Five Hertz of Separation

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

Mastiff kept performing outside of our building for several weeks, the crowds slowly growing larger by the day. Eventually, the guards asked him to move because the crowd began to block access to the building. He just moved across the street to the park and continued performing. He kept adding new things to the act, one every week.

This week, at the end of the rings, he held all four rings together in both hands, turning them around once while sliding them through his tightly clenched fists. When he was done, they became a single solid ring. I managed to get my hands on one of the single rings after the act. There was no slight of hand involved. What was your classic set of four interlocking rings became a single, solid ring. They never left his hands during the transformation. It was impossible.

I took several videos of his act and sent them to some of the performers my father knew from the old days, guys who were either still performing or had kept a hand in the business. None of them had any idea how he was doing it. Two of them actually came to New York to see him in person. Still nothing, other than they each felt compelled to get his autograph after the show.

By now, I think almost everyone in the building has seen Mastiff perform. The prevailing rumor is that he’s the real deal, a true magician. I can’t accept that. I know that sometimes a performer can create a trick so unique that it may take years for someone to figure it out, though, eventually, someone always does. The problem is, Mastiff has at least six of those tricks in his act right now. What will next week bring?

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

It’s getting stronger. Not just the Consortium building but others in the neighborhood are radiating some level of a belief in magic. The level of belief grows as the size of my crowds grows. Right now, the Park police have a couple of officers stationed near my daily lunchtime show, strictly for crowd control.

My problem is that all this belief is only present during the daytime. It’s concentrated here during the day, during work hours. After work, it dissipates as everyone heads home. There’s still some residual belief due to guards and some employees working late but I need more than that to successfully break in, access the internal network, download what I need and get out.

This may take longer than I hoped it would.

At least my juggling is getting better. Ms. LaRouche has been giving me lessons and I, in return, have been fixing her supper every evening she gives me a lesson. This too has taken longer than I had planned on but it has been all for the best. Not only have I been able to increase the number and intensity of believers in magic but I have also strengthened my magic muscles. I can do more with less now. Nowhere near what I could do on the other side but a lot more than I could do right after getting back to New York.

Mrs. LaRouche asked that we eat down in the shop tonight, which is fine by me. It’s an interesting place, full of jars and bottles of this thing or that, kind of like an old style pharmacy but instead of making a pill to fix a headache, she mixes a potion to cure a heartache. I thought the place was cool even when I was a little kid coming here with Mom. It was one of the few places she drug us to that wasn’t so bad. I was slowly wandering up and down the aisles just as I did as a child when Mrs. LaRouche came in.

“What have you prepared for us tonight, Lance?”

“Something simple. Pot Roast.”

“I’ll be ready in a minute or two. I’ve cleaned a spot on the counter. You can set everything there.”

She returns to the back rooms and I set out plates, cutlery, napkins and glasses along with the serving bowls. I’d separated the roast from the potatoes, carrots and other vegetables. The roast was on a carving board, the vegetables in the bowls. When she returned, Mrs. LaRouche had an open bottle of red wine with her.

“Mrs. LaRouche! Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Hardly, Lance. This is a bottle of wine made by my father many years ago. It was his hobby. He was rather good at it.”

“Don’t waste it on me! I‘m not much of a wine enthusiast.”

“Don’t worry. There’s more where this came from.”

She pulls two high stools from behind the long wooden checkout counter and we both sit down to eat. She pours a small amount of wine in my drinking glass. It’s a clear, dark red with a fruity aroma. I take a sip. Not bad. Very drinkable. She pours more into my glass.

“I apologize, Mrs. LaRouche. If I knew wine was on the menu, I’d have gotten the right kind of glasses.”

“Not a problem. These will do just fine.” She pours a small amount in her glass and tips it my way. I raise my glass slightly and we clink rims.

“Cheers, Mrs. LaRouche.”

“Cheers, Lance.”

I slice several pieces off the pot roast and fill both plates. Just as we start to eat a customer comes in to pick up an order. I’m not sure but I think I recognize her. She may have been part of a group of white witches Mom used to hang with. Mrs. LaRouche had everything already bagged up so she was in and out quickly.

“Sorry for the delay,” she says as she climbs back onto the stool.

“No biggie. It’s all part of being self employed. I don’t mean this as an insult or anything but do these potions do anything at all?”

“You mean, am I a fraud?”

“No, it’s not that. I just don’t get the magic potion thing. I’m pretty sure I understand how magic works.”

“You’re referring to your little parlor tricks?”

“Touché. No, I mean the real thing.”

She gives me a sideways glance as she carefully slices the meat then dips it in the gravy. “When did you get that experience with ‘the real thing’?”

“Someplace else, not around here.”

“Not where, when.”

“Several months ago.”

“And now where.”

I take a bite of potatoes. “That’s hard to explain.”

“I can imagine.”

We eat in silence for a minute or two, listening to the traffic and crowds as they pass by the shop. I still miss the quietness of the other world. Before I went there, all I knew was the rush rush lifestyle of New York. But that world opened my eyes to another way to live. Slower, quieter, deeper. The little things meant so much more over there. Being back in New York, I find myself irritated a hundred different ways every day. I do my best not to think about Johnathyn and Leeanna but it’s impossible.

I realize that I’ve been concentrating on my plate. Looking up at Mrs. LaRouche, I see that she’s slowly chewing but looking intently at me. She swallows, then quickly finishes her glass of wine. She picks up the bottle, silently offering to refill my glass. I wave her off she picks up her own glass, slowly pouring the clear, dark red elixir down the inner side until the glass is two thirds full.

“Do you know why I rented to you, Lance?”

“My trust-worthy face?”

“Hardly. It was because you were a mystery to me. You still mostly remain a mystery, though I have been able to discover a few things about you.”

“Such as?”

“I’ll save that for later. To answer your question, yes, my potions do work. Not as well as they used to but that isn’t the fault of the ingredients nor my fault as a conjurer. The world has changed. There is nothing inherently magical about wheat grass or sailor’s wort. Medicinal yes, but magical? No. However, while potions do not create magic, they can carry magic, store magic, deliver magic over great distances. They are like batteries, initially inert but, once charged, they can deliver quite a punch.”

“Why so many different potions?”

“Each one is optimized to accomplish a certain job. A love potion could be used to cure warts but not as well as one specifically designed for the job. Small changes can make a big difference.”

“So, magic potions don’t create magic but they allow the more efficient use of magic. Interesting.”

“I know why I find it interesting; it’s been my life’s work. Why do you find it interesting?”

“I may have a use for a working potion.”

“What use is that … Alex?”

Damn it! “Who?”

“Alex Thompson. Son of Jackie Thompson. Brother of Terry Thompson.”

She’s sharp. I knew that before I ever came here. I’d be better off admitting it rather than insult her intelligence and talent. “How’d you know?”

“I didn’t, not until I saw you wandering up and down my aisles, checking out the merchandise. Just as you did when your mother brought you and your brother with her.”

“That’s it?”

“It was the final piece of the puzzle. Your aura was somewhat familiar but also different from any that I had experienced before.”

“Different how?”

“Twisted … turned … inverted … reversed … something but then back to the way it was. I couldn’t explain it but once I concentrated on what I could explain, then it became more apparent.”

“So, using ‘Lance Mastiff” as my name …”

“Please. I knew that had to be a stage name of some kind. ‘Lance Mastiff’. How phallic can you get?!”

“So, now what? You know who I am. What happens next?”

She takes a sip of wine. “That depends on why the ridiculous name.”

“You know what happened to my family?”

“Yes. Tragic. We held several vigils for their souls.”

“It wasn’t tragic, it was intentional. I know who did it. I just have to be able to prove it.”

“Are you in danger?”

“Not yet. Probably. If I get the proof I need and the killers know about it? Most definitely. If I was using ‘Alex Thompson,’ I’d be dead by now.”

“Why would someone want to kill your mother and brother? Or you, for that matter? They were completely harmless.”

How do I explain what happened to Mrs. LaRouche and not be branded a raving loony? Even to believers in magic, the concept of a magic driven alternate universe would seem impossible and I have no proof.

“They were recruited by someone for an out of town job. It was dangerous and the people on the other side found out about it. They hired a security firm to take them out. Their people were driving the cars that night, the one that hit Mom and Terry and the getaway car.”

“How do you know all of this, Alex?”

“I’ve seen some of the emails, plus other company things like memos but I don’t have copies, nothing I can take to the police.”

“Would the police even bother to do anything?”

“They would if I could find some hard evidence. But I’m not leaving it up to them. They were my family and I’ll take care of it myself.”

“I can’t say that I approve of that, Alex. If that is your attitude, why worry about evidence at all?”

“Because I want to know exactly who did exactly what. Months ago I wouldn’t have worried about collateral damage but now I do. I’m not going to stomp all over a small innocent group to get a few bad guys.”

“Commendable. What happens when you catch your man?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I’ll worry about that when I get the evidence.”

“And how to you plan to do that?”

“I have to get inside a building and access the intranet there. There are no open contacts between the system and the outside world. My usual hacking skills only kick in once I’ve gotten inside the building this time.”

“Why do you need some of my potions?”

