A Calculated Magic

8

“Are you positive my mother wanted you to bring us to this place?” Jack asked suspiciously several hours later.

“Trust me, boss,” said Hugo. “I know it don’t look like much on the outside. But wait till you step indoors. You’ll be surprised. I promise.”

Jack looked at Megan and shrugged. “What do you think?”

They were on a deserted side street on Chicago’s near south side. Big, old buildings, most of them warehouses, crowded the block. None of the structures appeared less than a hundred years old and all were in a state of near collapse. Of them, only one had a doorway that opened to the street. A solitary light burned above the entrance. On the side of the door was a small metal sign reading Members Only.

After a brief trip to Megan’s condo on the near north side, where they had changed into appropriate clothes for a fancy dinner, they had taken a taxi to the address given them by Hugo. The raven flew ahead, promising to meet them at the club. Mongo had remained at Merlin’s office, discussing philosophy with Megan’s father.

“Well,” said Megan, “considering our location and the lack of traffic, I suspect finding a cab might prove to be difficult. And there’s no way I plan to start walking anywhere in this neighborhood. It’ll be getting dark soon. Better inside than out here. Besides,” she added cheerfully, “what can happen to us in there?”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” replied Jack. He stared at Hugo. Jack regretted leaving Mongo behind. Of the two, the other raven seemed a great deal more reliable. Hugo was more than a bit flaky.

“Okay, bird,” he said, finally coming to a decision. “Megan’s right. Standing out here won’t do us any good. Lead on. I just hope that after centuries your fabled memory hasn’t started slipping.”

“About time,” said the raven, and flapped over to the door. Hovering, it pecked the wood paneling hard three times. “Open up in there. It’s me, Hugo Odinsbird, with two friends. We have reservations.”

A few seconds passed and then, soundlessly, the door swung back, revealing a pitch black tunnel. “Enter,” declared a low, gently mocking voice. “And welcome.”

Gathering a deep breath, Jack took Megan by the hand and crossed over the threshold. For an instant, darkness overwhelmed them. Then, as if emerging from an air lock, they found themselves in a brightly lit, lavishly decorated foyer. A few steps ahead, waiting at a narrow podium, stood an elegantly dressed maître d’. Behind him were a pair of immense oak doors, decorated with intricate carvings.

“Mr. Collins and Ms. Ambrose, I believe?” asked their host. “Right on time.” He looked closely at them, then around them. “I was told to expect a pair of ravens as well.”

With a loud squawk, Hugo came flapping through the black portal. “Damn,” said the bird. “I hate those warp doors.”

“They are a nuisance,” said the maître d’, “but they operate quite effectively in keeping out the riffraff. Only those who belong can pass through. Where is the other fowl?”

“The second bird is busy tonight,” said Jack. “We’re it.”

“Excellent,” said their host, and snapped his fingers. Seemingly out of nowhere, a slender young woman, dressed in a stunning pink outfit that left little to the imagination, appeared. “Ms. Vesta will show you to your table.”

Behind him, the huge oak doors swung wide. “I’m off,” declared Hugo, and went flying through the opening. “See you inside.”

“Typical,” said the maître d’, the slightest sneer crossing his lips. “Birds are so impatient. The rest of your party is waiting on the second level. Have a good evening.”

“Thank you,” said Megan, flashing a smile at the host. As they followed Vesta into the next room, she leaned close to Jack and whispered, “Watch what you’re thinking, buster. Remember, I can eavesdrop on your dreams. And there’d better not be any pink cutie floating around inside your head tonight!”

“Who, me?” asked Jack, trying to sound insulted. “You know you’re the only girl I dream about.”

“Keep it that way,” whispered Megan ominously. Then, in a normal tone of voice, she continued, “This place is huge. It’s the size of the railroad terminal.”

