Black Knight

by Christopher Pike

  I’m lucky to catch up with them at the booth at the exit—the SUV is right in front of me. The man hands his ticket to the attendant and the guy charges him for parking, which means they’ve been at the mall for some time. The first ninety minutes are free. When my turn comes, I’m waved through with hardly a pause.

  I tail their SUV onto Wilshire Boulevard and worry as they drive into Santa Monica. That’s where I live with Jimmy—even though I’m in witch world right now, I’m still not comfortable calling him James—and Lara and my mother. For several frantic minutes I’m sure they’re headed to my home but they pass by my street until they hit Pacific Coast Highway, where they go north.

  A feeling of déjà vu sweeps over me.

  That’s the same direction Marc Simona drove last night while hidden in the trunk of that movie star’s car. It makes me wonder if the dream does have something to do with reality, in the real world or witch world.

  Yet the old man doesn’t take Syn and Kendor as far north as Marc traveled in my dreams. When they reach Sunset Boulevard, he turns right and heads into Pacific Palisades, turning left at a major artery that winds through a pristine community of new and expensive homes. He parks at an adorable house that sits on a corner property atop a bluff—that gives it staggering views up and down the coast. If nothing else the old guy must have money, I think. The garage door opens and he swings into the driveway, and Syn and Kendor vanish as the door closes behind them.

  I park half a block away, across the street, and turn off my engine. I have my cell with me—now that I’m a mom I always have it with me—and know I should call my father. I’ve already promised him that I’d drive straight from the mall to the airport to catch my flight to San Francisco so I’d be on time for the Council’s meeting. My dad hates that I’m not always punctual. Now, at the very least, it looks like I’ll definitely be late, if I go at all.

  But what’s happening is extraordinary; I feel I have to check it out. Next to Cleo, Kendor was the most important person on the Council, and the fact that he’s still alive is something they’d want to know.

  Now that my dad’s a full-fledged Council member, he’s closed his surgical practice in Malibu and moved to the Bay Area. Or so he says. It still irks me that he moved out of LA just when I returned after a ten-year absence. I can’t escape the feeling he’s still avoiding me and my mother, although he swears that’s not the case.

  The Council will be equally as interested to hear that Syn is still alive, since she practically brought them to their knees four weeks ago. As the head of the Lapras, a group of evil witches that actively works against the Council, Syn was considered their most deadly enemy.

  “I should warn them. I should warn them now,” I say aloud, realizing that I’m mimicking Marc’s habit of talking to himself when he’s alone, even though I don’t have his excuse of having grown up with no one around. I wonder what that must have been like for him, if it’s one of the reasons he’s so reckless with his life, and so bold.

  Sure, the guy’s a thief and I shouldn’t admire him. But the truth is, having been in his mind, I do. Yet my admiration reaches only so far. For all I know, he might not even exist.

  Despite my list of strong reasons to the contrary, I don’t call my father. Again, I’m not sure why but I tell myself I can explain everything later tonight in person. Flights leave roughly every hour to the Bay Area from LAX. It’s not as if missing a plane has to keep me in LA all night.

  Fifteen minutes go by and I decide to split. I simply don’t have the nerve to walk to the door and knock. Also, it’d probably be a foolish move. The Council has to hear what I’ve seen, and for all I know the old man might take me hostage. For that matter, Syn could kill me. She tried to kill me the last time we were together.

  I start my car—it’s a brand-new Honda Accord with a baby seat in the back—and go to pull away from the curb when I see the old man walking toward me. I come close to bolting, but he raises his hand and I stay put. Still, I keep the engine running with my foot near the gas. I’m frightened, big-time—my pounding heart feels like it could crack my sternum.

  He knocks on my window and I push the button and lower it. Up close his eyes are even more striking, although I see they’re not identical to my daughter’s. Lara’s are a solid warm aquamarine; the deep blue surrounding his pupils is streaked with jagged green spikes. The colors are irregular and the feeling his eyes give off is cold.

  His face is more lined than I’d thought; however, they’re fine lines, and for the most part his skin is taut although rugged. He’s deeply tanned; he’s seen many a bright sunrise, which might just be the underestimation of the year. . . .

  For I have no doubt I’m looking at a witch, and an ancient one at that. The air around him seems to vibrate and he radiates immense power. He’s another Cleo or Syn; it’s possible he’s stronger than the two of them put together.

  Yet his voice, when he speaks, is remarkably soft.

  “Hello, Jessica. Do you know who I am?”

  I’m not sure until he asks. “The Alchemist.”

  “Kendor told you about me.”

  I nod. “He told me enough.”

  “You’re afraid. There’s no reason to be. I’m here to help you.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Your beliefs are unimportant. What is about to happen is. And you’re unprepared.”

  “By ‘you’ do you mean me or the Council?”

  “I’m talking to you.”

  “I suppose I should be flattered.” When he doesn’t respond, I add, “Why did you send me that note a month ago?”

  “I wanted to introduce myself.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re unprepared.”

  “What are Syn and Kendor doing with you?” Once again he doesn’t respond right away, just stares at me with his icy eyes. I keep talking to hide my fear. “She killed him. We killed her. It was here, in witch world; they should be dead.”