“Because magic is driven by belief. The more people who believe, the stronger it is. Thanks to my ‘parlor tricks’ as you call them, I’ve managed to build a pocket of belief around my target. Unfortunately, that level drops way back at night; most of the believers go home. My magic muscles, so to speak, are much stronger than they were but there’s still not enough power for me to do much. However, if I can charge up a few potions when I’m at peak power levels, I can use them at night and get the job done.”

“I see. Do you intend to kill someone?”

“Maybe. I’m not gonna lie to you. If I find the person that ordered the hit, yeah, I may kill them … unless I can think of something worse. I don’t want to kill anyone just to break into the building though. Your potions could give me the edge I need.”

“How did you learn so much about magic? You were always a non-believer in the past.”

“I.. uuuhhh, visited a place where there was a much stronger belief in magic, learned some things from the people who lived there. I came back to New York, did some more research and started practicing.”

“Does that explain the improvements in your appearance?”

She doesn’t miss much.

“Yeah, it does.”

“Alex, I have been in the potion business most of my adult life, as was my mother before me and her mother before her. I’ve either met or dealt with every major player involved in the magic subculture in this country plus most of the skilled people in other countries. I can safely say that no one has ever succeeded in physically changing their appearance to the degree you have with just magic. And many have tried. Believe me on that.”

I lean forward, pulling my hair up and away from my forehead with the palm of my hand.

“Hey, you can check me for scars.”

“I don’t doubt your word, Alex. What I do question is where you found the power to do this. Or that someone else may have done it to you.”

It’d be easier, maybe smarter, to take the out she offered me and say someone else did it but then she’d ask me who, how, when and where could she find her. I could claim it was secret or I was sworn to silence but she doesn’t strike me as a person who would just accept that answer. Best fess up.

“Mrs. LaRouche, I am the seventh son of a seventh son.”

She pulls back away from me slightly, her eyes wide. “Oh my!”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Mastiff had promised a new finale for his act last week. Lawson’s P. A. Debbie had given me a heads up. I had to see it for myself. From the size of the crowd, it seems that most of the workers on this block felt the same way. Today, he performed most of his early stuff but was much better at it. Practice apparently does make perfect. He also performed that maddening trick with the rings.

When it came time to present that series of tricks with the twelve pack of Coke, a number of people had brought their own cartons to the show for Mastiff to choose from, making the tricks all that more impressive. After that last can was done spurting Coke everywhere, he opens another volunteer twelve pack, removing eight cans, lining them up on the table. He picks up two cans, one in each hand and turns to face the audience.

“I’ve been practicing this for weeks but this is the first time I’ve ever done it in public, so this may be a bit rough. Everyone may want to stand back just a bit.”

The audience moves back about ten feet and then Mastiff throws the two cans in his hand into the air while grabbing a third can off the table, which he also flips into the air and quickly begins to juggle the cans. He wasn’t great but he wasn’t bad. There’s a ripple of applause. He smiles.

“Thanks. Now, Debbie, if you would toss me another can.”

“ME?!” she squeals.

“Yes, just give it an easy underhanded toss. Aim for my chest.”

She nervously picks up a can, rolling it in her hand.

“Are you sure about this?”

“You’ve helped me before haven’t you?”

“Yeah, but …”

“Go ahead, don’t worry about it. Just aim for my chest.”

“Okay.”

She sighs loudly, makes a few practice swings, then gently lofts the can towards Mastiff. He deftly catches it, adding it to the three cans he is already keeping in the air. More applause as Debbie hurries back to her friends, giddy from the experience.

“Thanks Debbie. Your turn Janice.”

“WHAT?!”

Several people push another woman forward. I recognize her from the office and prior Mastiff performances. She’s a friend of Debbie’s. He has her do the same thing as Debbie, adding a fifth can to the group. The applause is louder this time.

A third woman, Shelly, also one of Debbie’s friends, is called out and can number six is quickly added to the flock circling in front of Mastiff.

I’m no expert, but I’ve never seen anyone juggle six items of any kind before but Mastiff juggles six better than he did three. It only takes a few minutes, but after calling out other regular patrons for help, he has eleven cans in the air, his hands moving incredibly fast to keep everything synchronized and airborne. He looks directly at me.

“There’s one left Ms. White. Think you can handle it?”

I step forward.

“I can if you can, Mr. Mastiff.”

He grins, a devilish gleam in his eyes.

“Terrible pun. Let’s find out. Ready when you are.”

I snatch the can off the table and fire it at his head as hard as possible. The crowd gasps as the can bores in … but then suddenly slows, gently landing in his momentarily outstretched hand which instantly adds the can to the circling frenzy. The crowd goes crazy.

That was flat impossible. I played softball in high school. Third base. I could throw runners out at first routinely. It’s been a few years but I haven’t lost that much. He gives me a lopsided grin, almost a sneer.

“Well done, Ms. White.”

I slip back into the crowd, several people reaching out to shake my hand. Mastiff keeps up his frantic pace for another thirty seconds or so.

“Here’s where things get tricky. How do I stop, you may ask. Unfortunately, I haven’t figured that one out yet. I suggest everyone keep their heads up. What’s the juggling equivalent of ‘fore’?”

He steps away from the revolving, whirling cans, dropping his hands to his side but the cans don’t stop! They continue to circle in the air, just as before. The crowd gasps loudly, then they applaud wildly and shout.

One by one, each can separates from the group, floats over to the table and lands softly, forming a line. Mastiff bows deeply. The ovation is loud and long. I’m too stunned to join in.

Someone from the other side has crossed over to my world.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

It took at least fifteen minutes for the crowd to return to their offices. I was constantly asked how I did that last trick. It was outside, there couldn’t be any wires. How’d I do it?
I answered the questions the same way as before. It was magic.

The level of belief had jumped after that last trick. Just standing on the sidewalk, I could feel the power growing even as the people dispersed. I take all that new belief and transfer it to the potions Mrs. LaRouche prepared for me. I had stashed them in my prop bag before starting my act and they are practically glowing with magic energy.

She didn’t give them to me, she had a price. She wanted my word that I would not kill anyone in vengeance for the death of my family. She was certain my mother would not approve of killing in her name. I can think of some people Terry wouldn’t have objected too but he was basically a pacifist. She wanted my promise, as the seventh son of a seventh son.

I wasn’t looking to kill in their names but I didn’t want to take it off the table either. I didn’t know what I might find if I managed to get the records I was looking for. If there were other deaths, if it was some kind of big plot of some kind, death might be the right thing. After seeing the hidden room in the stables, I stopped feeling bad about taking out Opulessa. Some crimes deserve the ultimate punishment.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

I hurry to Lawson’s office immediately after Mastiff finishes his performance. Or her performance. If she’s from the other side, he would have been a she over there. Mastiff is likely a witch of some kind who managed to cross over somehow. It was my understanding that we had control over the technology that allowed inter-universe travel. If that’s true, then Mastiff was brought over by someone in this company. Lawson needs to know that right away.

I beat his P. A. back from lunch, which is hardly surprising. I knock at Lawson’s office door but there’s no answer. I slowly open it, sticking my head in. There’s no one there. I approach his desk and look for a calendar or schedule of some kind, hoping to find out where he is but there’s nothing. I hear a stage cough from behind me.

“Can I help you, Ms White?”

It’s Lawson, standing in the doorway to his private bathroom.

“I was hoping to find you in, Sir.”

“What is so urgent that you feel the need to break into my office?”

“I didn’t break in. The door was unlocked.”

“Do you view any unlocked door as an invitation to walk right in?”

“No, Sir. This could be important. I just witnessed the most recent performance of Lance Mastiff, the street magician who’s been performing across the street in the park these last few weeks.”

“I’m familiar with Mr. Mastiff. My secretary won’t shut up about him.”

Lawson sounded just slightly jealous. Wonder what his relationship with Debbie is?

“Yes. Well, I witnessed what can only be described as an act of magic.”

“Hardly surprising, he is a magician after all.”

“You don’t understand, Sir. Not a magic trick but an act of pure, real magic, just like I saw on the other side. No trick, no illusion, REAL magic.”

“I’m sure that he was impressive but certainly no one here could …”

“No, Sir. I have a great deal of experience with stage magic. This was the real thing. I’ve seen both and know the difference. If I’m right, then Mastiff could be a witch from the other side, brought here by someone inside the company.”

“That is some leap of logic, Ms. White.”

“It is the only thing that makes sense. No one here could have that kind of command of magic.”

“I thought our world had no magic left, that technology had killed it.”

“Little magic left. Not zero. A true witch might be able to gather it together in one place.”

“Is that how it works?”

“No one on our side really knows how it works. What we have is mostly speculation. The main point is that we have a subversive inside the company.”

He walks over to his desk and sits down. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Ms. White. Lance Mastiff is no threat to this company.”

“You can’t be certain of that, Sir. A witch from the other side wouldn’t just set up camp outside of this office at random. There is a reason that she is here right now!”

“Ms. White. I didn’t become CEO by ignoring potential problems. I had Mr. Mastiff checked out as soon as I heard about him. He is what he appears to be. A street magician of mixed skills.”

“But how can you be certain that he isn’t …”

“From the other side? I am certain because I had a couple of the people from the lab monitor one of his shows. They checked his baseline frequency. Lance Mastiff is a home grown boy, Ms. White. His baseline frequency is the same as yours and mine. He’s from our Earth. No doubt about it. That means no escapee from the other side, no witch, no plot against the company and no problem. Good day, Ms. White.”

