by Simon Hawke
“This is for our guest—”
“More guests? Gevalt! This place is getting to be like Grand Central Station. All right, never mind, I’ll just drop everything in here and go and make more coffee. So what if the bathtub’s got a ring around it that looks like a rally stripe? And that’s another thing, we need more cleanser. I made a list, did anybody bother even looking at the list?”
“Broom,” said Angelo suddenly.
A moment later Gonzago came back into the living room, preceded by a straw broom with spindly, rubbery-looking arms. “So, and who might you be?” it said.
“Broom,” said Angelo again, “Your name is Broom.”
“I know who I am, bubeleh,” said Broom. “I was asking about you. You have a name, handsome?”
“Modred, I think.”
“Oy!” said Broom, bringing one of its hands to where its chest would have been, if it had a chest. “Is it really you?” It shuffled closer.
“I suppose so,” Angelo replied. “That is, I’m not really sure. I can’t really remember. But I seem to remember you.”
“Open up that shirt a little more,” said Broom.
Angelo held his shirt open so Broom could see the runestone, though he had no idea how it could see without any eyes.
“Gottenyu, it really is you! Thank God! Do you know how worried we’ve all been, young man? Where have you been all this time? You couldn’t call? It was too much trouble to pick up a phone and say, ‘I’m all right, you shouldn’t worry, I haven’t been run over by a car?’ You think maybe we didn’t care where you were all this time?”
“Broom, he’s lost his memory,” Gonzago said.
Angelo stared at the broom with fascination. “I’m sorry,” was all he could think to say.
“Ach! Forgive me, bubeleh, I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I knew that,” Broom said. And then it sniffled, a singularly curious phenomenon, since it didn’t have a nose.
“It’s just that I’ve been so worried, my bristles have been falling out. But at least you’re safe now, that’s what counts. How do you feel? Have you eaten anything? Want I should make you some nice soup? A quiche, maybe?”
“I could do with something to eat,” said Angelo.
“Oy, wait, what am I talking?” Broom said with chagrin. “There’s nothing in the kitchen! Nobody went for groceries! A list, he tells me. Make a list. Okay, so I make a list, and what does he do? Leaves it on the kitchen table, that dumbkopf. Veys mir?”
“It’s quite all right, Broom,” said Gonzago. “We’ll simply step out downstairs to the cafe and have something. That 6. if you would be so kind as to wait by the phone, in case any of the others call. If they do, you can tell them Modred’s back and we’re downstairs at Lovecraft’s.”
“That dive? I can imagine what kind of food they serve in a place like that, where the waitresses all look like raccoons and the waiters look like waitresses.”
“Actually, it’s very good food, Broom,” Gonzago said. “I can vouch for that personally. Sebastian and I have many of our meals there. However, I will make sure someone goes out for groceries as soon as the others return, even if I have to do it myself. Frankly, I’m looking forward to trying some of your cooking. I hear you make excellent kreplach.”
“Well, excellent, I wouldn’t know,” said Broom modestly, “but it’ll stick to your ribs, at least.”
“Then we shall obtain all the necessary ingredients for you at the first opportunity,” Gonzago promised. “In the meantime, we’ll be downstairs. Call down if you hear from any of the others.”
Angelo buttoned up his shirt, put his jacket back on, and accompanied Gonzago down to the cafe. “I seem to remember Broom,” he said vaguely, “but I’m afraid I don’t remember you. Have we met before?”
“Actually, we haven’t,” said Gonzago. “I teach at the university, with Sebastian.”
“You teach thaumaturgy?”
“English,” said Gonzago.
“You’re not an adept?”
“Yes, but I am also a writer,” said Gonzago as they walked down the stairs. “I fear I am a bit, shall we say, too erratic to teach thaumaturgy.”
“Erratic?”
“I have, my boy, what is known as a slight drinking problem, and inebriation is not exactly conducive to instructing young minds in the finer points of magic. It is, however, absolute requirement in grading undergraduate composition Here we are. After you…”
They went down the steps from the sidewalk to the entrance of Lovecraft’s, and Gonzago was immediately greeted by one of the staff, who seated them at a table near the back.