She wasn’t exaggerating. Laid out on three levels, the nightclub was immense. There were hundreds of tables scattered in haphazard fashion around a wide dance floor. On the stage behind it, a jazz group was playing background music, while a trio of beautiful, dark-haired women softly crooned a song in a language Jack didn’t recognize. Somehow, it sounded vaguely familiar.

“Don’t listen too closely,” warned Vesta, noticing the direction of Jack’s interest. “Those girls aren’t any ordinary vocal group. They’re the sirens. Supernaturals are immune to their lure. But with mixed blood, you’re not.”

“The sirens?” repeated Megan, excitement in her voice. “Then this must be the Chaos Club.”

“Of course,” said Vesta, weaving a path between the tables. “Where did you think you were?”

Jack, anxiously trying to ignore the sirens’ song, exchanged glances with Megan. “The Chaos Club?”

“Father’s mentioned it to me several times,” said Megan, “but he’s refused to take me here. The old geezer dislikes being surrounded by supernaturals. Claims whenever he comes here, the patrons always want him to perform magic tricks. Merlin hates using sorcery for entertainment. He thinks it trivializes the art.”

Jack’s eyebrows narrowed, trying to make sense of Megan’s ramblings. After a few seconds, he thought he understood. “You mean, this is a nightclub specifically aimed at supernatural entities. A sort of Gavagan’s Bar or Callahan’s Saloon for mythological beings?”

“Precisely,” said Megan. “Weren’t you listening to what I just said?”

“The Pied Piper is performing on the bandstand tonight,” added Vesta, smiling brazenly at Jack. She winked. Her expression made it quite clear that if Megan was annoying him, she was definitely available. “Pan’s scheduled to sit in for a couple of sets later on. He really swings.”

“The patrons are all supernaturals,” said Jack, his gaze sweeping across the club. Other than the absence of the auras that identified them as mortal, everyone in the nightclub appeared terribly ordinary. Which was not very surprising. Survival in the modern era for the supernaturals meant blending in with their surroundings. They evolved and adapted to die times. “And the staff as well?”

“Sure,” said Vesta. “A consortium of gnomes and leprechauns own the place. Diogenes handles the bookkeeping, while Hercules works as the bouncer. With him around, we never have any trouble.”

“Who’s the maître d’?” asked Jack, fascinated by the girl’s matter-of-fact listing.

“That’s the Comte de Saint-Germain,” said Vesta. “Despite those novels written about him, the count’s no vampire. He is quite mysterious, though, and quite sophisticated. And he knows everybody.”

She ascended a short flight of steps leading to the second level, revealing quite a bit of white thigh. “I’m a wood nymph,” she continued, gazing at Jack in disconcerting fashion. “From the golden age of Greece.”

“I met some of your cousins at the mall a few weeks ago,” said Jack without thinking.

“Yes,” said Vesta, her voice sultry enough to melt butter. “So I heard.”

“Me too,” said Megan, jabbing an elbow into Jack’s ribs.

Jack turned red. The mall nymphs had proved to be delightful if exhausting company. Dedicated to the practice of free love, as often as possible, they were not the type of girls you mentioned to your fiancée. Especially if she had an intense jealous streak—like Megan.

“Here at last,” said Vesta cheerfully. Waiting for them at a large table were Freda Collins, Cassandra, and Fritz Grondark. Dressed in a pinstripe suit coat that barely stretched across his massive shoulders, the dwarf tugged unhappily at the gaudy tie laced around his neck. Hugo loitered by the floral centerpiece, nibbling at the greenery.

“About time you arrived,” grumbled the bird. “I’m starving.”

After seating Megan, Vesta pulled back Jack’s chair. As he took his spot, her hands grazed across his back. “If you ever lack for company,” she whispered, “think of me. I’m available.”

Standing, she nodded pleasantly to the entire company. “Bryan will be your server tonight. He’ll be here shortly with your menus. Enjoy your dinner.”

“Charming young lady,” said Freda after Vesta departed. “That’s one of the nicest things about the Chaos Club. The help here always seems so anxious to please.”