“What about Alex Thompson? He’s from our world. He found his own way to the other world. He could have come back and changed his name.”

“Did you ever meet Alex Thompson?”

“Of course I did. My report of that meeting …”

“Not Alexia, Ms. White. Alex.”

“No, of course not.”

“We have pictures of Alex Thompson, not very good ones I’ll admit. The man was truly paranoid, but good enough. There are some vague similarities between the two men but facial recognition programs only give a 56 to 41 percent match between the two. They are no better than distant cousins, appearance wise. In addition, Alex Thompson was a man who liked to keep to the shadows, kept a very low profile. Hardly the kind of man you would expect to become a street performer with a growing fan base. Why would a person give up ultimate power to return to this world as a regular person? Why completely change his modus operandi? It is not him. Again, good day, Ms. White.”

He doesn’t understand. He hasn’t seen what I’ve seen. No matter what you think it is, you don’t know magic until you’ve actually experienced it. His ego is too big to accept that, particularly if I’m the one saying it.

Maybe there’s someone else in this company who’s willing to listen.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“Thank you, Ms. White. I appreciate you coming to me with this information.”

When Lawson gave me the bum’s rush, I went straight to Stewart Hinkle, CFO and Lawson’s chief rival inside the company. He was one of the first few people from the company to spend any time on the other side, though it was only a couple of weeks. That’s when we learned that the men on the other side wouldn’t take a woman seriously, even though they had been a man almost all their life.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Hinkle. I know that you spent a little time over there. Mr. Lawson wasn’t too receptive.”

“I can imagine, though there isn’t much I can do about it. I’m just the Chief Financial Officer. Lawson is the Chief Executive Officer.”

“I understand, Sir, but I felt I didn’t have any other options. If he’s wrong, then we could have unleashed a powerful witch on this world, something no one over here is prepared to deal with. Someone in the upper management of this company needs to be aware of this possibility. I don’t think it’s too much to ask that we at least consider it. If he’s right, then no harm done. I can’t prove anything, at least not yet. Just keep an open mind, that’s all I’m saying.”

“That’s not an unreasonable request, Ms. White. The likelihood may be small but the potential harm is enormous. I’ll check into it.”

“That’s all I can ask, Mr. Hinkle. It’s the responsible thing to do.”

Plus, if it turns out that I’m right and Lawson’s wrong, then Hinkle could be the new CEO. If Lawson is right, it’ll be me who gets the boot, or worse. Hinkle can’t lose if he plays it right. No matter the morality of the situation, Hinkle would be a fool to ignore the chance to take over the Consortium.

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

Midnight is a lousy time to attempt a break in. Four a.m. is much better. It’s getting closer to the end of the night shift, every one is tired and ready to quit for the night. They’re more likely to blow off that last security sweep, or at least be less thorough. It limits the amount of time I’ve got to do my job but if I can’t get finished before the next shift arrives, I deserve what I get.

I should be okay if I can get my foot in the door.

As I approach the building, I can see a few lights on in the upper floors. They could be workers or they could be the cleaning crew. I can deal with either one but I’d like to avoid being seen at all, except for the two guards in the lobby.

There’s a lot of glass on the first floor, not so much on the rest of the floors and what’s there is mostly decorative, at least until you reach the top floor. Perks of upper management. The ground floor, however, is more glass than anything else. Thick and bullet-proof but still glass. I can see the two guards as I walk across the street straight towards the front doors and they can see me but they don’t move from behind the big, sprawling marble desk in the darkened lobby. Not even when I reach the main door and politely knock on the glass with the knuckles of my right hand. I reach over to the left and press the intercom button by the door frame, then lean in closer to the microphone built into the panel.

“Excuse me. I really need to go to the can. Would you please let me in? It won’t take long, just a minute or two. I gotta go bad!”

They look at each other but neither budges. I rap on the glass again but this time use the large ring on the middle finger of my right hand, extending the finger ever so slightly. The sound of the ring striking the glass is loud and sharp. There’s no chance of me breaking the glass but the sound is annoying. I tap several times before returning to the intercom.

“Come on Dudes! Have a heart! There’s no place open around here for blocks! I wouldn’t want to mess up these nice clean steps in front of your nice clean building.”

That gets the older of the two guards moving. Both are wearing the traditional blue and gray rent-a-cop outfit with some yellow piping on the front of the shirt, a fabric shield with the company’s name and logo sewn on the right shoulder and some kind of shiny metal badge on the left front shirt pocket. Neither guard is wearing a hat. The older guy is wearing a failing comb-over; the other has longish blonde hair.

Baldy steps up to the door and presses the intercom button on his side.

“Get the hell out of here you drunk son of a bitch! I don’t care where you go just as long as it’s away from here. And, if you piss or crap on my steps, I’m coming out there to rub your face in it, you hear?”

I lean over, press the button and respond. “I’m not drunk. I was just performing down the street and the cops broke it up. Someone in there must know me. I’ve been performing over in the park across from here for weeks.”

“Who gives a shit?! Move on before I come out there and bust you up.”

I start to answer him but his co-worker, Blondie, says something which Baldy finds amusing.

“A magician, huh? I’ve seen all your piddly ass tricks before. You can’t fool me.”

“And if I could? Is that worth the price of admission to your facilities?”

“My what?”

“Your bathroom. Your toilet, the can, Man.”

Blondie says something again, Baldy turning to listen but he takes his finger off the intercom button so I can’t hear anything. He turns back towards me, an evil grin on his face.

“Okay, Houdini. Entertain me. If I’m impressed, I’ll let you in.”

He’s got no intention of letting me in but that’s fine, just as long as he plays along. “Good, take out your wallet and remove the largest bill you have.”

“Like hell I will.”

“I’m out here and you’re in there. What can I possibly do to you?”

Blondie encourages him so he reluctantly remove his wallet from his back pocket, pulls out a bill and holds it up for me to see. It’s one of those new $100 Dollar bills, with all the security features. Great.

“Alright. Now, hand it to your friend and have him write down the serial number.”

Blondie searches for a piece of paper, finds it, takes the bill and slowly copies the serial number, eventually handing the bill back to Baldy. I push the intercom button again.

“Very good! Finally, crumple up the bill into a ball, place it in the palm of your left hand and close your hand, squeezing tightly. Like this.”

I hold my left hand up, displaying my empty palm. I then slowly close my hand making a fist and grip hard. Baldy follows my lead. I lean down closer to the microphone.

“Are you ready to be amazed, Sir?”

He nods his head.

“Open your hand.”

He does, revealing an empty palm. Both guards are astonished. Baldy immediately begins searching the floor, thinking he may have dropped it.

“Is this what you are looking for, Sir?”

Both of them stare at me as I slowly open my hand, remove and straighten out the crumpled $100 bill that was resting in my palm. I smile, bow and start to walk away from the door. Baldy can’t move fast enough, fumbling for his keys as he scrambles towards the door, one hand deep in his pants pocket. I can see him screaming at me but can’t hear him clearly through the thick glass. He finally manages to extract the key ring from his pocket and he desperately pokes a key at the lock before successfully hitting the target, shouting all the time as he struggles to unlock the door. There’s a loud thunk and the door flies open.

“… God damn mother fucking thief! You give me back my money before I …”

He’s almost on top of me when I reach out, grab his right wrist and slap the bill into his hand, shaking his hand firmly with the bill pressed between our palms.

“But of course, Sir. It is merely a simple magic trick. By all means. Now, about the use of your toilet.”

He jerks his hand away from mine, checks to make sure the $100 is in his hand, clutches it tightly and stomps back to the door.

“Fuck off,” he snarls, slamming the door shut, locking it behind him. I stroll back to the door and press the intercom button.

“The trick is not complete yet, Sir. Please have your friend confirm that it, is in fact, your original bill.”

He stops and turns, anger clear on his face. He starts to say something but doesn’t, the anger being replaced by confusion. He looks down at the hand grasping the bill then slowly walks back to the desk and hands it to Blondie. There’s a brief conversation before Blondie finally takes the bill, holding it in his right hand as he checks it against the serial number he had written down before. I return to the button.

“Is it the original $100 bill, Sir?”

He looks up at me and nods.

“Well done, both of you! Congratulations all around are in order! Shake hands, Sirs!”

They both look at their respective right hands, then at each other and ultimately shake hands, continuing to do so until I interrupt them with a knock on the glass and the intercom.

“I believe we had an agreement about you letting me in to use the bathroom, gentlemen.”

Baldy deliberately walks to the door as if in a trance, quickly unlocking and opening the door, holding it for me.

“Thank you very much. So kind of you.” I walk in but he continues to hold the door open. “I’d close and lock that if I were you.” He does exactly that then waits for my next order. “I may be awhile. Certain digestive issues, no need to go into detail. You two should go about your regular duties but don’t bother to report any alarms you might hear. I’ll be back when I’m finished. Understood?”

They both nod again, returning to the desk and resuming what they were doing before I first knocked on the door, completely ignoring my presence in the lobby. Reaching into my pocket, I remove the glass vial with the paper label attached. On the label is one word.

Obedience.