  “I know.”

  “How did you bring them back to life?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Gimme a break.”

  “Their bodies are where you buried them, in the desert sand outside Las Vegas. You can dig them up if you wish.”

  “So what—you’re hanging out with a couple of clones?”

  “You’re unprepared, Jessica.”

  “Damnit! Quit saying that and tell me what they’re doing here!”

  “They’re here to prepare you.” He gestures to the house. “Would you like to come inside?”

  “No. I can’t. I have an appointment.”

  He studies me. “Is it important?”

  “Yes.” I put the car in gear. “I have to go.”

  He nods. “Come again, when you have more time.”

  Without saying good-bye, I pull away as fast as I can, gunning the engine. Nothing he said made sense, obviously, but I haven’t forgotten the horror stories Kendor told me about the man. Especially the time they spent together during Julius Caesar’s most critical campaign—the Battle of Alesia. How the Alchemist first gave them the secret of gunpowder and turned the tide of the battle, only to demand the heads of a hundred thousand prisoners in payment.

  Of course, that was two thousand years ago, but the cold I felt radiating from his eyes tells me his character hasn’t improved in the ensuing centuries.

  “He’s not human,” I keep whispering aloud as I head toward the airport. But perhaps I’m just trying to convince myself I didn’t chicken out when I refused his invitation to enter his house.

  It would have been wonderful to see Kendor again.

  I miss my flight, no surprise, and have to wait ninety minutes to catch another one. I’m left with no choice—I have to call my father. He doesn’t react well when I tell him how late I’ll be.

  “The meeting will
be over by the time you get here,” he says.

  “I know. It couldn’t be helped.”

  “You were told how important this is. Cleo’s expecting you.”

  “I’ll be there, and I’m sure you and Cleo will wait for me if it’s that important.”

  My father takes a long time to reply. “Watch your tone. Being Lara’s mother doesn’t grant you any special status. Not when it comes to the Council.”

  I don’t try to hide the annoyance in my voice. “When have I ever asked for anything from the Council?”

  “Jessica . . . ,” he begins.

  “Or you?” I say, before hanging up. The instant I do so I feel like a fool for overreacting. Yet my anger remains. Calling my father, I’d hoped he’d first ask how I was doing, and how Lara was. But all he seems to care about is the Tar and their conflict with the Lapras. I know his work is important, of course; I just want his family to be important too—at least some of the time.

  The flight to San Francisco takes only an hour, and when I land in the Bay Area I head to the Hertz counter to pick up a car to drive to the secret address I’ve been given. There I discover Hatsu waiting for me.

  Hatsu is a short, fat Chinese man with severe facial scars. Seen in an alley at night, he’d probably be mistaken for a serial killer, even though he’s the kindest person on the Council.

  When he sees me, his face explodes in a brilliant smile and he lifts me off the ground and plants kisses on both my cheeks—all before I can say hello.

  “Hatsu! You shouldn’t have come,” I cry.

  “I wanted to.” He sets me back down but keeps his hands on my shoulders. “Look at you—you’re so beautiful. James is one lucky guy. I hope he knows it.”

  “Ha! Trust me, I make sure he does.”

  “How’s the baby doing? Keeping you up all night?”

  I make a face. “You see the bags under my eyes? I love her to death but she’s a handful. But maybe it’s me, maybe I’m still a spoiled teenager. I’m not used to sleeping in short spurts. It gets exhausting.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s a major transition for any young woman. And remember most moms are given nine months to prepare. You were given one night.”

  What Hatsu says is true and false. Jessica, the person I am now—or I should say the body I’m in now—is in reality my witch-world counterpart. It’s her body that had Lara. But me, the person I think of as me—the Jessie who now inhabits the witch-world version of Jessica’s body—has barely any memory of even having given birth to a daughter.

  It’s a complex situation and yet, ironically, it’s also extremely simple. Because I went through my death initiatory rite in the real world, my memories of Jessie from the real world stayed with me when I woke up in witch world. My father explained all this to me the night I discovered I was a witch.

  But he also told me that over time, a few months, I’d slowly regain the temporarily lost memories of Jessica, my witch-world counterpart. Yet for some strange reason, my twin’s memories are taking their time coming back. Occasionally, while I’m living my usual “every other day in witch world,” I pick up a small sliver of my other life. But the moment it pops in my head, I lose it.

  I’ve spoken to my father about the problem, and he had some interesting insights.

  “Deep down inside, it must be that you really don’t want to recall another version of yourself. In other words, you don’t want to be both Jessie and Jessica together in the same body. You just want to be you, Jessie from the real world, even when you’re in Jessica’s body in witch world.”

  I asked my father if such total denial was common, and he assured me that it was. Still, I wonder if I’m a rare case, or a nut job. Jimmy, for example, is having no trouble recalling his life as James. New stuff comes back to him every day—whole chunks of his other life. For example, he can recall everything that happened the night Lara was born.

  Which makes me wonder if that’s why he’s a better father than I am a mother.

