Knight in Charlotte

by Edward McKeown

  “When?”

  “Guess, Kitty, guess.”

  Prosperine frowned. “Of course, full moon, midnight.”

  Jeremy smiled at the familiar. “The witching hour.”

  *****

  Midnight found Jeremy in his car in the IJL building’s parking deck. The 30-story skyscraper deck was still spotted with cars even at this late hour.

  Jeremy’s cell vibrated and he flipped it open.

  “It’s done,” Bob said. “Lanier is passed out on my couch after our victory dinner. Bastard. He takes 45% of the settlement on my case. I mean, who’s the client anymore? Anyway, I left Prosperine in a cabinet in his office.”

  “Big cabinet,” Jeremy said.

  Bob sighed. “Don’t be dim. She’s a shape-shifter. She can be a big jaguar or a little kitty. She just weighs the same, conservation of mass. Good luck, Templar. Never thought I would be saying that.”

  “Roger that, Demon.” Jeremy flicked the phone closed, then got out of his Mini-Cooper with his briefcase of electronics. An elevator took him to the lobby. He donned a set of heavy, brown-framed glasses before approaching the guardpost. A disinterested, balding, heavyset black man in a blue blazer regarded him. “Help you, sir?”

  “Yeah I’m from PCS, got an emergency, a sick PC in Lanier’s office at Boswell and Lanier.”

  The guard consulted his computer. “Don’t have you on the roster, young man. Sorry, can’t let you up.”

  “They said his assistant is staying later to work with me. Call the front desk, I’ll bet she’s there.”

  The guard grunted and picked up the phone, punching the extension as Jeremy hoped whatever cabinet Bob had left Prosperine in, hadn’t been locked.

  “Yes, this is security. I have a gentleman from…Geek? Well he’s the computer guy, I don’t know about geek.” Teeth flashed in the dark face. “OK, ma’am, I’ll send him up.”

  The guard took a picture with a small, egg-shaped camera. Jeremy hoped the glasses would be sufficient disguise, but when he looked at the image printed for the temp badge, he stopped worrying. His mother wouldn’t recognize him from the poor quality image. He waved the badge which allowed him through what looked like a glass guillotine guarding the elevators, then rode up to the twentieth floor. The doors slid back and he stepped out into the entrance to the law firm. Prosperine, dressed in a pants suit suitable for a law office, rose from behind a massive marble desk, a look of relief stealing over her features.

  “Trouble?’ he asked.

  “None. Evidently it’s not unusual for someone to be on the switchboard even this late.”

  They quickly walked down the halls to Lanier’s office. In a smaller firm, people would be more curious about strangers. Most of the staff had long since gone home, save for unfortunate associates and paralegals, sweating last-minute assignments from demanding partners. Some of them might have envied Prosperine.

  At the door to Lanier’s office it took only seconds for Jeremy to pick the lock. Jeremy turned on the lights and went straight to the computer where Bob and Prosperine had switched the keyboard. “How did you manage to get the keyboard switched?”

  Prosperine grimaced. “I was ordered to have sex with him on a table in the next conference room while Bob made the switch. Old fool actually thinks I fancy his middle-aged ass.”

  “Oh,” Jeremy said. “Sorry about that.”

  “It beat the alternative of denying my master. Trust me in that. Why did we do this anyway?” she said, leaning close to look over his shoulder as he linked up his laptop to Lanier’s desktop. The heat of her body beat against him. He remembered Simone Simon in Curse of the Cat People, swallowed and put it out of his mind.

  “This one is a keylogger.”

  “A what?” she asked

  “It has a hard drive that recorded every stroke he made on it. I’ve got access to everything he’s worked on and every password. With that,” he added triumphantly, “I have access to the firm’s trust fund. All I have to do is set it so that the money wired in from Worldbank goes right out the other side to Royal Rose Bank in the Caymans to start its trip through all the shell companies your boss set up.”

  “Hacking with something other than a sword,” Prosperine sniffed. “What is the struggle between good and evil coming to?”

  “Excuse me,” a delicate Southern voice said. “What are you doing in here?”

  Jeremy and Prosperine looked up in alarm. The silver-haired woman leaned in, her expression professional but wary.