There is less than a third of Ms. LaRouche’s potion left but I wanted to be certain the guards got a full dose when they handled that $100 bill so I saturated it. My magic battery is pretty low but I shouldn’t need magic from this point on. Now, I’m back to being a hacker.

I quickly step to the elevator, push the up button, jumping in the first car to show up. I head for the top floor, ready to react should the elevator make an intermediate stop. Thankfully, it doesn’t.

The door opens but I do nothing right away. I hide off to the side and wait for the door to begin closing before I reach out and stop it, look out the door and, seeing no activity; I step out, letting the door close behind me.

The room is expansive and open. The outside lights stream in through the windows, dimly lighting the surrounding space. There’s a central waiting area with a receptionist’s desk, what appears to be a conference room to one side and two large offices on the other side, each with their own desks outside for their respective gatekeepers. I quietly approach the nearest office. The engraved plaque on the large double doors reads “Stewart T. Hinkle, Chief Financial Officer”.

Maybe some other time.

The second set of doors is the one I’m looking for. “Mr. Terence P. Lawson, Esq. C. E. O.” I pull my coat open to reveal an array of lock picks sitting in a row of pockets sewn onto the lining of the left side of the coat. Crossing the waiting room, I pass the desk of Lawson’s Personal Assistant, the name plate reading “Debbie Jennings”.

Debbie’s been one of my best fans. She’s a true believer. Makes a very good volunteer from the audience. Shy enough to keep the others from thinking she’s a shill but confident enough to do the job right. If everyone believed in magic as she does, I could take over this world.

I remove two picks from the collection stashed in my coat and drop to one knee so that I can easily reach to lock in the door knob. This part is my weakest skill. I’ve done it before a few times but it takes way too long. A pro could do in 30 seconds what takes me 15 minutes. Can’t be helped. I might be able to speed the job up by using magic but I’m better off saving something for emergencies. Either way, if it takes me too long, I can always whip out the magic.

Adjusting my position a little bit so I’m comfortable, I reach for the door knob on the right, tools in hand. Just as I touch it, the knob begins to turn. SHIT! Someone’s here! I manage to get up and return the picks to their hiding place before the door opens.

It’s Debbie Jennings, her arms loaded with files, her body silhouetted by the light from Lawson’s office.

“Lance! My GOD! What are you doing here?!”

So much for the reserve.

“I’m here to see you. Actually, I didn’t expect you to be here. I was just going to leave you a gift.”

“A gift?”

“Yes. I have it right here.”

I slide over to her desk, blocking Debbie’s view with my body, bend down and pick up a dozen roses that hadn’t been there seconds ago, sprinkling the last of Ms. LaRouche’s potion over them as I turn around.

“LANCE! They’re beautiful!”

I bow slightly and present them to her. “As are you, Debbie.”

She might be blushing, hard to tell in this dim light. She reaches out with both hands, taking the flowers, bringing them close to her face and inhaling deeply.

“I adore the smell of roses!”

She takes another deep breath with her face buried in the flowers, getting another dose of Mrs. LaRouche’s Obedience potion. I hope there’s enough left. Debbie lifts her face from the embrace of the roses.

“Lance, how did you get in here?”

I strike a stage pose, standing as tall as possible, my arms extended, lifting slightly upward.

“I am a MAGICIAN! No walls can stop me! No container hold me! No locks restrain me! No …” I drop my arms and relax my stance. “The guards let me in. What are you doing here? I expected an empty office. I wanted the flowers to be a magical surprise for you in the morning.”

She smiles at me, giggling softly. “They’re still a magical surprise and this way, I can thank you personally.”

She steps towards me, still holding the roses. I take her hands gently by the wrists and pull her closer, pressing the bouquet nearer to her face.

“Surely you aren’t still working, are you? How could your boss ask a lovely woman like you to be out at this ungodly hour?”

She beams at me but snorts derisively. “Larson doesn’t care how late I have to stay. He walked out at 4:45 today and dropped a pot load of work on my desk, telling me he needed it all ready for him in the morning. The morning!”

I sympathetically shake my head. “A cad! Truly a cad. I won’t delay you any longer.”

“OH No! I’m almost done! I just need to sign off, lock up and I’m free as a bird.”

By Zaphod’s great staff! I have to pause a moment to keep from sounding too interested. It’s all I can do to keep from laughing manically.

“Sign off? What is that?”

She chuckles lightly but with just a hint of sleepiness. “Come on, you’re joking, right?”

“No, not at all, is that one of those computer things? I really don’t know much about computers. Perhaps you could show me.”

She grins at me, her head tilting slightly to the left. “I shouldn’t.”

“Oohh let’s be naughty, just this once.”

She starts to say something but stops, her mouth agape, her eyelids half open, breathing deeply. I carefully push the roses closer to her face.

“Just a little naughty, just this once,” I whisper in her ear.

She giggles again. “Oookaayy. Just this time.”

I lightly pull her back into Lawson’s office, shutting the door once we are both inside. Leading her to a large leather couch, I smoothly set her down, leaving the flowers nestled against her breasts where she can still inhale the fading remains of the potion. Once she’s settled, I hurry over to the desk. Miraculously, it is still signed on to the intranet, the Consortium’s strictly internal network and it’s in Lawson’s name! I quickly remove a portable hard drive from my coat pocket and search for a USB port.

“Laanncce,” Debbie whines, “I thought you wanted to do something naughty.”

“Oh I do, Debbie. Very naughty. But how about this.” I quickly return to the couch, gently pull the flowers from her grasp and drop them behind the couch. They disappear before hitting the ground. I take her head between my hands, cradling her chin in the palms, my thumbs running up her jaw line. I bend down so that we are looking into each other’s eyes. “Why don’t you take a little nap …” She starts to pout. “… and while you’re napping, you have the sexiest dream you’ve ever had in your life.” The pout instantly turns into a wicked smile.

“What kind of sexy dream, Laanncce?”

“Whatever you want Debbie. Wherever, whoever, however you want. Your deepest, most forbidden desire. Let it all out.”

“Right here, in my boss’s office?”

“That’s the naughty part.”

“Ohh yeah! Okay, I’ll do it!”

I wink at her. “What a sexy vixen you are, Debbie. Here, let’s get you comfortable.”

I help her lay down on the couch. Whipping off my coat, I roll it up in a ball and carefully put it under her head like a pillow. Debbie lazily runs her hand over the seat back of the couch.

“I love leather, Lance. I really love leather. The feel, the smell. Love it. Don’t you love it?”

“Who doesn’t? It’s time for your nap now Debbie.”

“What will you do while I’m asleep?”

“I’ll just be waiting for you to wake up.”

“That sounds boring.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find something to keep me busy.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

My last command was for Debbie to forget all about what happened this morning, that she was to wake up feeling refreshed, relaxed, rested and ready for the new day. The sun was just beginning to rise as I exited her apartment building and headed home. I skirted Central Park on my way back to Mrs. LaRouche’s. I’m not certain if that last command would take. Debbie hadn’t gotten a full dose of the potion and it my have begun to wear off by the time I got her home. With luck, she’ll mostly just remember her dream.

I sure as hell won’t forget it.

It took me some time to work out the structure of the network and find where the information I sought was being stored. It turns out that it was also encrypted so I had to wake Debbie to get the encryption key.

She was a little pissed at that.

I could have just taken the encrypted data and try to break the key later but decided to do it all while in Lawson’s office even though that would take more time than I was comfortable with. This way guaranteed success and that was more important to me than anything else.

While I waited for everything I wanted to decrypt, I had an opportunity to eavesdrop on Debbie’s dream. She started with just moans and groans, slowly writhing on the couch, her hands moving around her body, then she’d fall silent for a few minutes and then become more vocal and active again. Eventually, she worked her panties down around her ankles and both her blouse and bra open. She called out my name several times while vigorously rubbing her pussy and kneading her breasts but she also mentioned at least two other men and both her work friends, Janice and Shelly. The name “Rex” came up a few times too after she had rolled onto her stomach and pushed her ass into the air. I didn’t want to speculate about who or what Rex is.

All and all, a memorable show.

It took a little while to get her dressed and presentable before helping her out of the building past the unseeing eyes of the two guards and into a cab for the short ride to her apartment.

As I walk by Central Park, I share the sidewalk with the early morning joggers who are headed into the Park to use the walking and running paths. I stop for a moment, feeling the pull of my favorite spot near the playing fields but shake it off. It’s the longer route and I’ve got work to do, including making sure that I put on a good show today outside of the Consortium building. I need to carry on as before, no change in the routine until I’m ready to make my move.

I keep walking until I reach Mrs. LaRouche’s store. She won’t open for another couple of hours but she’s an early riser and I’d prefer to get a few hours of sleep before my lunchtime show instead of reviewing my morning’s adventures. I manage to reach my apartment without attracting her attention. As soon as I open the door to my apartment, I can smell bacon cooking.

“Good morning, Lance. How do you like your eggs?”

She’s standing in my kitchen, frying pan on the stove, a carton of eggs open on the counter next to her

“How did you get in here, Mrs. LaRouche?”

“Landlord, remember?”

“Ahh yes. Do you visit often when I’m not here?”

“This is my first time. I need to know if you kept your word.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“I’m concerned about you. The power that you’re dealing with is well beyond levels I’m familiar with.”