  Hatsu notes my hesitation and I try to overcompensate by speaking quickly. “I shouldn’t complain. Jimmy’s super great about getting up at night to feed her and change her diaper and walk her until she falls back asleep. And my mother’s always around. And Whip—that kid’s amazing. He’s the only one who can get Lara to stop crying no matter what time of day it is. We don’t know how he does it. He just has to rock her and whisper softly in her ear and she quiets right down. He calls her his little sister and he means it. It’s so sweet.”

  Hatsu nods, pleased at what I’m saying. Yet I can tell he knows I’m putting on a front. He may be a loving and easygoing soul but not much escapes him.

  “And some days you pray to God you’d never gone to Las Vegas that weekend,” he says, summoning up my most common point of view in a single line. I can’t help but laugh out loud.

  “Ain’t that the truth!” I say.

  Hatsu lets me change into my new outfit in the restroom before we leave the airport. In the car on the way to the house where the Council is meeting, I give him a detailed account of what happened at the Century City Mall and outside the house in Pacific Palisades. He listens without speaking but I can feel his growing astonishment. When I finish, he pats my leg.

  “You were brave to follow them back to the house.”

  “Was I a coward not to go into the house?”

  He frowns. “From what I’ve heard about the Alchemist from Cleo and Kendor, I think you did the right thing.”

  “I didn’t know Cleo had run into him.”

  Hatsu waves his hand. “It was long ago, during the first or second Egyptian dynasty. I don’t know all the details, only that he tried to kill her and she him.”

  “Lovely. I’m so glad he invited me back to his house.”

  “Don’t go alone.”

  “Hatsu, what I saw, Syn and Kendor—it’s not possible, is it? No one who’s died in witch world has ever come back to life in either world, have they?”

  “No. But what you said about their dazed state might be important. The Kendor I knew would never walk around like an obedient puppy. Somehow the Alchemist must have cloned their bodies.”

  “How would he have access to such advanced technology? I mean, scientists have cloned sheep and goats but never human beings.”

  Hatsu is thoughtful. “Cleo might know. She’s spoken to us of a time before the Egyptian and Sumerian civilizations, before even she was born, when there were supposedly two advanced races on earth.”

  “She only heard rumors of these races, she never actually saw them?”

  “That’s my understanding,” Hatsu replies.

  We arrive at the house two hours late and the meeting of the Council is already finished. Except for Cleo and my father—and Hatsu, of course—the others have left. My father hugs me but I can tell he’s angry. Hatsu comes to my defense by saying I was late for an extraordinary reason.

  “Listen to what your daughter has to say,” Hatsu orders my father, perhaps reminding him that he’s only just been appointed to the Council, and is its youngest member. Hatsu is over three thousand years old, compared to my father’s modest five hundred years of age.

  Once more, I repeat everything I saw, this time rehashing every word the Alchemist said. My memory’s always been sharp—I give an accurate account. My father interrupts with a couple of questions but Cleo listens without speaking.

  When I finish, all eyes fix on Cleo. Physically, she’s changed from our time together in Las Vegas. Her red hair is shorter than before, a boy’s length, and neatly combed. A petite woman by nature, she appears to have lost a few pounds in the past four weeks, making her youthful cheeks slightly sunken.

  At the same time her dark eyes are as powerful as ever. When she stares at me, I feel the familiar magnetism sweep across my forehead. She surprises me by giving a smile and nodding her approv
al.

  “The Alchemist tested you by letting you follow him,” she says. “Now, at least, we know where he’s located and have some idea of what he’s up to.”

  “We do?” Hatsu asks bluntly.

  “Our meeting tonight was about the Lapras and who’s going to rule them now that Syn’s been killed,” Cleo replies. “It appears there’s already a power struggle going on in the Order for the top spot. Several of the oldest Lapras have turned up dead. The feud has even spilled over into DC. Two U.S. senators have died and one Supreme Court justice.”

  “I thought they died as a result of natural causes,” I say. The people Cleo refers to have perished in witch world, which means they’ll soon die in the real world since the worlds so closely mirror each other.

  “It was made to look that way so the public wouldn’t panic,” Cleo replies. “The Lapras have people at the top in all the major governments. Indeed, one of the U.S. senators who died was a Lapra witch.”

  “Fine with me,” I mutter. “Let the bastards kill each other.”

  “That’s dangerous,” my father warns. “Syn’s death left a massive void and it’s got to be filled. Until it is, thousands of Lapras are no longer answerable to a single authority. It might sound like a positive development, but what if they break into three or four ruthless factions? If that happens they’ll keep fighting until the public—in the real world and witch world—becomes aware of their existence, and ours.”

  “Then there will be real panic,” Cleo adds. “Plus there are more Lapras than Tar—we’re outnumbered ten to one. If mankind learns that there’s not only witches walking the streets but that the majority of them are evil, then the whole planet could be plunged into chaos.” Cleo pauses when she sees the look on my face. “It seems you disagree.”

  I frown. “I’m confused. I understand the danger of the Lapras’ internal power struggle and the fact that our existence might become exposed. At the same time, this seems like a great opportunity to destroy the Lapras once and for all. They’ve lost Syn, the one witch who held them together. Now, finally, they’re vulnerable. Shouldn’t we take this chance to go after them?”