  “Hi,” Jeremy smiled disarmingly, “we’re with PCS. Lanier’s PC crashed. We had a rush order to fix it. He’s got something big on for tomorrow.”

  “Oh Lord,” said the woman. “I’m Barbara, his assistant. He never tells me a damn thing.” She hesitated. “Why are you wearing gloves, young man?”

  “Anti-static gloves,” Jeremy replied. “You touch a motherboard without them and you’ve got a fried motherboard.”

  “Oh,” she replied, waiving a hand. “Well, let me know when you are ready to leave.” She closed the door.

  Jeremy turned to Prosperine. “Can you do something about her?”

  Prosperine ran her tongue over her full lips. “Sure. Of course I can’t eat a whole human in one setting. I’ll have to hide the rest for later.”

  “No, you stupid panther. Can’t you fuzz her memory or something? You were a witch’s familiar.”

  “Oh, all right,” Prosperine snapped as she slipped out of the room.

  Jeremy plunged into the mass of data, cutting through all of Lanier’s passwords and setting the wire transfer to immediately retransfer to Diablesse’s Cayman account at the Royal Rose. Pope and Land would never see a dime and the witches would lose the land.

  But Jeremy soldiered on. He didn’t entirely believe Diablesse’s claim that the power pool was of no use to him. “Time to buy some insurance,” he muttered to himself. Fortunately, Templars had once been the bankers of Europe and the skills were still taught. Jeremy linked to a Templar cell overseas. There was always a Templar on duty there. He opened a chat window and gave instructions. The brother in Europe was too well-trained to delay him with questions and quickly fulfilled his request. Jeremy closed the window just as Prosperine returned. Her face seemed strained and looked more cat-like than ever.

  “You, OK?” he asked.

  She gave him a surprised look, then grimaced. “The subtle stuff uses more energy and I haven’t practiced much since Bob enslaved me into his service. Are you done?”

  “Nearly.” Jeremy finished the transfer protocol. “Let’s get out of here before someone else sees us.”

  *****

  Dawn reddened the sky. Jeremy stretched, glad he had showered and shaved late. He’d parked at the only place that he could safely sleep with Prosperine in the back seat, the parking lot of the Pewter Rose. The holy ground Diablesse had sworn to honor. Shadowheart would enforce that guarantee and Prosperine would not risk a second encounter with the angel.

  A limo pulled into the parking lot. Diablesse opened the door and waved them over. “Join me,” he said in great good humor. “I got coffee, juice and muffins. Prosperine, I even have lox and bagel for you. If you are going to face witches, you should do so on a full stomach.”

  Jeremy slid into the limo and helped himself to coffee and muffins. “You’re going to confront the witches?”

  “Oh, hell yeah. Come on, Jeremy, the only fun in this game is when you crush your enemy’s face into the dirt. There’s no substitute for seeing it with your own eyes. Don’t you agree?”

  “In fact,” Jeremy said. “I do.”

  Prosperine gave him a curious look but said nothing.

  The limo pulled to the curb of the Trade Street in front of a nondescript glass box building.

  The trio stood in the lobby watching office workers stream to and fro, filling the building around them. Then the coven appeared, all six with Agnesi and Kitsune in the lead. They paused at the entrance to the building and, as one,
turned to face Diablesse.

  Agnesi came forward. “I smell demon.”

  “Diablesse’s the name, damnation’s the game. Can we talk in private?”

  Agnesi’s eyes roved over Jeremy and Prosperine. “I recognize your minions.” They dogged my steps earlier. No matter, it is all too late for you.”

  “There’s a conference room on this floor,” Agnesi added. “You can do your begging and pleading there.” They walked warily to the room. The witches entered first and lined up at the far end of the table.

  “I wanted to talk to you about your plans to blow my home to hell,” Diablesse said. “I’m afraid I can’t allow it. I have too many investments that haven’t paid off yet.”

  Agnesi laughed and tossed her blonde hair like she was in a shampoo commercial. “I care nothing for your plans, Demon, or any threats you make. You’re powerful, true, but there are six of us, enough to stand you and your minions off. By morning we will have more power than even a demon can dream of.”