“Don’t worry. I can handle it, Mrs. LaRouche.”

“I’d like to believe you, Lance but we’re talking about power levels very few have ever experienced.”

Could I tell her stories. “I’ll have those eggs sunny side up if you don’t mind,” I say as I shut the door behind me.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Sure I did. Sunny side up.”

“Fine. You didn’t answer the important question. Did you keep your word?”

I wave my hand. The cabinet doors swing open as two plates float out and settle onto the table. The drawer slides out and two sets of forks, spoons and knives rise up and join the plates, quickly followed by napkins and glasses to complete the setting. Mrs. LaRouche is impressed.

“Yes. I kept my word. No one was even hurt.”

“Did you get what you needed?”

The coffee pot starts up but that’s only because I left it on a timer. Not everything requires magic.

“I don’t know, there wasn’t time to check everything. I copied all emails and memos for the last five years. That should be enough to figure out if anyone had a hand in Terry and Mom’s deaths. It’ll take me awhile to go through them all.”

“Can I help?”

“Thanks, but I’d rather do it myself. That way, I’m the only one breaking the law.”

She chuckles. “My past isn’t exactly squeaky clean.”

“Better not add to it then.”

She opens the fridge, takes out a bottle of orange juice and fills both glasses.

“I understand that you want to do this alone but I am willing to help. Your mother was my friend too.”

“If the cops get us both, who’s left to bail us out?”

She pauses, frying pan in her hand, poised to slide the eggs onto the plate. “Who says I’m bailing you out?”

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

I should have tried to get more sleep last night.

The act isn’t as sharp as it could be, as it should be. I managed to hit the big tricks, particularly the last one. I just couldn’t resist starting on the stolen data and stayed up too late working on it. I didn’t find anything useful.

As I was packing up, Debbie approached me. I hadn’t seen her during the performance but she could have been standing towards the back. She seemed reluctant to speak so I took the initiative.

“I missed you today. You’re my best ‘volunteer lovely assistant’. People are starting to suspect something is up between us.”

She smiled but chewed on her lower lip for a moment. “About that. Last night … I had this … weird dream. At least I think it was a dream.”

“Were you and I at your office?”

“YES!” she gasps.

“Did I give you a dozen roses?”

“YES!! How do you know that?!”

“I had the same dream.”

“You did? How is that possible?”

I shrug. “Sometimes, when there’s a lot of magic in the air, two people can get psychically linked. They can share dreams, even thoughts. What am I thinking right now?”

“You’re kidding?!”

“No. Not at all. I doesn’t happen very often and not for long. The dreams seem very real.”

“It certainly felt real. I could smell the roses.”

“That sounds right. What am I thinking right now?”

“I can’t read your mind. That’s crazy … isn’t it?”

“You never know until you try. Go ahead. Concentrate.”

Debbie closes her eyes, squinting and wrinkling her forehead. She holds that pose for several seconds. “Yooouuurr … hungry! You can’t wait to get lunch!”

I clap my hands together. “Exactly right! Very good!” I’d have agreed with practically anything she said.

“Ohmygod! I did it! That is sooo cool! How long will this last?”

I frown and shake my head. “Not much longer, I’m afraid. It’ll probably fade in an hour or so. As I said, it’s kinda rare. When I do that big finale, there’s a lot of residual magic floating around. It’s gotta go somewhere.”

She’s clearly disappointed. “Isn’t there anything we can do to make it last?”

“Afraid not. It’s just one of those unpredictable side effects. I did enjoy sharing that dream with you.”

She smiles broadly. “Me too, Lance. Maybe it’ll happen again.”

I return her smile. “Perhaps. Who knows? Magic is so serendipitous. I’ll see you later.”

She waives as she turns to head back to work. “Bye, Lance.”

I waive back, continuing to do so until she looks away. That should buy me enough time to search the data base for the proof I need. If she doesn’t ask any questions, no one else will.

* * * *** * * * *** * * * ***

It took several days to get anyone from the Winthrop Group to even return my calls. If there was any proof required to show how toxic the name “Donna White” is, that was it.

“What do you want of us, Ms. White?”

“I need to speak with someone about investigating a possible incursion from …excuse me, what’s your clearance?”

“Level 5, Ms. White.”

Level 5. Impressive. That almost guarantees that the person I’m speaking with spent some time over there.

“Who am I speaking with?”

“Cynthia Ridgeway, Ms. White. You may remember me as Captain Sydney Ridgeway, Don.”

“Captain! How are you?”

“Fine, but I’m no longer a Captain, Ms. White. Those ranks pretty much disappear when you get back home.”

“Does that bother you?”

“A little. We knew the job was temporary when we all signed on but it was a wild ride while it lasted.”

“And the way it ended?”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Do you keep in touch with the rest of your squad?”

“Not Really. There are only a few of us left here at the main office in New York. The rest have been assigned to various hush hush operations around the world.”

Should I tell her that her comrades are likely dead? That the same fate could await her also? Anyone deemed a security risk was to be eliminated after they returned to this world. That was the contract between The Consortium and The Winthrop Group. That Ridgeway was still around may mean she was deemed reliable.

“What are you currently doing, Cynthia? Or is that a question you can’t answer?”

“No, not a problem. I’m waiting for a new assignment. I could be headed to Afghanistan in a couple of weeks.”

Oooohhh, not good. “I have something I’d like you to look into for me. In an unofficial capacity.”

“I don’t know about that, Ms. White. I don’t want to get into any kind of trouble here at work.”

It probably can’t get any worse for her. “Nothing serious, Cynthia. I just need your opinion about a certain street performer.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *
Still nothing.

I’m almost halfway through the data and haven’t found any solid proof of a specific order to kill my family. There’s been a hint now and then and a couple of emails referring to their deaths. That alone is suspicious. Why would a big corporation care about the deaths of a couple of little people? I’ll need more than that.

One thing is clear though, the loss of the resources from the other world has put a serious crimp in their cash flow. There have been a lot of discussions about accounting tricks to hide their problems from the market and shareholders. Many of the upper management’s jobs are on the line and you can practically smell the desperation in a lot of the memos and emails.

There’s a certain satisfaction in that.

Unfortunately, I’ve got to load up and go perform my act.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

The crowd is as large as any I’ve seen here before, at least 400 people. Word has clearly spread about Mr. Mastiff’s skills. One of the smaller local television stations has dispatched a camera crew to catch the action. We were late to arrive and are stuck in the back.

“Why are we here, Ms. White?”

I had never met Cynthia Ridgeway before, at least not the female version. She’s younger than I expected but smart. Her dossier said that she has degrees in both Mechanical and Electrical Engineering plus extensive intelligence training while in the Army. She’s tall, almost 5’ 11”, fit and attractive, with short, auburn hair and brown eyes. It’s a shame that The Winthrop Group believes that she’s expendable.

“I suspect, Ms. Ridgeway, that the magician performing today is not what he claims to be. My superiors aren’t interested in finding out the truth. There was a cursory investigation that provided cover for them to ignore the potential problem. I wanted you to see and meet him. You had a great deal of contact with Opulessa so it’s my hope that you can recognize a witch when you see one, even if she’s currently a man.”

She jerks her right thumb in the direction of Mastiff.

“You think that guy is a chick?”

“Possibly. Would anyone have suspected you were a ‘chick’ when you were on the other world?”

“I see your point. How the hell would he-she have gotten over here? I was the last man across before you set the self-destruct on the Portal Generator on that side and caught the last ride home.”

“Someone on this side could have reopened that Portal. They’ve sent teams to other universes, searching for another source of raw materials, but no luck so far. If the Generator is active, it’s a small step to return to that universe.”

“Any proof of that?”

“None at all,” I sigh. “Besides, one thing the original investigation supposedly did establish was that Lance Mastiff is from our universe, not theirs.”

“Lance Mastiff? Is that really his name?”

“It would seem so. There are birth records, Social Security records, school records, medical records and so on. I’m assuming they hired your company to do the investigation. I haven’t seen the actual report.”

“What about Alex Thompson?”

“I thought of that but Mastiff doesn’t look like Thompson, at least not any more like him than a distant relative, which is barely more than a random man with the same height and hair color.”

“What about DNA?”

“We don’t have any sample of Thompson’s DNA to compare Mastiff’s with.”

“But you do have samples of his mother and brother, don’t you?”

Very good, Ridgeway! “We don’t but we can get them! Either from the police or an exhumation.”

“No judge is going to order an exhumation.”

“Who says we’ll ask?”

“You’ve still got the problem about how Thompson could have gotten back. No Portal.”

“He could get back the same way he got over there. One of the original small portable Generators went missing over there and was never accounted for. It was presumed destroyed. That presumption could be wrong.”

Mastiff begins his show so we watch, seeing what we can from where we are standing. Ridgeway is astonished at the appropriate moments, when Mastiff performs a true magical trick. He allows the cameraman to roam wherever he wants, to see everything from whatever angle he desires. No magician I know would ever take that risk. Limiting what the audience sees is a major part of most illusions but Mastiff doesn’t seem to care. Mastiff has the Coke cans orbit the cameraman during the juggling trick before returning to the table. He actually fell down trying to record the action. The crowd loved it. So did Ridgeway.

“So, what do you think?” I ask.

