James Swain - Dark Magic

“There’s must be a roadblock ahead,” Webster said. “We can’t let the police take him alive. Who wants to handle this?”

“It’s your turn,” Eastgate said.

“I think he’s right,” Gill said.

Webster projected himself up the parkway. Just as he’d expected, the police had created a roadblock by parking a pair of cruisers sideways in the middle of the road. Four officers with rifles were crouched behind the cruisers. The trap was ready to be sprung.

The van pulled up to the roadblock. Webster projected himself behind the wheel, and slammed his foot on the gas pedal. The van rammed the two vehicles in the roadblock. A bullet came through the windshield, scaring him half to death. Webster didn’t know if bullets could kill him while he was projecting himself, and was in no mood to find out. He departed, and watched the resulting carnage from the safety of his perch above the palace.

Bullets ripped through the van and turned the driver into a quivering mass. The van veered off the parkway, and rolled down a steep incline. The gas tank would have exploded on its own, but Webster helped it along with a murderous glare. Soon the vehicle was a mass of flames, the driver burned beyond recognition.

“You haven’t lost your touch,” Eastgate said.

“Or your sense of timing,” Gill said. “Good show.”

Webster fingered the arm of his chair, causing the platform to lower back inside the palace, and the domed roof to close. He took a moment to collect himself. He found himself wondering if the driver had a wife, or children, and just as quickly dismissed the thought. In making a pact with the Devil, he had accepted that something was due the Devil, the rest of the world be damned. This was the nature of the Order of Astrum, and let no man stand in its way.

His vibrating cell phone snapped Peter’s eyes open. Only bad news called this late at night. He sat up in bed, and brought the phone to his face. Caller ID said it was Snoop.

“Don’t you ever go to bed?” he answered.

“Sorry to be calling this late. Someone’s looking for you,” his assistant replied.

Lightning flashed through the bedroom window. He’d been dreaming he was a little kid again. It had seemed like such a long time ago.

“No need to apologize. Have you talked to Liza?”

“She’s crashed on our couch. She thought she had a bed at a friend’s apartment, but it fell through, so she came here. Zack fixed her a hot toddy, and she fell asleep.”

“Thanks for taking care of her. Is she still mad at me?”

“To put it mildly. I don’t mean to switch subjects, but someone’s trying to get ahold of you.”

“I’m more concerned about Liza.”

“She’s fine. Trust me.”

“Promise me you’ll keep an eye on her.”

“You have my word.”

“Thanks. So who’s looking for me?”

“He says he’s an old friend, wouldn’t give me his name. He sent me an e-mail, and said he’s been trying to find you. He sounds desperate.”

“Sounds like a kook.”

“I don’t think so. He knew a lot about you.”

“How am I supposed to contact him?”

“He said go to your computer, and he’ll Skype you.”

“You’re not just saying Liza’s okay, are you?”

“Stop worrying about it. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

Peter ended the call and breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t want Liza out by herself with Wolfe still on the loose. If she was staying at Snoop and Zack’s place, she was safe. Soon he was in his study, parked in front of his computer. His e-mail account had over two hundred messages. So much for his spam filter. He scrolled through them, starting with the most recent. One message popped out. It said, Hey Superstar, Where you been? We need to talk! Omen . Omen? Who the heck was Omen? As he started to erase the message, it hit him. Omen was Nemo spelled backwards. He typed a reply to his friend, and hit send.

Nemo’s real name was Hector Rodriguez. A street kid from Spanish Harlem, Nemo was a gifted psychic who did not need the help of other psychics to communicate with the spirit world. His ability to see into the future was unparalleled, which was why the government had made him their prisoner. Nemo was also a petty thief, and had been in and out of trouble most of his life. He and Peter had met in Max’s magic shop when they were kids. Each had instantly recognized that the other was psychic, and they became close friends. Outside of having to bail him out of jail several times, Peter missed having Nemo in his life.

Nemo quickly responded to his e-mail. He wanted to talk, and sent Peter a Skype ID to call on his computer. Peter’s fingers raced across the keyboard as he called Nemo.

Technology was a wonderful thing. A split second later, Nemo appeared on Peter’s computer screen. He’d grown a scruffy beard, and wore a sweatshirt with the words PROPERTY OF UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT stamped across the front. At least he hadn’t lost his sense of humor.

“Hey, stranger,” Peter said by way of greeting.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Nemo replied.

“I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch. Did you escape?”

“Nope. I’m still on the funny farm in Virginia.”

“How did you get your hands on a computer?”

“I’m using one of the guard’s laptops. I got my hands on some sleeping pills, and slipped him a few. He’s passed out in front of the TV.”

“You’re going to get caught.”

“What are they going to do? Take away my HBO? Listen, Peter, I’ve got something I have to tell you. That’s why I took the risk to make contact.”

Peter smiled at the image on the screen. “Thanks, man. Lay it on me.”

“The government is on to you. One of my handlers mentioned it yesterday. He said the FBI had gotten a tip from a psychic in New York that an attack was going to happen in Times Square on Tuesday night. My handler said the psychic was a young guy who held seances with a group of other psychics. I knew right away who they meant.”

Peter shook his head in disbelief. Special Agent Garrison had promised to keep their deal a secret. This sounded like a betrayal if he’d ever heard one.

“Did your handler mention me by name?” Peter asked.

“Nope. I think the FBI is keeping you under wraps for now. You know how these law enforcement guys are. Always fighting for turf.”

Peter relaxed. He was safe, at least for a little while.

“Thanks for the heads-up,” he said.

“There’s more.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your life is in danger. My handlers asked me to look into the future, and see if I could visualize the attack. I put myself into a trance, and transported myself to Times Square on Tuesday night. It was a flipping nightmare. There were bodies everywhere. I saw you standing in the middle of it. You were fighting with some guy dressed in black.”

“Wolfe,” Peter said.

“You know him?” Nemo asked.

“He’s an assassin. Tell me what happened.”

“Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you lost.”

Peter swallowed hard. “I did?”

“Yeah. This Wolfe dude was choking the crap out of you.”

“What happened then?”

“You started to die.”

“You sure?”

“On my mother’s grave.”

“What happened then?”

“I came out of my trance.”

“You don’t think I could have saved myself?”

“Naw, man, you were toast. That’s why I had to warn you. You need to take a trip, and get out of the city. Otherwise, you’re going to be pushing daisies soon.”

In a day filled with bad news, this was the cherry on top of the cake.

“I’m not running,” he heard himself say.