A Logical Magician

23

They convened a council of war in Hazel’s camper. One human, three supernaturals, and one magical cat sat around the kitchen table and debated what to do next. Jack, his face white with anger, tightly clutched the offending newspaper in both hands. He appeared ready to rip it to shreds. His voice trembled with rage when he spoke.

“Von Bern and his flunkies set up this frame perfectly. That Border Redcap Simon and I spotted watching my apartment building was there for a reason. He never stirred because he was waiting for us to leave. That’s when the goon acted, planting the dope in my rooms. The German used a double-edged attack.

“He tried to kill me at the mathematics building. At the same time, he rigged my apartment, knowing I wouldn’t dare return there. When I escaped his one trap, he sprang the second. The newspaper mentioned an anonymous phone tip to Anderson. And I was the one stupid enough to mention dope to the security chief in the first place.”

“Don’t get bent out of shape, Jack,” said Cassandra. “There’s nothing you could have done. If it hadn’t been drugs, the German would have come up with another scheme. He’s a devious bastard. It’s built into his character. The important thing is not letting your anger cloud your good judgment.

“Simply put, you’ve been framed. The Huntsman caught you looking in the wrong direction. Now, not only are von Bern and the Gabble Ratchets hunting you, but the police as well. You’re a wanted man, Jack. What do you plan to do about it?”

“Cassandra’s right,” said Simon. “Von Bern wins this round. He’s put you on the run. Score a point for the bad guy. But, winning a skirmish doesn’t mean the war’s over. Consider the big picture. If we lose, your reputation won’t be the only thing in ruins. Remember, according to Merlin, our entire civilization is at stake.”

“Merlin the Magician,” declared Hazel unexpectedly. She laughed, a high-pitched cackling sound right out of the Saturday morning cartoon shows. “Let him handle your legal problems. He’s sneakier than any lawyer. The Old Boy is an expert untangling sticky situations. He snaps his fingers and all the tangled mess falls into place. Or close enough. Look how he managed that King Arthur nonsense. You worry about saving the world. Once Merlin’s free, he’ll take care of the small stuff.”

“That King Arthur nonsense?” repeated Jack.

“Another time,” said Hazel.

“All right,” said Jack reluctantly. Conversations with the supernaturals drove him crazy. They interspersed their comments with tantalizing mentions of past exploits, but they never clarified any of those points later on. Jack wanted to know more about Willy Shakespeare, Cassandra’s earlier encounters with heroes, and King Arthur. But that would have to wait. Beltane required his immediate attention.

“At least, we have answers to some of the questions concerning this upcoming apocalypse,” continued Jack. “We know who locally is in charge of the enemy. We also know why von Bern kidnapped the women. Beltane answers the question of when he plans to conduct this sacrifice. What we still don’t know is how he managed to conduct his crimes, and where he intends to kill his victims.”

“Whatever you say, Jack,” said Simon, a blank look on his face. “You’re in charge. My relatives will provide whatever support they can. But none of them are willing to take any risks. Von Bern scares them too much. I’m the only one willing to contribute. I’m part of the team.”

“Same with me,” said Cassandra. “I love a good fight. I’m in this to the end. You can count on me. But don’t look at me to offer many ideas. I’m a fighter, not a thinker.”

“That’s the truth about most of us,” said Hazel, nodding her head in agreement. “We act by instinct, not by plan. Which is why humans are always the heroes and we supernatural make up the troops. Sylvester and I are with you too. Jack. If you’ll have us.”

“Of course,” said Jack. “The more the merrier. I need all the help I can get.”

Mentally, Jack grimaced. He had hoped for a few useful suggestions or ideas. By now he should have known better. His friends possessed incredible powers, but original thinking wasn’t included in the list. Deductive reasoning was his job. Unfortunately, even Sherlock Holmes couldn’t solve a mystery without a few clues. And Jack had absolutely nothing.

“Why not talk to the mall nymphs?” said Sylvester, leaping into Hazel’s lap. Purring, the cat made itself comfortable and began cleaning its paws. “They know the answers to lots of questions. It’s part of their nature.”

“What a wonderful suggestion,” said Hazel. “I should have thought of them. The nymphs are neutral, and they love to gossip. Everyone tells them their secrets.”

“Of course they do,” said Simon, grinning. “You can’t make time with a mall nymph unless you tell her a secret.”

“Disgusting little tramps,” said Cassandra with a sneer.

“They seem to enjoy themselves,” said Hazel, cackling again.

Jack winced. The witch’s laughter hurt his ears. “Someone want to fill me in?” he asked. “Who are these mall nymphs? And, more important, can they actually help us?”

“Mall nymphs are the genius loci of shopping malls,” said Simon cheerfully. “Like our friend Cassandra, they date back to the time of ancient Greece.”