“I’ll say,” declared Jack, wiping beads of sweat off his forehead.

“I took the liberty of ordering us all champagne,” said his mother, standing. She raised her glass. “I’d like to propose a toast. To Jack and Megan. Happiness today, and forever after.”

They drained their goblets and Jack kissed Megan. The touch of her soft lips banished any thoughts of nymphs from his mind. There was only one woman for him, and she was sitting by his side.

“I, too, would like to honor the lucky couple,” said Cassandra. Jack noted that their empty glasses were once again filled to the brims. Magic did have its uses. “To a long life, many strong children, and a clean death in battle.”

“Bravo,” said Fritz Grondark, banging a huge fist down on the table for emphasis. Fortunately, the furniture at the Chaos Club was built to withstand punishment. “Well said.”

Grinning, the dwarf dug into the pocket of his suit. “I made these special for you,” he declared. Pulling out a small ivory box, he handed it to Jack. “Go ahead. Open it.”

Jack, with Megan peering over his shoulder, did so. Inside the box were two gold rings. Each band consisted of a pair of twined serpents. Their eyes glowed red with tiny rubies.

“For your wedding,” said Grondark proudly. “Handmade from Alberich’s gold. I made a similar pair for Siegfried and Brunhild.” The dwarf coughed self-consciously. “These, of course, aren’t cursed.”

“I’ll drink to that,” said Jack. The champagne went down incredibly smoothly.

“Merlin politely declined my invitation to the festivities,” said Freda, with a sniff of indignation revealing her thoughts on the matter. “Witch Hazel and her familiar, Sylvester, sent their regrets but could not attend due to a Witch’s Sabbath. They asked me to wish you their best.”

“Enough chattering,” said Hugo, having eaten most of the floral display. “When do we order dinner?”

“This looks like the waiter now,” said Jack. A handsome young man, dressed in a tuxedo, bustled over to their table. Quickly and efficiently he handed them all menus.

“Glad to have you dining with us tonight, friends,” he declared. “My name is Bryan and I’ll be your server. The special for tonight is nectar and ambrosia, served Greek style. I’ve sampled it earlier and there is no question our chef has come up with food fit for the gods.”

“Sounds wonderful,” said Cassandra. “I’ll have that.”

“Not to my taste,” said Fritz Grondark. “You still serve that two-pound T-bone with all the trimmings?”

“The Erisichthon special,” replied Bryan, grinning. “Few order it and fewer finish it. But I’m willing to bet you’ll do it justice.”

“Mead for me,” declared Freda. “And boar’s flesh for my raven.”

To his relief, Jack discovered the extensive menu included numerous specialties fit for human consumption. “I’ll have the shrimp scampi. With a baked potato.”

“Very good, sir. And the lady?”

“The whole Maine lobster, please,” said Megan, smiling innocently at Jack. “I love the sound their shell makes when I crack it open.”

Mentally, Jack swore never to look at another woman again. He valued his life and health too much to dare cross Megan.

“Thank you,” said Bryan. “I’ll return in a few minutes with your salads and some bread.”

“No dressing on mine,” cawed Hugo. “But lots of croutons. I love croutons.”

“To be sure,” said Bryan, and departed.

“I never imagined a place like this existed,” said Jack, his gaze sweeping around the restaurant. The Pied Piper and the sirens had long since left the bandstand. They had been replaced by a solitary saxophone player. A short, stocky figure dressed in baggy pants, with a thick brown beard and long, curly hair, he had to be Pan. The noise of the room drowned out his music but Jack thought he caught a few bars of “Yakkety Sax.”

“Is there a restaurant like the Chaos Club on the East Coast?” asked Megan.

“Of course,” said Freda Collins. “In the heart of New York City. It’s called the Immortals Palace. The food and drink aren’t nearly as good as here. Minos owns the Palace and he’s a tightwad. He waters down the mead and…”

Freda suddenly stopped speaking. She clenched her jaws shut. Eyes narrowing to pinpoints, the Valkyrie folded her arms across her chest. Jack, quite familiar with his mother’s moods, recognized a storm brewing. As did Hugo.

