Dark Magic

after all. Too bad Peter hadn’t been here to see her.

Reggie had parked himself on a bench, and was attempting to catch his breath. She sat down next to him. His cheeks had turned an alarming color.

“Are you all right?”

“Call 911,” he gasped.

“What’s wrong? Did he strike you?”

Reggie would not look at her, his eyes peeled to the sky.

“My heart,” he whispered.

“Are you having a heart attack?”

He let out a deathly moan. “Oh, my.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I see them.”

“Who?”

“The welcome wagon.” He managed the weakest of smiles, and spoke to a presence only he could see. “Hello, Marie. Back so soon?”

“Reggie, you’ve got to hold on,” Holly begged.

“Too late. Good-bye, my lovely friend.”

Closing his eyes, Reggie slid off the bench to the ground, where he lay in a heap. Holly punched 911 into her cell phone with tears streaming down her face.

34

Peter’s limo pulled up to the emergency entrance of Roosevelt Hospital on West 59th Street and Tenth Avenue, and he hopped out. Like many New Yorkers, he knew of Roosevelt Hospital through an episode of Seinfeld, where Jerry and Kramer had accidentally dropped a Junior Mint into Elaine’s ex- boyfriend during an operation. The send-up of the inept hospital staff had seemed funny at the time. It didn’t now.

The emergency room was loud and chaotic. He found Holly giving a statement to a uniformed policeman. Their eyes met, and Holly shook her head as if to say Not now. He backed away, and headed for the nurse’s station. He wondered what story Holly was giving the police. Something that left out the Friday night psychics and the Order of Astrum, he guessed. That was the bad thing about living a lie. Once the lie got started, there was no turning back.

The nurse’s station was also busy. The nurse in charge was a middle-aged woman with a kind face, and appeared to be the calm in the eye of the storm.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“A friend of mine named Reggie Brown was admitted a short while ago. I was wondering if you could tell me how he’s doing.”

She slipped on her bifocals and consulted a clipboard. The corners of her mouth turned down. “I’m sorry, but your friend didn’t make it.”

The words hit him like an invisible punch.

“You mean he’s dead?”

“Yes. He passed away a short while ago.”

He brought his hand up to his face. What good were his powers if he couldn’t save the people he loved? He wanted to scream.

A phone on the desk rang, and the nurse answered it. Peter lowered his hand. The cup of coffee on the desk was boiling over, the black liquid running down the sides onto the blotter. He forced himself to calm down, and the coffee went back to normal.

She hung up the phone, and resumed speaking to him.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

* * *

The hospital cafeteria was near the emergency room. Except for a group of nurses on break, it was empty. Peter sat at a corner table, and stared at the pale blue wall. It didn’t seem possible that Reggie was gone. He’d been a part of Peter’s life for as long as he could remember. The notion that he was no longer alive just didn’t seem real.

Every psychic Peter knew was an eccentric; it seemed to come with the territory. But Reggie had been unique. He could look at any game of chance, and predict its outcome. Instead of turning himself into a billionaire, he’d used his gift to help others, and had supported many of the city’s less fortunate through his generosity. Reggie’s favorite quote had come from the Talmud. He who saves a single life, it is though he has saved the entire world.

Holly slipped into a chair across from him. In her hand was a Kleenex, which she used to dab at her eyes.

“What did you tell the police?” he asked.

“I told them Reggie got sick, and collapsed on the sidewalk.”

“You didn’t tell them Wolfe was chasing you?”

“How could I?”

“Tell me what really happened.”

“I went to Reggie’s hotel to warn him, and he convinced me to take a spin with him in his sports car. We were going north on Central Park West, when Wolfe rammed us with a delivery van. When Reggie got out, Wolfe came after him with a pipe.”

“Did Wolfe beat him?”

“No. I cast a spell on a pack of dogs, and they went after Wolfe.”

Peter drew back in his chair. “You did what?”

“Aunt Milly’s been working with me on casting spells. I’m getting good at it.”

“Then how did Reggie die?”

“Heart attack. I guess all the excitement got to him. I felt so helpless.”

Tears cascaded down her cheeks. She’d had an innocent childhood, until now.

“Does Reggie have any next of kin?” he asked.

“A sister in California. The hospital is calling her to make arrangements.”

“Good. I want you to go back to your aunt’s apartment. None of us are safe.”

“Are you mad at me for going out?”

“No.”

“You’re not just saying that, are you?”

He reached across the table, and took her hands into his own.

“You did the right thing warning Reggie.”

She nodded and took a deep breath. “There’s something I have to tell you. Reggie thought one of our group might be helping the Order of Astrum. I think he was right.”

“You do? Why?”

From her purse she removed a folded piece of paper, and slid it toward him. “I found this on the sidewalk. One of the dogs pulled it from Wolfe’s pocket before he ran.”

Peter unfolded the paper and had a look. It was a list of the names of the seven members of Friday night psychics. Beneath each name was the person’s address, home phone number, and, if they had one, cell phone number.

“This is Wolfe’s hit list,” he said.

“That’s right.”

“How did he get all of this information?”

“Someone in our group must have given it to him.”