“The usual, Gonzo?” asked the waitress.
“Please, my dear, and a menu for my friend, here. He’ feeling somewhat peckish tonight.”
“Right away,” she said, and brought a menu.
Angelo stared at it for a moment, then shook his head. “ don’t really know what I like,” he said. “It’s strange. I had some linguini the other day, but they don’t seem to serve that here. Perhaps you could recommend something?”
“Delighted to, my boy. They serve some of the best hamburgers in town here. You can’t go wrong with that.”
“All right.”
“One Miskatonic Special for my friend,” Gonzago told the waitress.
“Sure thing. And something to drink?”
“Black coffee, please,” said Angelo.
“Right away,” she said, and went to place their order.
“So, does anything seem familiar?” asked Gonzago.
“I’m not sure,” Angelo replied. “Have I been here before?”
“I believe Sebastian mentioned that you have, yes,” Gonzago said.
“But I’ve never met you here?”
“No, we have never met, but it is entirely possible that I present during one of your visits to these premises. Present, that is to say, but not necessarily conscious.”
Elvira brought coffee for Angelo and a large, double Irish whiskey for Gonzago. “So, here’s to fond memories,” he said, raising his glass in a toast, “and hoping you will soon recover yours.”
Angelo smiled. “It’s odd,” he said. “I’m supposed to be somebody called Modred, and your friend Sebastian knows me by that name, as does Broom, but though it seems vaguely familiar, it doesn’t really feel like my name. Maldonado called me Johnny Angel, apparently some sort of diminutive of Giovanni Angelico.”
“And that name feels more familiar to you?”
“Somewhat. But it still doesn’t seem quite right, somehow.”
“How about the name Angelo?”
“Angelo?”
“John Angelo,” Gonzago said.
Angelo frowned. “Angelo. Yes, that strikes a chord.”
“It’s who you are, you know,” Gonzago said.
“I thought my name was Modred?”
“That, too, in a certain sense,” Gonzago said. “It’s actually rather complicated. You are, or perhaps, more correctly, were John Angelo, a detective lieutenant in the New York City Police Department.”
“I was a cop?” said Angelo. “Then… what was I doing working for a man like Maldonado?”
“You were a special undercover officer with the Organized Crime Task Force,” Gonzago explained.
“Christine Mathews,” Angelo said suddenly.
“The district attorney,” said Gonzago. “Yes, she runs the task force. Excellent. You’re remembering.”
Angelo shook his head. “That just came to me, suddenly. Little bits and pieces, like remembering Broom, but I can’t seem to pull any of the threads together. Where does Modred fit in?”
“Ah, well, that’s the complicated part,” Gonzago said “Let’s see if we can pull some of these threads together, you put it…”
As they spoke, a man on the other side of the bar leaned over and spoke quickly to the woman he was with, then moved toward a pay phone and quickly dialed a number. He didn’t take his eyes off Angelo and Gonzago.
“Vinnie? Franco. You’ll
never guess who I’m looking at right this minute. Johnny Angel. Yeah. I’m at Lovecraft’s. He just came in with some old guy, looks like an adept. They got their heads together at a table in the back. Right, I figured you’d be interested. First he falls down on a job and disappears, then there’s cops stakin’ out his place, and now meetin’ with some adept, just about the time we got shipment comin’ in. I told ya you had Joey all wrong, might be cocky, but he ain’t no stoolie. Angel’s your man. What you wanna bet the guy he’s with is a Bureau agent? No, I think they’re gonna stay awhile. They ordered food Yeah, you bet your ass I’ll be here.”
He hung up.
CHAPTER NINE
MCGUIRE HUNG UP the phone and turned back to them with a grim expression. “Well, your story checks out,” he said. “But if it wasn’t for the fact that you have some of the top police officials in the world vouching for you, I’d think you were all crazy.”
