Robert Weinberg - A Logical Magician

“I hope so too,” said Megan, reaching for him again. “You’re starting to fade. Night must be coming to an end. One last kiss before you leave…”

Jack could still feel the warm touch of Megan’s lips against his when he awoke. With a smile and a sigh of relief, he realized that he had retained full memory of his dream. Then a frown of concern clouded his features. The sun pouring in through the trailer window signaled it was Monday morning. Each hour brought Beltane a step closer. And with it, the end of civilization. Not to mention the untimely death of the girl of his dreams. Hurriedly, he slipped on his new clothing. There wasn’t a minute to waste.

“Today,” said Cassandra, in a tone indicating no compromise, “we buy a car.”

“Whatever you say,” said Jack, resigned to the inevitable. Not that there was anything else to do in the meantime.

An hour’s worth of discussion had brought them no closer to a solution to the mystery of steel. No one in the entire trailer complex had any idea why cold iron had been once deadly dangerous and now was nothing more than inert metal. Even Simon, the wellspring of obscure knowledge, was baffled. The changeling controlled a vast library of facts, but he was worthless when it came to theory. Even Hazel, in Jack’s opinion the wisest person in the camp, was stumped. It was his problem, and he was obviously the only one who could solve it.

“Take Sylvester with you,” said Hazel. “He can spot a bargain a mile away. Follow his instincts. You won’t be sorry.”

“I thought witches and their familiars couldn’t be separated by any great distances,” said Jack.

“A useful folktale,” said Hazel, “but not true. Sylvester and I are linked telepathically, but otherwise he’s a completely independent entity. He does what he wants and goes where he likes. He’s anxious to help. Will you let him?”

“Why not?’ said Jack. “If I can have an Amazon for a bodyguard and a changeling for a reference librarian, a magical cat for an advisor makes perfect sense. Before we depart, though, let’s finish my beauty treatment.”

After the fiasco the day before, they had settled on a much less complicated disguise. Cassandra dyed Jack’s hair and eyebrows white. With his eyes pink from the magic contact lenses, he looked like an albino.

“The best disguise,” she declared, “focuses attention on one physical trait or abnormality. People seeing you will immediately notice your white hair and not see anything else. Your features won’t register with them. No one will ever connect you with the fugitive drug lord. It’s a simple but effective trick. I learned it from Ulysses.”

“This stain won’t permanently alter my appearance?” said Jack, nervously running one hand through his silver locks. “I don’t mind staying silver for a few days. But looking like Elric is carrying my interest in fantasy fiction a step too far.”

“Don’t you worry, dearie,” said Hazel. “A good washing with shampoo will restore your true color. The only magic involved comes from a bottle.”

An hour later found Cassandra, Jack and Sylvester at “Honest Abe’s Used Car Lot” in the far western suburbs. “Honest Abe,” they soon discovered, referred not to Abraham Lincoln, but to Abe Ortigara, the owner of the automobile dealership. A big, hearty man in his mid-sixties with a booming voice and the bushiest eyebrows Jack had ever seen on a human being, Abe himself insisted on accompanying them on their survey of his stock of second-hand cars.

“I always try to spend a little time each week on the lot myself,” said Abe, walking them down a row of used autos. “It helps me keep my feet on the ground instead of my head in the clouds. You let your salesmen do all the work, and soon, they’re running the whole company. That’s the quickest path to financial ruin in the car business. I’ve owned this place for thirty years and I plan to own it another thirty. No retirement in the picture for Abe Ortigara. Selling cars is my life.”

The big man patted the hood of an ’88 Oldsmobile affectionately. “Any idea what you and the little lady are in the market for?’ he asked Jack.

“We’re not married,” said Jack hurriedly, seeing the dangerous look on Cassandra’s face. “Miss Cole and I are merely very good friends.”

“My apologies,” said Ortigara, wincing as his gaze touched Jack’s bleached hair. “It was just that the two of you made such a nice couple, I assumed…”

“A natural mistake,” said Jack, cutting off the car salesman before Cassandra exploded. “Actually, I thought I would let my cat make the final decision.”

“Your cat?” said Ortigara, the words choking in his throat. His face turned bright crimson. “Isn’t that sort of unusual?”

“Is it?” asked Cassandra, her voice cold enough to freeze water to ice. “In our religion, we believe in allowing our pets to select our means of transportation. If they’re happy, then we’re happy. You’re not implying that there’s something odd about our beliefs, are you?”

“No, no,” said Ortigara anxiously. Sylvester, getting into the spirit of things, rubbed up against Abe’s leg, meowing loudly.

Reflexively, the car dealer bent down to scratch the black cat’s neck. Instantly, Sylvester bounded away, leaving Abe in a half-crouch, staring at a frowning Cassandra.

“I meant no disrespect,” he declared nervously as he straightened. “I would never insult anyone’s religion. Honest Abe believes totally in the sanctity of a man’s—or woman’s—personal beliefs. No matter how strange they appear to be to outsiders.”

“How comforting,” said Jack, trying to hide a smile. “We’re Polymaths, by the way, in case you were wondering.”

“Polymaths,” repeated the car dealer. “How fascinating.”

Desperately, Honest Abe glanced in the direction of his office. “Oh, it looks like they’re trying to get my attention back at the main building. Must be someone extremely important on the phone. Dam business can’t function with me away from my desk very long. Why don’t you folks look around in the meantime? I’ll return shortly, or send one of my best sales associates to help you. Nice meeting you.”

“Honest” Abe bustled off as fast as possible without running. More than once he peered anxiously over his shoulder, as if reassuring himself he was not being followed. He disappeared into his office, leaving Jack and company alone on the lot.

“Polymaths?” said Cassandra, shaking her head in disbelief. “Where do they worship?”

“At the Temple of Universal Knowledge,” said Jack, straight-faced. “At least, that’s what I would have told Abe if he had asked.”

“Well, he’s gone,” said Sylvester, arching his back. “And I doubt he’ll return.”

“Just as well,” said Jack. “Dealing with used car salesmen makes me nervous.”

He stared at the cat. “We drove by three other lots before you made us stop at this one. Obviously, it wasn’t due to Honest Abe’s reputation. What’s special here?”

“I sensed magic,” said Sylvester. “It’s located somewhere on this lot. Come on, follow me.”

Twenty minutes and several bruised knees and shins later, they stood before Sylvester’s find. The cat conveniently ignored the fact that it could travel where Jack and Cassandra could not. During the course of its search, it led them on a convoluted search over the entire lot. More than once, it darted beneath a row of cars, leaving it to the humans to climb over or squeeze through. Covered with sweat and grime, Jack was not pleased when he saw their final destination.

“Is this your idea of a joke?” he asked angrily. “A car from the year I was born?”