  “About that,” Diablesse said. “I’m afraid you won’t be celebrating Mabon at the Coliseum. Did you have a booking somewhere else?”

  “It is ours,” Agnesi said. “Tonight we hold the ritual, tomorrow we ascend.”

  “Ha,” Diablesse shouted at the witch-leader. “You’re through Agnesi, the money never made it to Pope and Land. It went overseas into my accounts. It’s mine. You’re bankrupt.”

  “What?” Kitsune spat, glaring at them. The other witches shifted, their hair rising and shifting though there was no wind in the room.

  “Oh,” Diablesse continued, “I’ve made sure the Pope and Land people got an earful about how you are merely a front for laundering terrorist money. There will be agents at your offices shortly. They’ll find something, won’t they, Agnesi? After all, you did want it blamed on Al-Queda. You had to have some evidence of links. And there are already agents all over the Coliseum grounds, looking for whatever made you so desperate to buy it.”

  “Ordinary humans,” Agnesi said in contempt. “They won’t be able to stop us.”

  “Oh, I don’t think you’ll be up against just plain humans,” Diablesse said.

  “Meow,” Prosperine added.

  “One familiar--” Agnesi snarled.

  “Oh, and did I mention I have my very own Templar?” Diablesse waved his hands in a grand gesture toward Jeremy.

  The witches’ eyes turned toward him, their hate almost tangible but tinged with fear now.

  Agnesi turned to face the others, who glared at her. “Wait, we can get the money back. We’ll trace it through the transaction history—”

  “Oh what are you going to do, my dear?” Diablesse said. “Go to the SEC? My, my, that would involve explaining the sources of your money: murder, theft, and blackmail at Worldbank. Besides, all transactions were authorized by your counsel. We could be litigating this for years and I assure you the money moved a dozen times.”

  “Thirteen,” Jeremy said.

  Diablesse looked annoyed at Jeremy stepping on his moment of triumph. “I can count, Templar, it was an even dozen.”

  Jeremy smiled. “Oh, sorry, I made it a baker’s dozen. I’ve always been fond of the number thirteen. I had the money switched one last time. You see Lanier had all your account information too. You had just received an insurance settlement of $800,000 and it too was in the trust fund, along with your information on a certain Cayman bank. As soon as the money hit there, it did go on to many different shell companies. Just not the ones you intended.”

  Now he had everyone’s attention.

  “What? Where did it go?” Bob roared.

  “You gave it all to the Missionaries of Charity,” Jeremy said. “A nice endowment for Mother Theresa’s continued works.”

  Both witch and demon looked at him with horrified expressions. Jeremy caught Prosperine’s eye. The familiar stared at him with an enigmatic expression. Then she winked.

  “Yep,” Jeremy said. “A witch coven and a demon have made the largest contribution in history to the newest saint in the pantheon.”

  Both witch and demon literally shimmered with rage as they stepped toward Jeremy. From under his coat Jeremy drew the bloodsword. The red jewel of its hilt glowed with equal fury. In his other hand he held Shadowheart’s pendant. Diablesse and Agnesi halted and glared.

  “Hey, it’s not all bad,” Jeremy said as he backed toward the door. “It’s still tax-deductible.”

  The End

  The Devil You Know

  Jeremy rested his lean, tall frame against his Mini-Cooper in the parking lot of the Pewter Rose restaurant and eyed the skyline of Charlotte, North Carolina. It boasted a few interesting skyscrapers. One looked like a spaceship with a crown atop it, another resembled a Wurlitzer.

  The sound of expensive shoes tapping down the metal staircase interrupted his consideration of the skyline. Jeremy looked up as what appeared to be a handsome thirty-year-old, brown-haired man, bounced lightly down the stairs. But he knew the form was an illusion. Bob Diablesse was pure demon, and ran, “all the high-end evil” in Charlotte. For once he was unaccompanied by his jaguar familiar, Prosperine, a striking redhead when she was in human form. Diablesse paused for a second when he spotted Jeremy, then came on.

  “Jeremy,” the demon said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “How’s it hanging?”

  Jeremy’s return smile was equally chilly. “If you’re asking about my bloodsword, it’s hanging straight down under my left armpit.”

