trembling a little.

  “There’s one good way to find out,” Uriel said. He turned to me. “A program.”

  I pulled it out of my coat pocket. “It won’t do you any good. Only October 30 was listed.”

  Uriel opened it to the middle. “Oh, no. This is fine.”

  I looked over his shoulder. The page that had been headed October 30 had changed completely.

  OCTOBER 31

  10:00 THE ORIGINS OF ROODMAS (WALPURGIS NIGHT)

  10:30 WHEN THE GOD WAS KILLED - A PANEL DISCUSSION

  11:00 EINSTEIN’S FIELD THEORY - A VINDICATION OF THE ART

  “Oh, dear,” Uriel said. “That was my lecture. I’m afraid there will be a blank in the program.”

  11:30 THE CABALISTS — RITER THAN THEY KNEW

  12:00 A SPELL FOR ADONIS

  12:30 USEFUL WAX IMAGES AND HOW TO MAKE THEM

  1:00 Recess

  3:00 AN ARGUMENT FOR AUGURY

  3:30 WHY THERE WERE NO PROFESSIONAL MAGICIANS IN EGYPT

  “No magicians?” I said.

  “All priests. It was the state religion.”

  4:00 INVISIBILITY — A LOST ART

  5:00 THE VAMPIRE IN MYTH AND FACT

  “Oh, dear,” Uriel moaned softly. “Darker and darker.”

  8:00 Banquet

  11:00 INVOCATION — Penthouse

  “I thought the invocation always came at the beginning,” I said.

  “Not this kind of invocation,” Ariel said.

  “Oh, me,” Uriel said. “Do you suppose — ?”

  Ariel nodded her head grimly. “I’m afraid so.”

  “We’ll have to stop them,” Uriel said with determination.

  “What’s this all about?” I asked, but they were looking at each other in distress. I shrugged and glanced at my watch. Five minutes after ten. Only five after ten? I shook it, but it was still running. “According to this, then,” I said, “he should still be in the Crystal Room. For several hours yet.”

  “But how can we be sure?” Ariel asked.

  I picked up the telephone and asked for the Crystal Room. I listened to the phone ring at the other end, and then someone picked it up and said, “Hello,” very softly. Someone was speaking in the background.

  “The Magus, please,” I said.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the voice replied. “He’s on the stage now. Can I have him call you when he’s free?”

  “Never mind,” I said quickly. “I’ll get in touch with him later.” I turned to Ariel and Uriel. Uriel was chalking equations on the back of the mirror. Ariel was looking at me expectantly.

  “Let’s go,” I said bravely. “Let’s go beard the magician in his penthouse.”

  But my knees were shaking.

  Uriel stepped back, inspected his work and turned to us. “You two will have to go ahead. There are some preparations I must attend to. Take the mirror and put it where he won’t see it until too late. Then search his rooms for some clue to his identity. Failing that, try to get some hairs or nail clippings. Even Homer nods. Why not Solomon?”

  I pulled the automatic out from under my arm and inspected it again before I replaced it.

  Ariel watched me, and she was frowning. “That won’t do you any good.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” I said. “Maybe it won’t do Solomon any damage, but it sure makes me feel a lot better.”

  I got a towel out of the bathroom, wrapped the mirror in it and turned toward the door. “Ready?”

  We took an elevator to the thirty-fifth floor. The elevator boy glanced curiously at the towel-wrapped square under my arm, but he didn’t say anything. We climbed a flight of fire stairs to the penthouse floor. I cracked the door an inch and peered out. The hall was empty and dark. We crept along it toward the door that faced the elevator. I watched the shadows suspiciously, ready to jump — for the stairs — if anything moved. I wasn’t cut out for this kind of work.

  I put my hand on the cold, smooth doorknob and tried to turn it. The door was locked. I looked at Ariel inquiringly.

  She muttered something under her breath and reached out with one finger to touch the knob. Nothing happened. She frowned and bit her lip.

  “There’s a spell on it,” she said.

  I racked my memory for the section of Uriel’s manuscript called “Counterspells.” I reached in my pocket for the piece of chalk that had become standard equipment, drew a circle around the knob and an “X” across the keyhole in the knob, and hesitantly jotted down an equation. As I finished writing the last figure, the door clicked. It swung gently open.

  I turned to smile proudly at Ariel. She smiled back and said, “You continue to surprise — ”

  She stopped, and her eyes got big. There was fear mirrored in them. They looked over my shoulder. I spun around and stopped, unable to move.

  In the doorway, facing us, green eyes glinting, tail lashing wickedly back and forth, was a tiger.