“Don’t link me with them,” said Cassandra angrily. She glared at Simon. “Shameless female spirits, they called themselves dryads during the Golden Age. They lived in forest groves, frolicking naked among the trees. Entirely devoid of shame, the vixens delighted in tempting unwary soldiers foolish enough to camp in their glades.”

Jack stifled a grin. With a flash of insight, he realized a basic truth about the Amazon. Cassandra was a prude. He wondered if the trait somehow tied in with her “insidious weakness.” Reminding himself to question Simon about Amazons, he focused his attention on what Hazel was saying.

“Immoral or not, mall nymphs love secrets. They pry them out of any male supernatural they encounter. And, since they are among the most beautiful and definitely the most amorous of all our kind, the girls entertain many, many visitors. I’m sure von Bern or his lieutenants have enjoyed their company numerous times.”

Jack pursed his lips. “Uh, how do you propose persuading these lovely ladies to reveal what they know? Or haven’t you thought about that?”

Simon smirked. “Trust me on this one, Jack. I’m on excellent terms with the girls. They’ll tell me anything. I guarantee it.”

Jack turned to the old witch and her familiar. “Hazel?”

“Simon is an obnoxious braggart,” said the witch, “but he has a certain way with the ladies. If the mall nymphs will speak freely with anyone, it will be with him.”

“Cassandra,” Jack continued, “any thoughts?”

“Hazel’s right,” said the Amazon, her expression sour. “Simon possesses a silver tongue. He can talk a bird out of a tree if he sets his mind to it. Let him work his wiles on the nymphs. After all, do we have any other leads?”

“My feelings exactly,” said Jack. He stood up. “I’m ready to head off and meet these nymphs.”

“You might be,” said Simon, “but unfortunately, the malls don’t open till noon on Sunday.”

The changeling held up the newspaper with Jack’s picture. “While I dislike raising the possibility, since the advent of all those ‘Most Wanted’ shows on television, aren’t you taking a big chance going to the shopping mall? I would hate for civilization to collapse because a nosy old grandmother spots your face and calls the cops.”

“I didn’t think of that,” admitted Jack.

Hazel cackled and scurried for the bedroom, sending Sylvester flying to the floor. “I hate when she does that,” said the cat. “Hurrying never solves anything. We cats know better.”

Hazel scuttled back into the kitchen, holding a half-filled flask in one gnarled hand. “Almost forgot I had this stuff. Potion number ten.”

She filled a paper cup to the top with the black fluid. It looked like India ink. And smelled like turpentine. Jack wondered if the old witch made the stuff in the sink. He hoped Hazel wasn’t going to ask him to swallow it. She did.

“Bottoms up,” she said, handing him the container. Before he could blurt out his question about the ingredients, she shook her head. “The same answer as earlier. You’re better off not knowing.”

Eyes squeezed shut. Jack swallowed. A jolt of electricity raced through his body, standing his every hair on end. As with the previous drink, the sensation vanished in an instant. Other than a slight tingling to his skin, he felt fine.

“Nice trick,” said Simon, grinning.

Cassandra shook her head, smiling faintly. “Witchcraft.”

“What are you talking about?” Jack asked, suddenly apprehensive. “What happened?”

Hazel handed Jack a small mirror. “See for yourself, dearie.”

Gripping the looking glass with both hands, Jack stared at his reflection. He gasped, as he found himself confronted by a perfect stranger. Or, more exactly, a not-so-perfect stranger.

“My hair is purple,” he whispered, “and cut in a Mohawk. My teeth are yellow and my skin is too pink. There’s a gold skull earring dangling from my left ear. And I don’t have any eyebrows. What did you do to me!”

“Touch your ear,” commanded Hazel. “Feel an earring?”

“No,” said Jack, watching in the glass as his hand reached up and tugged at the gold skull. “Nothing’s there. But, in the mirror…”

“It’s an illusion,” said the witch. “The potion creates a perfect, three-dimensional simulacrum. Beneath the deception, your features haven’t changed a whit.”

“Thank god,” said Jack. “Why purple hair?”

Hazel shrugged. “Why not? These spells work the way they want. Not much I can do to control them. Cheap ingredients.”

The witch’s tone turned serious. “One word of warning. The spell isn’t a particularly strong one. I’m not sure how long it will last. Or if its magic will survive contact with a stronger sorcery. So, beware.”

“If that’s the case,” said Jack, “let’s move it. By the time we arrive, the mall will be open. Cassandra, you’ll drive?”

“Of course, assuming my car will start. Don’t expect me to help you find those mall tramps, though. I’ll wait outside.”

“Agreed,” said Jack.

He was looking forward to meeting the nymphs. They sounded delightful. And not having Cassandra around as a chaperone didn’t upset him in the least.