Dark Magic

mind is possessed, his body is still functioning as if it’s his.”

“Are there any other clues?”

“There’s something stored beneath a sheet in the basement. It looks like a large dollhouse. Max is convinced he’s seen it before, but can’t place where. I’m guessing it’s a prop to a stage production, and that Wolfe is hiding in a theater.”

“How many theaters are there below Twenty-sixth Street on the West Side?”

“I’ve found six on Google so far.”

Holly started to recite the names when Peter heard a noise. The motorcycle cop had returned, and parked his bike at the curb. Seconds later the cop was standing beside him. “I told you to get inside,” the motorcycle cop said angrily.

“I have a lead on the man you’re looking for,” Peter replied.

“You and every other joker in this city. Get inside the building. That’s an order.”

“Listen to me. He’s hiding in the basement of a theater on the West Side. I’m getting the names of the theaters where he could be right now. He’s in one of these buildings.”

The motorcycle cop pinched his arm and began to drag him inside. He had a steel grip, and looked like he lifted weights when he wasn’t running down bad guys. When Peter resisted, the motorcycle cop twisted his arm, causing a jolt of pain to shoot straight into his shoulder.

“Don’t make me cuff you,” the motorcycle cop warned.

“You’re not listening.”

“Just do as I tell you.”

It was like talking to a wall. Peter felt defeated. Could anything in his day go right? He stopped resisting, and the motorcycle cop released his grip. His arm still hurt. If he’d learned anything in life, it was that nothing good came without a little pain and suffering. At that very moment the things Holly had just told him came together like a jigsaw puzzle inside his head. Wolfe had run to a theater he was familiar with. His theater. He was hiding beneath the stage, probably right below the trap door he’d fallen through during his previous visit. The object Max had seen draped beneath a sheet was the Dollhouse Illusion, which Peter had recently retired from his show. It would have looked familiar to Max, because he’d given it to Peter as a gift when he started performing over a decade ago.

The last clue was the worst of all. Wolfe was listening to the people directly above him. Snoop and Liza. Their lives were in imminent danger. He had internalized his anger long enough, and felt the rage boil to the surface.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said.

“For what?” the motorcycle cop replied.

His actions were a blur. A quick blow to the helmet with the palm of his hand, and the motorcycle cop was lying on the ground. The next moment, he was straddling the cop’s bike, and attempting to kick-start the engine. It roared to life, and he pulled onto the street.

He called Liza and Snoop as he drove, and got voice mail. Either they were ignoring him, or were still dealing with the mess he’d left them with.

He raced across town in the pouring rain. It had been a long time since he’d ridden a motorcycle. The good news was, the streets were deserted, and he wasn’t going to hurt anyone if he spun out of control and crashed. Perhaps his streak of bad luck was finally over.

He could only hope.

58

Peter parked the stolen motorcycle in the alley behind the theater. Normally, the back door was kept closed. Now it was open, the lock jimmied. If he’d learned any lesson watching TV cop shows, rushing into an unknown situation was never a smart idea. He again called Liza and Snoop. When neither answered, he called Garrison, who picked up right away.

“I can’t talk right now,” Garrison said. “I’ll call you back.”

“Wolfe’s hiding in the basement of my theater,” Peter said.

“What? Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t call you if I wasn’t.”

“Did your witch find him?”

“It was a group effort.” Peter gave him the theater’s address, then said, “How quickly can you get here? I don’t want him to slip away.”

“I’ll be there as fast as I can,” Garrison said. “I’m on the rooftop of an apartment house on Twenty-first Street, running down some crazy guy we thought was Wolfe.”

Peter was calculating how long the FBI agent might be when he heard Liza’s screams from inside the theater. “That’s not fast enough. I’ve got to go.”

“Don’t go in there yourself,” Garrison said. “Let me get a team over there.”

Peter heard another scream. It sounded like Snoop.

“Too late,” Peter said. “Wish me luck.”

He rushed inside. The back of the theater was dark and foreboding, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Sound was magnified inside a theater, and Liza’s cries for help could have been coming out of a loudspeaker. He charged across the area behind the stage.

Coming through the curtains, he found himself bathed in a soft yellow spotlight. Wolfe stood at the foot of the stage with his hands around Snoop’s throat. The deadly knapsack lay at Wolfe’s feet.

Liza lay on the floor, looking dazed. Peter had fallen in love with her the first time he’d laid eyes upon her. The effect was no different now, only painful, knowing that she was in peril. She saw him as well. Her smile melted his heart.

“Peter, help us,” she shouted.

“Hold on. I’m coming.”

Wolfe’s head snapped at the sound of the young magician’s voice. Wolfe’s eyes were dead, and his frozen expression did not change. Hideous scratch marks ran down the side of his face where Liza had raked her fingernails across his rotting flesh.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the dead man said.

They met in the center of the stage and squared off. Peter struck his nemesis in the face with all his might. To his surprise, the blow had no effect. Wolfe threw his hands around Peter’s throat, and began to choke him.

“Die, you little bastard,” Wolfe said.

Peter struggled to break free. Wolfe hadn’t been this powerful the last time they’d fought. Staring into the dead man’s eyes, he was taken to another place and he saw three men in black robes and wearing masks sitting at a table covered in astrological symbols. Then he understood. He wasn’t wrestling with Wolfe, he was wrestling with the elders of the Order of Astrum.

His knees buckled as the air was cut off to his brain. He gazed up at the posters of the great magicians of yesteryear hanging from the ceiling. Their faces mocked him. Do better, they said. This is not the way you want to die.

Wolfe tightened his grip. Pools of black appeared before Peter’s eyes. He tried to summon the demon inside of him, but the demon refused to come out. Without the demon, he had no chance. His world turned utterly still, and he felt himself relax. So this is what it’s like, he thought. You black out, and end up somewhere else. No different than falling asleep on an airplane, and waking up in a different place when the plane touched down.

His world changed. He was now floating on the bottom of the frozen lake in the town of Marble with his parents and their three little friends. His parents had bubbles pouring out of their mouths, and were drowning. So were their friends. So was he. He had gone from one end-of-life experience to another.

A large, circular light appeared before him. It was the Seal of Satan. One by one, the children were drawn into the seal, and disappeared. His mother was the last to go. She turned her head to look at him, and offered her hand. Take it, her eyes said. Do not be afraid of what’s on the other