A Logical Magician

8

“Hand me another beer, would you?” asked Simon a half-hour later. The changeling gulped down the contents of the bottle with one swallow. It was his fifth, and as far as Jack could tell, the beer had not affected the supernatural being in the least. Jack suspected it would take a tremendous amount of alcohol to dent Simon’s inhuman metabolism. A lot more than he had in his refrigerator.

With a loud burp, the changeling handed Jack back the empty bottle. After Jack’s summary of the day’s events, they had retired to his nearby apartment to puzzle out the complexities of the situation. Simon looked ready to cry. Or burrow under the cushions of the sofa and hide.

Jack’s apartment consisted of a parlor, tiny dining room and kitchenette combination, and a bedroom. A short, narrow corridor linked the rooms. Right in its middle was the door leading to the building hallway. At present, man and changeling sat on a battered old blue sofa situated in the center of the living room.

“You want to explain to me why you’re trying to drink yourself into a stupor?” asked Jack. “Things can’t be that bad.”

“They can’t?” retorted Simon. Rising to his feet, he stalked over to the icebox and retrieved another beer. Hooking the cap between his teeth, he twisted his jaw sharply, pulling the metal cleanly off the glass. “Wanna bet?”

“Would you care to be more specific?” said Jack, opening his bottle of beer with an opener. He had a feeling that he was going to need a drink. Probably several. “I’m not very good at reading minds.”

Simon shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Jack. You’re a nice guy and a really good math teacher. Unfortunately, neither of those traits strike me as qualifications for a champion of humanity. No offense, but you’re not the hero type. I mean, I knew St. George, Professor Collins, and you’re no St. George. His accountant maybe, but no dragon slayer. You catch my drift?”

“But Merlin said I was the only one who could save the world,” said Jack defensively. “Right before he was kidnapped he told me that straight out.”

“Then,” said Simon somberly, draining his beer bottle and handing it to Jack, “the world is in deep, deep trouble. Assuming of course that the old geezer hasn’t lost a few screws in this prediction business.”

The changeling’s tone brightened noticeably. “What do you think? Any chance the famous wizard might have bitten off more than he could swallow? Maybe we’re worrying about nothing.”

“I don’t think so,” said Jack. “Merlin struck me as being pretty well grounded. There was no hint of senility in anything he said. Besides, that ignores the supernatural motorcycle gang who grabbed him and Megan.”

“Damn,” said Simon, his expression souring. “I hate when you humans use logic. I much prefer wishing and hoping myself.”

The changeling wandered back to the refrigerator and latched onto another beer. “You’re running low on brew. Better buy some more. You got any chips? Beer always tastes better with chips.”

“Try the cabinet over the sink,” said Jack. All of Simon’s worries had obviously not damaged the changeling’s appetite. “I figure the first thing we should do is search for the kidnappers. They’re our only lead.”

Simon, his mouth full of potato chips, gasped, almost choking. “We?” he managed to sputter out. “Uh, who volunteered me? I’m a poor faerie, not a companion of heroes. Remember the mischievous elf, good-natured trickster, I spoke about? Nothing in that description covers saving the world.”

Jack smiled. “On the other hand, you mentioned that all supernatural beings reflect man’s dual nature—good versus evil. You squarely lined yourself up with the good guys. Well, it’s time to stand up and be counted, my friend. I need your help.”

The changeling groaned. “You’re crazy, Jack. Absolutely, totally crazy. We can’t defeat one of the Old Ones. You have no concept of how powerful those monsters are. He’ll chew us up for an afternoon snack. A small snack at that. I might be on the side of the angels, but I prefer staying alive. And challenging the overwhelming forces of the dark isn’t a way to remain that way.”

“Merlin selected me,” said Jack stubbornly. “That much I understood. He thought I could handle the job, and I fully intend to try. With or without your help.”

Simon pulled a box of cereal out of the cabinet. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t help. Just give me a little time to consider my options. In the meantime, I’ll continue thinking you’re nuts. Do you mind if I nibble on this?”

“Go ahead,” said Jack. He frowned. “Don’t they feed you in the dorms?”

“Sure,” said Simon, munching on a handful of frosted corn flakes. “Three meals a day. Normally, I don’t eat anywhere near this much in the cafeteria.”

“Then why,” asked Jack, gritting his teeth, “are you acting tonight as if you haven’t had a bite of food in weeks?”

“Annoying, isn’t it?” replied Simon, grinning. “Which is exactly the reason I do it. I’m only being true to my nature, Jack. If, after a while whenever we’re together, you’re not angry with me, then something’s wrong. My whole purpose for existing is to drive people nuts. Even my friends.”

“Fair enough, I guess,” said Jack, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration. Then, as a new thought struck him, he stared directly at the changeling.

“Why don’t we follow that line of reasoning one step further. By your own admission, you know it all. That’s another part of your character. Well, then, I think it’s time for you to share some of your wisdom. Let’s discover how much information you really possess. Like, for example, who or what is this Old One and why are you so terrified of him?”

Simon paused in the midst of crunching a mouthful of cereal. “That’s a good idea,” he said. “Wonder why I never thought of it.”

The changeling swallowed the rest of the flakes. “I’m filled with knowledge. Jack,” he declared. “Not everything in the world, of course, but an awful lot. My mind is like an encyclopedia. Ask me the right question and I’ll provide you with the correct answer. But I can’t extrapolate on pure guesswork. I need to be pointed in the right direction.”