  And as I identified it, I knew it wasn’t a tiger at all.

  There never was a tiger with a black face, ears and paws and fur the color of cream. It was a Siamese cat, but it was as big as a tiger, and its crossed eyes studied us hungrily as it crouched a little closer to the floor.

  “A familiar!” Ariel breathed.

  The paralysis left me. I made the fastest draw of my life. The .38 was pointed and my finger was squeezing the trigger when Ariel put her hand past my arm, her finger aimed at the cat, and muttered a few words. Suddenly I was aiming two feet over the cat’s head. It had shrunk to normal size. I eased my finger off the trigger and put the gun away, feeling foolish.

  Ariel moved past me and bent down to pet the cat, but it stared at her haughtily, sniffed toward me and moved aloofly away on business of its own. I was just as happy to see it go. I let out a sigh and discovered that I was still hugging the mirror under one arm.

  “I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to this,” I said. “Let’s get it over with.”

  Ariel nodded quickly, uneasily, and started across the lush living room toward two doors that opened off it. I looked around for a place to spot the mirror. Finally I got an idea. The windows were fitted with Venetian blinds, but one of them was partly raised. I unwrapped the mirror carefully and propped it in the window frame. The bottom of the blind kept it from falling out. I stepped back and admired it — from an angle. If the man who called himself Solomon didn’t return until night — and there was a good chance that he wouldn’t — he would never suspect that one window was a mirror until too late.

  I hoped that he would get trapped in it as I had.

  Ariel came out of one room empty-handed. I pointed out the mirror so that she would be careful. She nodded.

  “Find anything?” I whispered. There wasn’t any reason to whisper, but that was the way I felt.

  She shook her head. “No papers. Nothing,” she whispered back. “I’ve never seen a place so clean.”

  She vanished into the other room. I poked around the living room, lifting cushions, peering under furniture, searching desk drawers. There wasn’t even any dust or lint. Ariel came back.

  “The rooms are spotless,” she whispered. “Even the sheets have been changed.”

  “It’s impossible,” I said. “Nobody could live here even a few hours without leaving some trace. I’d think we were in the wrong rooms if it weren’t for that cat. Come to think about it, where is the cat?”

  Ariel shook her head. “I haven’t seen it.”

  My nerves were beginning to quiver. I was ready to admit defeat and try something else, but there was one more door. We walked toward it together.

  “Those were bedrooms?” I asked.

  She nodded. “And a bath.”

  “No personal things?” I said. “No razor? No tooth-brush?”

  “Just unused glasses and towels and unwrapped soap.”

  We went through the door and into a k
itchen. It was all enamel and glass and stainless steel. Everything glistened and gleamed. There weren’t even any dirty glasses. The place was fantastically, implausibly clean.

  I snooped through the cabinets and drawers without much hope. Dishes were stacked neatly, glasses were turned top down, silverware was perfectly aligned.

  “Where’s that damned cat?” I muttered.

  It wasn’t in the kitchen, either. There was nothing in the kitchen that didn’t belong there except Ariel and me.

  The cat meowed loudly from the living room. We stiffened and turned toward the door. I pushed it open. The cat was sitting in front of the hall door, looking up at it expectantly. I held Ariel back, feeling suddenly chilled.

  There was a noise from the hall, distant and uncertain, like doors sliding. The cat looked at us and back at the door, and I looked at the cat, and Ariel peered over my shoulder.

  We all heard it then: a key slipping into the doorknob and turning.

  “Meow-w!” the cat said. “R-r-reow!” it warned.

  The door swung open. I pressed Ariel back into the kitchen and let the door close to a slit. I pulled the .38 out of the shoulder holster and held it ready in my hand. Maybe it was useless, but it felt good there.

  And Solomon stepped into the room cautiously, looking to both sides of the door and at the floor. The cat jumped at him, clawing his black pants and talking angrily about strangers who had broken into the penthouse, in a voice that was almost understandable.

  Solomon ignored it. His head, slowly turning, swept his gaze around the room. He hall-turned, his left arm straightening out suddenly in a savage arc that sent something in his hand hurtling away. Involuntarily my eyes followed it. It struck. Glass tinkled. A square of night shivered itself into black fragments.

  But just before the black mirror broke, shattered by the heavy key, I saw Solomon as he really was. That momentary glimpse was enough. I knew him. There could be no mistake. I prayed that the information did not come too late.

  I looked back toward Solomon. He was gone. My heart missed a beat. It started again, strongly, hopefully. Had he been trapped in the mirror before it broke? Had the key he threw shattered Solomon himself into a million shards? For a moment I let myself believe it.