The raven swung its head around in a circle, searching for the cause of Freda’s anger. Halfway through the motion, the bird froze in a complete stop, Three figures were approaching their table. “Oh hell,” Hugo declared, “it’s him.”

Him, whoever he was, was a tall, slender man with a narrow face and thin, thin cheekbones. His glowing black eyes matched his slicked-down black hair. Bloodless lips, curled in the vague semblance of a smile, creased an otherwise white face. He wore a black suit with white shirt and black tie. There was a harsh coldness to the man that chilled Jack’s blood.

He walked slowly, arrogantly, like a king making his way through his subjects. Following him, a few steps to the rear, were the two biggest men Jack had ever seen. Seven feet tall, with shoulders nearly as wide, they were built like walking walls. Shaggy white hair, white beards, and glazed white eyebrows defined them. They were creatures of ice and snow and eternal night. Though they wore conservative business suits, they should have been dressed in the skins of animals.

“Frost giants,” muttered Fritz Grondark. “I knew I should have brought my monkey wrench.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” said Freda Collins, her voice taut with emotion. “Even they know better than to risk the anger of Hercules. Besides,” she added, with a harsh laugh, “Loki keeps them on a tight leash.”

“Loki?” said Jack, caught by surprise. “But I thought the Norse Gods vanished with the advent of Christianity in the northlands.”

“The evil one accompanied the Gods on many of their adventures,” said Freda, “but his parents were frost giants. When belief in the White Christ banished the Aesir, Loki remained—to plot mischief against mankind.”

“Obnoxious bastard,” added Hugo. “He deals in illegal weapons these days. Sells guns to whoever can afford them. I’m surprised to see him in the States. Usually he’s in the Middle East. And lately in Eastern Europe. Maybe Mongo knows something. Remind me to ask him later.”

“Quiet,” said Freda. “He approaches.”

Lips pursed as if in deep thought, Loki strolled around their table, not stopping until he reached Freda’s chair. The frost giants took positions behind Cassandra and Fritz Grondark. The two hulking monstrosities exuded cold. They were like walking snowmen. No one paid the least attention to Jack or Megan.

“Freda Valkyrior,” said Loki, his voice surprisingly mellow. “Long time no see.”

“Not long enough,” snapped Freda. “What do you want, trickster?”

“Want?” replied Loki. “Why should I want anything? Enjoying the fabulous mead available only at this fine establishment. I spot an old acquaintance. I felt it my duty—nay, my privilege—to come over and say hello.”

“How touching,” said Hugo, hopping to Freda’s shoulder. “Seen the kids lately?”

According to Norse mythology, Loki was the father of three bizarre offspring. One was the Fenris Wolf, destined to swallow the sun during the Twilight of the Gods. Another, the Midgard Serpent, had grown so gigantic that it circled the world beneath the sea, clutching its tail in its mouth. The third, his daughter, Hel, was born so ugly that she was given domain over Nifflehelm, the land of the dead. Jack suspected Loki did not like being reminded of his children.

Astonishingly, the man in black laughed. “Ah, the ever-humorous Hugi. Still performing tricks in the circus with your idiot twin brother? Too bad the All-Father isn’t around to hear your jokes. I’m sure he would have been quite amused.”

Squawking with rage, Hugo launched himself at Loki. But the bird never reached his target. Moving with shocking speed, the frost giant behind Cassandra reached out with both hands and grabbed the raven by the neck.

“Should I crush his head, master?” asked the snowman, his while eyes glistening with excitement. “Should I?”

“No, you fool,” gasped Loki, angrily. He was having trouble breathing because Cassandra’s left arm was wrapped around his throat. The Amazon’s other hand held the point of a steel dagger to the trickster’s right eye. “Release the bird.”

“Yes, sir,” the giant said, and dropped Hugo to the table. “Sorry, sir.”