“I understand,” said Jack. “It’s no different than working with a computer. They’re great at retrieving tons of relevant data. But only if you know what you’re looking for. I think I can manage.”

He drew in a deep breath. Maybe now he would get some answers. “Shall we start again with the obvious question? Who or what is this Old One and why is he such a threat to modem civilization?”

The changeling closed his eyes, as if pondering his reply. It took him a few seconds to answer. There was a note of quiet desperation in his voice.

“What Merlin told you about the lifespans of supernatural beings wasn’t absolutely true, Jack,” said Simon, his expression serious. “We don’t grow old and die, nor can we be killed by most conventional methods of murder. However, we all have our weaknesses and vulnerabilities. Even in its dreams, mankind wasn’t foolish enough to make us invulnerable. Except for one tiny segment of our population. The Gods.”

“The Gods,” repeated Jack, beads of sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. “The Gods?”

“Humanity envisioned its own creators as omniscient, omnipotent, and immortal,” continued Simon. “They weren’t supposed to die. That worked fine for the early, small civilizations of prehistory. They rarely encountered other cultures. But think of the problems that arose once empires started forming. Gods, as well as civilizations, clashed.

“Fortunately,” continued Simon, “what man can imagine, he can unimagine. Or consign to limbo. And so it was with the ancient Gods.”

“Huh?” said Jack, totally confused.

“If enough people believed in a supernatural entity, their thoughts brought it to life. Even if all those believers later died, their creation remained. Such was the case with my race, the faeries. Humanity stopped believing in us long ago. Instead, you no longer gave us any thought. So we survived, adapting to the changing world. But that was not the case with the Old Gods.”

“Mankind disbelieved them out of existence,” whispered Jack, the truth unfolding in his mind. “They were destroyed the same way they were created. By pure thought.”

Simon nodded. “Judaism, then Christianity, wiped the Old Ones away. People not only worshipped one God, they firmly rejected the possibility of any other. They denied them. ‘Thou shall have no other God before me,’ the Bible commanded, and so it was. All of Jehovah’s rivals were unimagined out of existence. The ancient Gods disappeared. But disbelief proved to be a lot more complicated than creation.

“The only way to completely vanquish the Old Ones is for no one to believe they exist. No one. Need I remind you how often all humanity has agreed on anything? You can count the times on no fingers. Blame the lunatic fringe. Feeding on their doubts, the earliest Gods of civilization, the pagan, bloodthirsty Gods of prehistory, maintain a tenuous grip on this world. They lurk in the outer dark, waiting for an invitation to return. And, from time to time, some utter fool manages to summon one of them back.”

“How?” asked Jack.

“Beats me,” said Simon. “Who cares? The important fact is that an incredibly powerful supernatural being, one with Godlike powers, has returned to the Earth. And that spells trouble with a capital T.”

“Then this sort of thing has happened before?” asked Jack. “Often?”

“Ever hear of the Thule Society in the 1920’s?” replied Simon. “They resurrected the dark Germanic God, Wotan. Then along came Hitler. And the Second World War. Talk about cause and effect, Jack. It took all the witches and warlocks in England working together to banish the Norse deity back to the outer darkness. We don’t have the manpower or the time to match that feat. Not if the forces of night are already on the move.”

“I’m still not clear…” began Jack when the lobby intercom buzzed.

“You expecting company?” asked Simon.

“Not really,” said Jack, glancing down at his watch. It was nearly midnight. By now, he had dismissed his fears about the campus police as groundless. But none of his friends ever visited this late.

The intercom buzzed again, loud and insistent. It kept on ringing.

Slightly nervous, Jack pressed the transmit button. “Who is it?” he asked. “What do you want?”

“Bernard Walsh, from the IRS, Mr. Collins. I’m investigating a series of suspicious withdrawals made today at several cash stations throughout the Loop. You seem to be involved with the transactions. Mind if we talk?”

All of the muscles in Jack’s arms and legs tied themselves into knots. “It’s awfully late, Mr. Walsh,” he managed to say after several false starts. “Couldn’t we discuss things in the morning?”

“Sorry, Collins, but it can’t wait till then. The IRS believes counterfeit credit cards are quite serious matters. If you prefer, I can return shortly with a search warrant.”

“Uh, no,” said Jack. “That won’t be necessary. You can come up.”

“Thanks,” said Walsh. “That’s all I needed for you to say.”

“Odd choice of words,” said Simon, as Jack sank down onto the sofa.

“I didn’t notice,” said Jack. “At least the money isn’t hidden here. That was a good idea, stashing it in your room.”

“Great,” agreed Simon sarcastically. “Brand me as your accessory. At least, you’ll have company in jail.”

A heavy fist pounded on the door to Jack’s apartment. Man and changeling looked at each other in astonishment.

“That was awfully quick,” said Simon, “considering that you’re on the fifth floor.”

“He must have caught the elevator the second I hung up,” said Jack, hurrying to the entrance. “Hopefully, I can talk my way out of this mess.”

“All he needed for you to say?” repeated Simon. “As if he wanted you to recite a certain formula. Oh, hell,” he gasped. “Jack, he tricked you. Walsh is a…”

The changeling’s warning came an instant too late. Jack pulled open the door to his apartment. Standing there, white-faced, red-eyed, stood a creature dressed entirely in black. Tall and stately, with a satanic smile and big, big teeth, Walsh was no IRS agent. But he was a bloodsucker all the same.

“…vampire,” concluded Simon, unnecessarily.