“What do I THINK? That HAD to be magic! There is no way to do half of the stuff he did without magic!”

“Actually, any competent magician could perform almost two thirds of those tricks, however, the last third … I’m forced to agree with you. Which raises some troubling issues.”

“No Shit!”

“Exactly. Shall we meet Mr. Mastiff?”

“Are you sure you want to do that? If he’s the real deal, I wouldn’t want him paying any attention to me. Trust me. I know!”

“I’m aware of your history with Opulessa.”

“You don’t know the half of it. If Thompson hadn’t taken her out, the rest of us would have.”

If Thompson had not succeeded, you and your men wouldn’t have had any recollection of what Opulessa had done to you. You’d still be part of her sick circus. No need to point that out right now.

“Unfortunately, it’s that history that makes you a valuable asset right now. Mastiff and I have a bit of an adversarial relationship already. I’m still here so that means either he can’t hurt me or doesn’t care to.”

“Or that you haven’t pissed him off enough yet.”

“Another possibility, I agree, but I saw what Opulessa could do and what Alexia was capable of. Mastiff isn’t in their leagues.”

“Yet. Opulessa’s power wasn’t at a steady state. It went up and down. Not a lot but she had good days and bad days.”

I didn’t know that. “Are you saying you don’t want to meet Mastiff?”

“I’ll do it. I just want to be certain you’ve considered the possible harm. I don’t want real magic to get a foothold in my world, it’s too damn dangerous. If we need to stop Mastiff, better now than later because we may not get a chance later.”

I smile. “We think a lot alike, Cynthia.”

“Thanks, Ms. White.”

“Call me Donna, Captain.”

She returns my smile and nods her head. We start to work our way forward through the thinning crowd. Most of the audience needs to return to work. I’ve always suspected Mastiff only performs at lunch time because he doesn’t want people hanging around after the show is done.

He has his donation bucket sitting next to his front table. It’s a five gallon bucket and almost two thirds full of bills and change with people still tossing money in. If he does that 5 times a week, 52 weeks a year, he could be making almost as much as I do! We wait for the television reporter to finish her piece before talking to Mastiff.

And wait.

And wait.

The bitch is dragging this out on purpose. She’s got her story but she wants more. It doesn’t take a genius to see what that more is. Mastiff notices us standing in the background.

“Ms. White! I didn’t see you at today’s performance.”

Ridgeway and I step forward, blocking the reporter.

“We were there, Mr. Mastiff. Impressive, as usual. This is Captain Ridgeway.”

“CAPTAIN Ridgeway? Not a member of New York’s finest I hope. I always try to keep good relations with the local constabulary.”

She offers him her hand. “I’m not a cop. It’s a military rank.”

He takes her hand, shaking it firmly. They pause after a few seconds but neither lets go. They just stare intently at each other for a few seconds before the reporter interrupts.

“I think we have all I need, Lance, though I’d like to see you later tonight, just to make sure there’s no follow up.”

Mastiff releases Ridgeway’s hand, directing his attention to the attractive reporter. “I’m afraid tonight isn’t possible Carol. I need all the rest I can get to recharge my magic batteries. I can be available this Sunday.”

“I anchor the weekend news broadcasts so Sunday won’t work.”

“A shame. You have my number. Feel free to call me, I’m certain we can work something out.” He finishes off with a devilish smile that would weaken the strongest woman’s knees. I can feel it myself and he isn’t even aiming at me. Carol just beams at him for a moment before recovering and walking away, the cameraman trailing behind. Mastiff turns back towards me.

“Lovely woman. Has quite an interest in magic.”

“I’m sure she does,” I reply dryly.

“What can I do for you and the brave Captain, Ms. White?”

“Nothing you haven’t done before. Captain Ridgeway is in town between assignments so I thought she might enjoy your show.”

“And did you, Captain?”

“Did I what?” asks Ridgeway.

“Did you enjoy my show?”

“Oh my yes! Very enjoyable! It makes a person wonder how you could possibly do all those tricks. Some seem quite impossible.”

“For some perhaps. Magic makes all things possible.”

“Oh come on! It’s just us girls here. You can’t really believe in magic,” she says.

“I do, Captain, as do many others. Like Ms. White here. And you. If you’ll excuse me, the Park Police only give me a few minutes to clean up, pack up and be on my way. I don’t want to disappoint them.”

“Can we help?” I ask.

“No no. Don’t trouble yourselves. I’m almost done as it is. Check out the local evening news. With luck, it’ll be a slow news day and they can squeeze me in. It’ll be a boost for my career.”

He quickly packs the loose equipment into a large duffle bag with shoulder straps, folds up his tables, slings the bag over his shoulder, grabs the tables by their handles and hurries off into Central Park after a brief wave goodbye, his ponytail bouncing with each step.

“What do you think, Captain.”

“That was magic. No doubt about it.”

“And Mastiff?”

“He sure as hell felt like a witch but he was also a man. I can’t explain it. Should we follow him?”

“No need. We know where he lives. I just wish we had some other leads to pursue.”

“What about the DNA tests?”

“I can get that started but it’ll be up to the techs and my requests aren’t exactly a high priority. What kind of pull do you have at the Winthrop Group?”

“Zilch. On a good day.”

“So, we’re stuck.”

Ridgeway pulls me aside. “Maybe not. A couple of weeks ago, someone from internal security came around asking questions. Seems that one of our guns turned up in a meth lab bust. ATF knew that it was originally one of ours; it was registered when the company bought them straight from the manufacturer. Internal security wanted to make sure someone wasn’t running their own black market with Winthrop Group guns. The company does that all the time, they just don’t want unauthorized competition from inside their own company.”

“What does this have to do with Mastiff?”

“Maybe nothing, maybe something. I knew what gun they were talking about. It was Colonel Willis’ personal M4A1. He took it to a gunsmith over here and had it fine tuned and modified. It was match rated. That was one cherry piece of iron. And it never made it back to this world when we evacuated.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I went looking for it. The Colonel was dead. He had no use for it. Seemed a waste for it to fall in the wrong hands.”

“The wrong hands being anyone’s other than yours.”

Ridgeway grinned. “Something like that. I double checked every gun that came home. I can guarantee you that one did not make the trip.”

“Could someone else have taken it?”

“It’s possible. I couldn’t be open about what I was really doing so someone else could have gotten to it before I did but I don’t think that’s what happened. That gun stayed over there until someone brought it over here and sold it.”

“Are you serious, Captain?”

“How else can you explain that a gun that almost certainly did not leave the other side at evacuation ended up in a meth bust in Loogootee, Indiana.”

“Wait. Loogootee is the nearest town to the Portal Generator on this side, right?”

“It is. Wouldn’t it be interesting to talk to the man who had that gun? Show him a few pictures maybe?”

“It would indeed, Captain. I think I can rustle up a flight to the nearest airport. I’ve still got my expense account. Care to join me?”

“Sure, I’d love to go. Beats the hell out of sitting around HQ doing nothing but I don’t know if they’ll let me.”

“I’ll take care of that. You go pack a bag and we’re off to Loogootee within the hour.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Why the heck did White bring Ridgeway to today’s show? What did she hope to accomplish? That Ridgeway would somehow recognize me as Alexia? Seems to be a longshot on her part. Maybe she’s running out of gambits. I hope she’s running out of time. The sooner I finish reviewing the data from the Consortium, the sooner I can finish this.

I hustle through Central Park but as I get near the playing fields, I stop, feeling an urge to go over there to take a break. Just sit down, watch the kids play and forget all about this. I give it about twenty seconds of serious consideration before shaking the feeling and heading back to my apartment, the feeling fading the further away from the fields I get. It wasn’t a bad idea, it’s just not the time for goofing off. I’ll take a break when I find what I need in those memos and emails.

But maybe I’ve been working too hard. Since getting the data from The Consortium, I’ve done nothing but eat, sleep, perform my act and search the data. It’s been a three day grind and the two weeks before that were completely wrapped up in preparation for the break in. What’s twenty or thirty minutes gonna cost me? It’s a nice day in late August. The home schooled kids will be playing some kind of game. I need to see something that reminds me of … home.

There. I said it.

Home.

It’s not New York anymore. The last week or so, I’ve felt the pull of the other world. The wide open spaces, living close to nature. The slower, more meaningful life I lead over there. My family that I left over there. It all makes life here more intolerable every day.

Once this is done, I am getting the hell out of town but right now, I’m taking twenty minutes to enjoy myself!

I reverse course, instantly feeling better, and hurry back the way I came until reaching the intersection with the path that leads to the athletic fields. I turn to the left and it’s only a minute or so until I hear the sound of children playing, quickly followed by the sight of boys and girls charging up and down a deep green playing field in pursuit of a soccer ball.

Almost all of the parents are gathered to one side, talking among themselves. I recognize a number of them from prior visits, though there are some new people. It’s mostly mothers and a few fathers, standing or sitting in groups of three or four, however there is one woman standing apart from the rest, someone I haven’t seen before.

If you looked up “statuesque” in the dictionary, there would be a picture of her right next to the definition. She was tall, taller than me. Blonde and built, but more like an athlete. She had a great figure but it was more than that. She just exuded strength, like an Amazon. You could see why she was standing by herself, she probably intimidated everyone else, man or woman. She wasn’t doing anything threatening, just smiling and watching the kids play, but you could tell she wasn’t to be messed with.