“I wouldn’t blame you,” Wyrdrune said. “But now, at least, you know we’re telling you the truth.”
“Either that or you’ve pulled off one hell of an international conspiracy,” McGuire said wryly. “But I don’t believe that. Inspector Renaud and Chief Inspector Blood impressed me as very sober and responsible individuals and they backed up your story one hundred percent. However, I think they’re both dead wrong.”
“Wrong?” said Kira with a frown. “What do you mean?”
“If they’ve convinced me of anything, it’s that this thing is much too big for you people to be handling all by yourselves,” McGuire said. “Trying to keep something like this quiet is insane. You simply can’t sit on this kind of information.”
“Can you imagine the panic it would cause if this got out?” asked Wyrdrune.
“That’s like telling me I’ve got to suppress information about a serial killer, because the citizens would panic,” said McGuire. “And that’s exactly what we’re talking about here, isn’t it? Serial killers. Necromancy is a felony punishable by death. And if there’s a necromancer on the loose in this city, the people have a right to know about it, so they can take steps to protect themselves.”
“And just how do you expect them to do that?” Kira asked. “It’s not just a matter of not going out alone after dark, McGuire. You have no idea what you’re dealing with. There’s no defense against a necromancer, unless you happen to possess magic that is stronger.”
“A necromancer can accumulate power much more quickly than a thaumaturge,” added Wyrdrune, “and these beings are immortal. Any one of them is at least ten times more powerful than a human mage. If you went public with this, all you would succeed in doing would be to start a worldwide panic. Can you imagine the kind of climate that would create? You’d have people arming themselves and forming vigilante groups. Every adept would suddenly be suspect. Everybody with red hair would be at risk. You’d have rioting, and innocent people would be killed. That’s exactly the kind of situation the Dark Ones could take advantage of. You’d be playing right into their hands.”
“I doubt that,” said McGuire. “In any case, this whole thing is out of my jurisdiction. It’s got to be turned over to the Bureau.”
“The Bureau? Have you forgotten that it was a Bureau agent who staged the raid on our place in an attempt to kill us?” Kira said. “The Bureau represents no threat to the Dark Ones. You saw what they could do with just one Bureau agent in their power. And who knows how many others they may already have under their control?”
“All the more reason for the proper authorities to be informed of this,” McGuire insisted. “If these Dark Ones are as powerful as you say they are, then they represent the single greatest threat this city, the country, and even the entire world has ever faced. It’s simply too much for you to deal with all by yourselves. And you haven’t got the right to make that kind of decision for everybody else. I don’t know how you convinced Blood and Renaud and the others to keep quiet about this, but they’re way off base. The Bureau and the I T.C., at the very least, have to be informed.”
“I was hoping we could make you understand,” said Wyrdrune. “I didn’t want to have to compel your cooperation.”
“Is that a threat?” McGuire asked tensely.
“Steve, listen—” Gypsy began, but McGuire interrupted her.
“No, you listen, Natasha. You brought these people here. Maybe you think what they’re doing is the right way to go about this, but I don’t. And just because I don’t agree, simply because I’m trying to do my job to protect the people of this , they’re threatening to force my cooperation through magic. Well, now how in hell does that make them any different from the Dark Ones? If they get to make those kinds of decisions, and use magic to enforce them, then who’s going to protect us from them?”
For a moment no one spoke, and then Gypsy said, “He’s night, you know.”
Kira and Wyrdrune exchanged glances. Wyrdrune took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. “I can’t say that I don’t see your point,” he said.”But you’re putting us in a very difficult position. A part of me has to admit that your argument has a lot of merit, but another part of me, the part that is the milestone’s avatar, does not agree.”
“Yeah,” said McGuire. “That’s the inhuman part. And however well intentioned the spirits of this Council might be, they’re still not human. Their motives may be good, but they still regard humans as inferiors. From what you’ve told me, that’s been their entire history. But whatever they are, you are human, regardless of the runestones. Ask yourself what you would do if you were in my place.”