With a whisper of steel, the knife in Cassandra’s hand disappeared. Releasing Loki, she stepped over to Megan’s side. Smiling her most dangerous smile, she nodded politely to Loki. With a wry grin of his own, he nodded back.

“Nicely done,” he remarked. Then he turned to the bemused giant. “The next time I tell you to watch the Amazon,” he said, his voice colder than ice, “watch the Amazon.

“Actually, Freda dear,” continued Loki, acting as if nothing had happened, “I came over to meet your famous son.”

“Me?” said Jack, as all eyes turned in his direction. “Why me?”

Loki chuckled. It was not a pleasant noise. “Several times during the past century, I found it necessary to employ Dietrich von Bern. While not without his faults, I always found him quite competent. That any mortal, even one of your ancestry, could defeat him as well as one of the Great Beasts, astonished me. I had to see for myself what made you special.”

The Norse deity stared directly into Jack’s eyes. Mortal’s gaze met immortal’s and held. For an instant, neither figure moved. They remained frozen in place, as if communicating by thought alone. No one at the table dared make a sound, afraid to disturb the strange scene taking place before them. A minute passed. Another. Then, gradually—very, very gradually—Loki started to tremble. His body started to shake, not with fear, but with relief.

“You don’t have an answer,” he declared, his voice quivering with emotion. “Not even a Logical Magician can accomplish the impossible.”

“Perhaps not,” said Jack quietly. “But I don’t give up very easily. I’ll find a solution.”

Loki chuckled harshly and shook his head. Eyes glowing, he stepped back from the table. Hands on his hips, he rotated his head slowly, taking in everyone sitting at the table. His thin lips curled in a sneer of disdain, He was arrogance personified.

“Follow your champion,” the man in black declared, “and be damned. He cannot succeed. You are stupid fools.”

Yet for all of his sarcasm, there was a note of doubt in the Norse deity’s voice. Something troubled the trickster. Worry lines clouded his forehead. Despite his statements to the contrary, something he had seen in Jack’s eyes frightened him. Badly.

The trickster’s gaze darted from one frost giant to the other, “Attend me, you fools. We are done here. I have learned all I needed. We are leaving at once.”

“But, master,” said the giant posted behind Grondark, “what about smashing their bones…”

“Shut your mouth, you animated icicle,” shouted Loki. For the barest instant, the laughter was gone, revealing beneath it an unspoken fear. “The plan has changed. No reason for us to waste effort on these churls. The Old Man of the Mountain will deal with them. They are his problem, not ours. Come.”

Whirling about, Loki strode for the exit. Back stiff, he never once turned around. Shaking their heads in bewilderment, the two frost giants hurried after him.

“I’m glad that’s over,” said Fritz Grondark, rising to his feet. Clutched in one hand was a massive hammer. “Not my monkey wrench,” he declared apologetically, “but if push came to shove, I thought it might do the trick. I never go anywhere without some sort of protection. To be honest, I wasn’t sure the past few minutes if I was going to need it or not. That Loki speaks in riddles.”

“Yeah,” said Hugo, straightening out its feathers with its beak. Otherwise, the bird appeared unharmed. “First he tells us we’re a bunch of dumb jerks. Then, he races out of here faster than snow melting in the desert. Does Jack amuse him? Or scare him six ways to Sunday? It doesn’t make any sense to me. Anybody care to explain? I’m one bemused fowl.”

“Loki possesses the power to see into a man’s soul,” said Freda, staring oddly at her son. “He can read the truth to any question he asks. What secret concerns him, Johnnie? And, more important, what is your answer?”

“Loki wondered if I knew how to kill a god,” replied Jack. “He read in my thoughts that I didn’t. That’s what made him laugh. Until he caught the rest of my deliberations.”

“The rest?” repeated Megan.

“I don’t understand how to defeat a god,” said Jack, smiling grimly, “but I have a theory. That’s what scared Loki, I do have an idea. A very interesting idea.”