She definitely was not my usual type. I’d always preferred women who were shorter than me and couldn’t likely beat me up but there was something about her that kept drawing my attention, even when I tried to ignore her and concentrate on the game.

It was fairly disorganized, kids just playing. Different ages, boys and girls, some knew what they were doing, some just learning and some had no idea what the game was about. There was this big blonde boy, running all over the place, clearly didn’t know shit about soccer but was full of energy and enthusiasm, smiling and laughing the entire time. Kids would drop in and out of the game, running over to their parents and then back onto the field, rejoining their friends.

The sun was bright and the temperature mild. An all around glorious day. The twenty minutes I was going to stay passed in the blink of an eye so I stayed longer, my attention always drifting back to the Amazon.

I’d never approached any of the other mothers before, didn’t want to seem like I was hitting on them. I’d gotten a number of looks from some of them whenever I showed up but none ever approached me, though, from the conversations I saw, occasionally several of them would encourage one or two to come over to meet me. Never happened though.

It appeared that the game was starting to break up. Some of the kids and parents were beginning to leave. I was suddenly struck with the fear that I may never see the Amazon again. All the time I’d watched her, she never looked my way. She just stood there, Hair in a ponytail dropping down her back, dressed in slacks, light sweater and trainers, the personification of cool elegance.

I need to meet her, to talk with her. There’s just something compelling about her. I can’t put my finger on it. I just know that if I don’t do this, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

Leaving all my stuff leaning against a tree, I wander in her direction. I don’t want to charge right up and start talking to her. I want to be smooth, suave, cool about it. It takes me a few agonizing minutes to get close enough to attempt to strike up a conversation.

“Excuse me,” I say a little bit too loudly.

She’s startled but not afraid. “What did you say?” she asks.

“I-I just wanted to say hello. Haven’t seen you here before.”

She looks me up and down with one arched eyebrow.

“Do you have a child out there?” She points at the field.

“No. I just like to come out here and watch the kids play.”

That doesn’t sound creepy at all.

“Really?” she sternly replies.

“I-I didn’t mean it that way! I just like to come out here because it reminds me of a different place. A place I used to live.”

Her appearance softens a bit. “Where did you use to live?”

“You wouldn’t know the place. It’s far away from here.”

“I might know. I am just a visitor to this city.”

That explains why I haven’t seen her before.

“How interesting! How long have you been in town?”

“Only two weeks. My son and I have spent a lot of time here in this park.”

“Here on business or pleasure?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Are you in New York because of work or on vacation?”

“Neither. We are looking for someone.”

“Who’s that?”

“A relative.”

“Any luck?”

“Not so far,” she sighs.

Maybe I could lend a hand, do a little computer research, help the lady? No, I’ve already got a job to do and I better get to it now. Enough play time!

“Well, good luck with your search. I need to get back to …”

“You never told me your name,” she interrupts. “My name is Johanna.” She holds out her hand.

“Johanna. Unusual name.” I shake her hand. “I’m Lance Mastiff… uuhhh, Mastiff the Magnificent.”

“The magnificent what?”

“Magician. I’m a street performer. You know, hocus pocus, pull a rabbit out of a hat, that sort of thing.”

“Why would you keep a rabbit in your hat?”

‘You know, Johanna, no one’s ever asked me that question before.”

“It would seem to be an obvious question.”

I chuckle. “You’re right, it is. Which one out there is your son?”

“The tall blonde one.” She gives a loud, shrill whistle that makes me flinch and raises her hand. Everyone left looks our way but only one child, the blonde boy I had noticed before, breaks away and runs towards us, pulling up and stopping right in front of his mother. She gently touches his shoulders and turns him to face me.

“Mr. Mastiff, this is my child, Lee. Say hello to Mr. Mastiff, Lee.”

He smiles brightly, thrusting his hand towards me. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Mastiff.”

Lee? My hand reaches out on automatic to shake his but it is a dispirited handshake as my mind is elsewhere. Lee! Is that a coincidence? I stare more closely at mother and son. They have the same sandy blonde hair, the same blue eyes. It’s hard to say how old Lee is but it couldn’t be much more than eleven.

“Where did you say you were from?” I hesitantly ask Johanna.

“A long way from this remarkable town,” she answers.

“Exactly how far away?”

“Very far away,” she replies, dodging my question but staring at me with a look of hope in her eyes.

I slowly raise my right hand and reach inside my shirt, carefully lifting my first year anniversary ring up by the thin gold chain and clear of my shirt, letting it dangle and spin on three inches of chain.

Johanna smiles and does exactly the same thing, though the ring on her chain is larger than mine.

“Leeanna,” she says. “I think we’ve found your mother.”

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

There’s no car rental company at the Loogootee airport. It’s little better than an old dirt strip though it is paved. There are just two hangars, an office, and a flight school. I give the mechanic $200 to rent one of the work trucks until Ridgeway and I are done. I’m sure they don’t see many corporate jets fly in for the day. Ridgeway is surprised with how free I’m being with the money.

“Are you sure you won’t get in trouble for all this? Renting that jet cost a ton.”

“Captain, we need answers and we need them now. If we find out something important, all sins will be forgiven. If we fail, I can only be fired once. I’ve already got one high heeled foot on a banana peel as it is.”

“If you say so. Where to now?”

“Get in the truck, you’re driving.” I pull out my cell phone and launch the GPS app. “We’ve already got the name and address for the man arrested for possession of Willis’s gun. Let’s find him ASAP and see if he’ll talk to us.”

She opens the driver side door and climbs in. “There’s no way he’s talking to us. He can’t be that stupid.”

I get in the other side and close the door as she starts the engine. I look at the display on my phone.

“Turn left when you exit onto the highway. Yes, he can be that stupid. If he got caught cooking meth, then he’s an idiot. If he was caught with as much as he was charged with, then he’s a greedy idiot. We aren’t the police; we’re just private citizens with money to burn. He’ll talk.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“What in Zaphod’s name are you two doing here?!”

Once we both were certain of each other’s identities, I hurried Johnathyn and Leeanna to a secluded bench with some privacy. After a round of hugs and kisses, it was time to find out what was going on.

“Actually, there are three of us,” answers Johnathyn. “Miran Pegues brought us over to this world. He has been our guide and has been invaluable. We owe him much, Alexia.”

That makes sense. Pegues has the most experience and would like nothing more than for me to owe him a favor.

“That says how but not why, Johnathyn.”

“Aren’t you happy to see us, Mother?”

I lean down and kiss Leeanna on the top of her head.

“I’m ecstatic to see the both of you, Lee. It’s a dream come true, but that doesn’t answer my question.” I look at Johnathyn over the top of her head and raise one eyebrow, giving him a look I hope he hasn’t forgotten.

He sighs and looks away. “We have failed you, Alexia.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that everything has gone oddswoggle,” answers Pegues as he rounds the corner, invading our little patch of privacy amongst the willow bushes.

“Where the hell have you been, Mirantha?” I ask.

“The far side of the woods, keeping watch.”

“So, this was all your idea?”

“No, it was Dierdra Denson’s, our dear leader of the Witch’s Council. One of your creations if I recall correctly, Alexia.”

“Whatever happened to ‘my Queen’?”

“You relinquished that title. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before others sought to claim it.”

“Will somebody tell me what is going on?!”

They look at each other for a moment before Johnathyn flicks his wrist towards Pegues.

“You tell her, Pegues. You understand better than I.”

“You understand all too well, Johanna. You just don’t want to be the one to deliver the bad news.”

“I’m waiting,” I growl.

Pegues bows slightly, contradicting his last statement about not treating me as the Queen.

“Very well, I will be the Jason Goat. I will give you the short version. We can discuss details when there is more privacy. Briefly put, the people did not accept the Witch’s Council as the ruler of the land. They were used to having a Queen to rule them and they would accept nothing less.”

“Everybody refused?”

“Not exactly. Many were willing to try this new form of government but the Council was ineffective, wracked with dissension.”

“Beckwith!”

He nods. “Yes, but not just her. There is no tradition of witches working together, of compromising. They argue, they discuss but nothing gets decided. Many people tired of this and turned back to the old ways. Any man who sought power found himself a witch who would then declare herself Queen of the land and he would form an army around her, mostly bought and paid for but just as deadly as true believers.”

“How many?” I sigh.

“Five Queens when we left two weeks ago. There could be more by now.”

“What about the Queen’s Guard?”

“As you well know, the Queen’s Guard is loyal to the Queen. That is tradition, one you took brilliant advantage of. There is no tradition of loyalty to a Witch’s Council. Besides, The Guard is organized regionally. When the different Queens declared themselves ruler, the Guard divided up along regional lines. General Packer has managed to keep the Guard based in Glory loyal to the Witch’s Council but it is mostly out of respect for his leadership, not for anything the Council has accomplished.”

“How strong are his troops?”

“They are the best of what remains of the Guard, best trained, best armed, most disciplined, but they are not large in numbers. Several of the other Queens have more men, they just aren’t as good. It is a return of the days before Opulessa.”

“Are any of the witches claiming to be Queen any good?”

“You mean, are they powerful, Alexia?”

“Yeah, can I kick their traitorous asses?”