  “Yeah, nice coat, I can hardly see the blade. But there’s no need to wave magic swords around.” Bob made an expansive gesture at the beautiful restaurant and its environs. “We’re on “holy ground” here.”

  “Just wanted to make sure you remembered your pledge to keep this neutral territory.”

  “As if your guardian angel would let me forget. Besides, I got no real beef with you, Templar. The money you rerouted to Mother Teresa’s charity when we scammed the Agnesi witch coven wasn’t mine.” His voice abruptly deepened, “That would have been a totally different matter.

  “Still, you have made yourself quite a dedicated crew of enemies.”

  “Just me?” Jeremy said. “The Agnesi ignoring you?”

  Bob grimaced. “It’s Kitsune’s coven now. I’m not sure what happened to Agnesi, but I bet it wasn’t pleasant considering how she lost their magical wellspring. No, they’re not ignoring me. My own stupidity for showing my face in your company. I’ve lost a werewolf and two ogres so far. At least you have a guardian angel.”

  “Less useful against witches than you might suppose,” Jeremy answered. “Witches are corrupted humans. She can’t strike them the way she could for example…you.”

  “Yeah,” Bob said.

  “You have Prosperine,” Jeremy said. “Isn’t she immune to witches?”

  “Resistant, not immune. Familiars are kind of a battery pack for witches. A reward for serving the dark powers. Kitsune would love to get her hands on Prosperine but she’s bound to me.”

  Bob joined Jeremy in leaning against the Mini. “So we tangled with a coven and contrary to our expectations they didn’t leave town after we kicked their butts.”

  “Worse yet,” Jeremy added, “Templar intelligence says more are coming, witches and warlocks both. We don’t know where they’re getting the money for all this. We’re trying to disrupt them, but there are so few of us…”

  Bob stroked his chin. “As for money, it turns out that Kitsune is the driving force behind Pink Lady cosmetics.”

  Jeremy gaped at him. “Those women who drive pink Cadillacs and dress like overage Southern debutantes?”

  “Yeah,” Bob said, “they scare me too. Turns out that some of their more special cosmetic lines involve human byproducts. Whole villages in Africa and India have disappeared into their vats. So Kitsune will be able to refill their coffers eventually. There must be some other reason they’re flocking here. It’s hard to believe it’s just to duke it out with us. It seems
like once again we may be facing an enemy too powerful for either of us alone.”

  “Might be worth delaying any reckoning between us till the matter is dealt with,” Jeremy said. “Truce?”

  “Like Charlton Heston said in Major Dundee, “‘until the Apache is taken or destroyed.’”

  “You’re a big movie fan, aren’t you Bob?”

  “Dude, we own Hollywood.”

  *****

  When Jeremy returned to his design studio in nearby South End, he found Shadowheart, his guardian angel, sitting cross-legged on the steps next to the sushi place. She chose to appear as a snub-nosed, blonde teenage mall rat, God alone knew why.

  “Place safe?” Jeremy asked.

  “Yep,” she said, idly tossing a hackysack from hand to hand. “No attacks by witches, no demonic booby traps. They know I can’t do much to them unless they attack me directly and they aren’t that stupid.

  “How did your meeting with Diablesse go?”

  “Truce, and Prosperine’s aid,” he replied.

  Shadowheart’s face grew stormy. “I don’t like it. But in this situation the best defense is a good offense. Prosperine can attack witches where I cannot. Crap, you’d think the Almighty would let me bag a few humans for the greater good.”

  He looked at her with bemusement. “That’s a slippery slope. Trust me, we’ve been doing it forever.”

  Shadowheart’s enigmatic smile made him wonder how much she was having fun at his expense.

  “You coming in?” he asked.

  She snorted. “I’m never far, but no, I think I’ll stay on guard at least until sunrise.”

  “Right, you never sleep.”

  She nodded. “Just like rust.”

  Jeremy walked into the long hallways of the renovated factory building. Known by the pretentious title of, The Lofts at Factory South, its residents just called it the old Lance Cracker factory. He gratefully found his way to the studio door that opened into a high- ceiling room full of cameras and computer equipment. The front was his work area; the back was where he entertained during rare parties. He’d partitioned off a bedroom.