Wyrdrune gazed at him steadily for a moment, then sighed and shook his head. “I’m not sure I’d do any different, to be perfectly honest with you. But the fact remains that we’re faced with a threat that’s a great deal more deadly than a human serial killer, and if news of this got out, it would have a tremendous impact on society. First, there would be the matter of convincing both the Bureau and the I.T.C. Granted, with the help of people like yourself, Mike Blood, Becky Farrell, Katayama, and Armand Renaud, that may not be so difficult, but both the Bureau and the I.T.C. think we’re the ones responsible for the killings, and before anything else happens, they’d want us to turn ourselves in. There would be investigations, and testimonies to grand juries, and all sorts of bureaucratic hassles and meanwhile we’d be out of circulation. We simply can’t afford to do that. Then there wouldn’t be anything to stop the Dark Ones.”
“Maybe there’s another way,” McGuire said. “If we could take one of these Dark Ones alive—”
“Forget it,” Kira said. “Even if you could figure out a way to do that, there isn’t a jail on the face of this earth that could hold one of them.”
“What about your friend Slade?” McGuire asked. “If he’s Merlin reincarnated or whatever, and he can prove that, then his word would carry a considerable amount of weight. Especially if he can manifest as one of these Old Ones, the way he did back in your penthouse.”
“We need Billy,” Wyrdrune said. “Besides, you know as well as I do that they wouldn’t be content with just him. They’d want all of us to come in and testify. And if the Dark Ones have suborned any of the high-ranking Bureau or I.T.C. officials, which is entirely possible, they could control the situation.”
“Not if the runestones can detect these acolytes, as you claim,” McGuire said.
“Oh, sure,” said Kira. “All we’d have to do was point at some top Bureau or I.T.C. official and say, ‘He’s being controlled by the Dark Ones. My runestone’s glowing.’ I’m sure they’d buy that right away.”
“They might, if you gave them a chance,” McGuire said.
“You’ve got a lot more faith in due process than we have, McGuire,” Kira said. “I’ve been through it before, you know. I’ve got a record. I know exactly how it works. Or doesn’t work.”
“So then where does that leave us?” asked McGuire.
“I guess that’s up to you,” said Wyrdrune. “It would be nice if we could do this with your co
operation. But if not then we’ll just have to do it on our own.”
“Wyrdrune, wait—” Gypsy began, but at that moment the phone rang.
McGuire glanced at them. “Mind if I get that?” And without waiting for a reply, he went into the kitchen to answer : They heard him give a couple of short, terse answers, and then a moment later he came back in.
“That was the commissioner,” he said. “I’ve been ordered to turn the entire case over to the Bureau. As of this moment, I’m out of it.”
Wyrdrune nodded. “They got to somebody,” he said.
“You’re telling me they got to the commissioner?” said McGuire with disbelief.
“Not necessarily,” said Wyrdrune, “although it’s certainly possible. But they got to somebody who had enough clout to pull some strings and get you out of the way. Have you annoyed anybody in the Bureau lately?”
“Case,” McGuire said. “The New York Bureau chief. But that doesn’t mean anything. Case has jurisdiction in crimes involving magic and I’ve been stepping all over his toes. He just finally ran out of patience and placed a call to Washington and slapped me down.”
“Maybe,” Wyrdrune said. “And on the other hand, maybe not. There’s one way of finding out for sure.”
“You mean get you near Case and see if your runestone slows?” McGuire said.
“Exactly.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then you called it and it’s just a routine battle over turf,” said Wyrdrune. “Either way, it looks as if the matter’s no longer in your hands.”
“I might have a few things to say about that yet,” McGuire said. And suddenly he produced a gun. “You’re both under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. If you choose to give up those rights, anything you say can be—”
The gun suddenly wrenched itself out of his hand and went flying across the room. It struck a wall and fell to the floor, behind a chair.
McGuire simply stared. Finally, he said, “That was stupid. It might have gone off on impact.”
Wyrdrune merely opened his hand to reveal the pistol’s magazine. He held up a round in his other hand. “And one in the chamber,” he said.