“You can beat them all, Mother!” Leeanna declared.

I hugged her shoulders, pulling her tightly against my body but looked over at Pegues.

“True?”

“Yes. Oppulessa had been very effective in preventing a powerful challenger from ever being born. The most powerful that I am aware of is a Sixty One. That isn’t as important right now. The Witch is just a figurehead for a man seeking power. What matters is the size and strength of the army supporting the man who chose the witch to be Queen. The Queen with the largest and best army is supported by an old friend of yours.”

“NO! He’s supposed to be in prison! Locked up in some ice cold cell for the rest of his miserable life!”

“He was, until civic authority broke down in the Northern Region. Redmond Dupree is now the primary supporter of Queen Tammy.”

“Queen TAMMY! What kind of name is Queen Tammy?”

Miran shoots me a sly smile. “I wouldn’t know, Alexia. It is a name of long history and not uncommon in my world. I hear she is quite beautiful.”

“Stuff it, Pegues. What does Dierdra think I can do about all this?”

Johnathyn reaches over, taking my hand.

“Return to your rightful world, your rightful place as Queen, put an end to all these false Queens. Bring peace to our world.”

“Johnathyn, we discussed all this the last time.”

“How could it be worse?”

“It may be worse with me there.”

“We don’t know that, not for certain.”

“And we don’t know for certain that it would be better. Is this just Dierdra’s great idea or is there some kind of big groundswell of support for my return?”

Johnathyn won’t answer, looking for help from Pegues.

“It is Denson’s idea. She has not even sought support from the other witches.”

“I’m sure Beckwith is waiting for me with open arms.”

“Likely not, but the remains of the Queen’s Guard would support you and we might pick up additional support from those straddling the fence. Alexia, for what it is worth, I think you should do it.”

Say what you will about Pegues’ lack of loyalty, morality and trustworthiness, he does have a keen political mind and a sixth sense for survival.

“Why should I return, Miran?”

“As one of your great political philosophers, General Colin Powell, stated so well, ‘You break it, you bought it. ’”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

It had been a hot and somewhat productive day. We tracked down the meth maker to a single lot with a shabby mobile home parked on it. I bet if a cop had been along with us, this guy would have been busted again. I’d say the guy was almost three quarters high when he answered our knocks on his door. Donna White introduced herself and me as employees of the National Rifle Association. The meth head really liked that, didn’t even bother asking for proof. White said that the NRA kept track of people arrested for exercising their Second Amendment rights and that we were there to help any way we could, including money to defray legal fees.

The meth head, name of Dilbert Daws, was already represented by the Public Defender, big surprise, but said that he could certainly use the cash to pay other bills. Such as buying more supplies to make meth, I’d wager. God! That shit is so addictive!

White quickly steered the conversation towards protecting the next link in the chain, the man who sold him that gun. She showed Daws pictures of Mastiff and Thompson but he claimed not to recognize either one of them, which frankly made me feel better about both of them. You’d hope that either one would have had enough integrity not to sell something that dangerous to a dick like Dilbert Daws.

White pushed him pretty hard on the pictures and I felt he was telling the truth. When she asked for the name of his seller, Daws was a little more uncertain. My guess is that he wanted to hang onto that little bit of information to sweeten his eventual plea deal on the meth and possession charges. That’s when White pointed out that we weren’t cops and that we didn’t plan on telling the cops anything. We wanted to get to the seller before the cops did to make sure that his civil rights were going to be protected from the assault of the Obama administration’s anti-gun goon squads.

That little speech and $5,000 got us the name of Earl Sweeney, local used car dealer and mechanic. It’s late, almost 8:30 p.m. local time, when we reach Sweeney’s business. You can tell that he’s almost ready to close but White wants to get this done today. She starts the whole NRA song and dance again but Sweeney’s a little more skeptical, probably because he isn’t stoned out of his mind. She manages to get him to look at the pictures and he actually says he may recognize Mastiff before he wises up and kicks us out of his business, pissing White off royally. He did let it slip that Mastiff showed up with a couple of local girls but refused to identify them.

Which is how we find ourselves spending the night sharing a double room in a less than four star motel in Loogootee, Indiana. She let me choose where we ate and I chose Steak and Shake. I think it’s been some time since Donna White ate fast food.

After returning from supper, she laid all her paperwork out on the table and began reviewing her notes.

“How do you expect to find those two girls?” I ask.

“Sweeney knows and I’m not done with him.”

“We already know Mastiff was in town, Sweeney admitted recognizing him. He had to be the one who sold him the gun.”

“Sweeney thought he recognized Mastiff. It still doesn’t explain how the gun got back to this universe. Mastiff is from this universe.”

“Are we sure of that?”

“Yes. I borrowed the equipment and checked it myself. We had no men over there, strictly women.”

“Are we certain the Generator on that side was destroyed?”

“Short of sending someone back with a portable Generator, there’s no way to be certain. The top brass may have already ordered that. I would have if I were them. The fact that Larson is so confident that no one can cross over from their side makes me believe they’ve confirmed destruction. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Agreed. Maybe Mastiff and Thompson are working together?”

“How and why?”

“I don’t know. I’m too tired to think straight. We’ve been on the go since 11:00 a.m. this morning and I’m beat.”

White yawns, causing me to yawn, then White yawns again.

“You’re right, Captain. We’ll both feel better after some sleep.” She pushes the mattress on her bed several times. “Though I don’t know if that is possible on this hammock of a mattress.”

I’ve laid on mine and it seems fine. I’ve certainly slept on worse.

“You can have this bed if you want.”

“No thank you Captain. I’d already tried that one. This is the better of the two, though that isn’t saying much.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

We exited the subway and all walked back to my apartment, Leeanna between Johnathyn and I, all three of us holding hands. Pegues brought up the rear, carrying my tables. I was gentleman enough to have the duffel bag on my back. When we reached the building, I thought for a moment about trying to sneak them all in but Mrs. LaRouche was waiting at the door.

“Friends of yours, Mr. Mastiff?”

What could I tell her? How could I explain? The truth could be deadly. Just give her a choice.

“Mrs. LaRouche, I’ve neglected to tell you some things about myself and my past. I know a secret, a very dangerous secret for any person to know. It’s the kind of secret that gets a person killed. My mother and brother knew that secret and they were killed because of it, at least partly for that reason. To answer your question about these people requires me to tell you that secret. Their presence here is not a threat to your safety or your life. You can just step aside to let us pass and life will go on for you as it has all the past years. Or, I can answer that question and change everything you thought you knew about the entire universe you live in plus endanger your life in the process. It’s your option.”

“Very impressive speech, Mr. Mastiff. Been practicing it long?” she smirks.

“A little while. Unfortunately, that fact doesn’t make it any less true. I’m afraid we’ve come to a bit of a crossroads, Mrs. LaRouche. You can take it on faith that we won’t do anything to endanger you or you can join us but joining us is a whole different Magilla than you’ve ever experienced before.”

She points towards Leeanna. “And you would involve a child in something this dangerous?”

“My daughter has been a part of this all her life.”

I can feel Lee squeeze my hand. I squeeze back. LaRouche looks at us skeptically. “This boy is your daughter? That’s impossible!”

“My mother doesn’t lie!” Leeanna snaps.

LaRouche is agog. “Mother?! Did she call you ‘Mother’?”

“As I said, change everything you thought you knew about the universe.”

Pegues slid next to me, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Alexia, is this wise? We should not involve otherworlders in our affairs.”

“I’m an ‘otherworlder’?” asks LaRouche, her offense at the word clear in her voice. She glances from face to face for several seconds then extends her hand.

“Give me your hand, child.”

Leeanna pulls back. “Mother?” she asks hesitantly.

“It’s alright, Lee,” I answer calmly. “She’s a friend. She won’t hurt you.”

LaRouche keeps her hand out. “It won’t hurt, Lee.”

Lee looks first at Johnathyn, then me, then gives LaRouche her right hand. She gently takes Lee’s hand and closes her eyes, breathing deeply.

“What is she doing, Mother?” Lee whispers.

“She’s reading your aura. It won’t hurt.”

“Is she a witch too?”

“Yes, she is.”

LaRouche gasps, her eyes flying open. She lets Leeanna’s hand fall from her grasp. She eyes Johnathyn for a moment before reaching out towards him. He gives her his hand without a word. She begins the reading just as before, with the same results. She turns her attention to Pegues, who draws back.

“I’ll just keep this hand to myself, thank you very much.”

“It could help us,” I tell him.

“I’d rather not.”

“What if your Queen requests it?”

He considers it for several moments before reluctantly giving in, thrusting his hand out so that LaRouche can grip it firmly. She hadn’t forgotten about his ‘otherworlder” crack. This time, it takes a little longer for her to react. She huffs several times before recoiling, dropping Pegues hand as if it were a hot rock. She actually massages her right hand with her left, like she’s trying to push life back into it. After rubbing her hand a minute or so, she faces me.

“I thought your aura was unique, Mr. Mastiff and yet these three have that same twist. Her’s …” she points at Pegues “… is so twisted, I can only compare it to a M.C. Esher print.”

“There is an explanation but the price for it is your loyalty.”

“How can I promise anything without some hint as to what’s involved? You ask too much of me, Lance.”

“Then we’ll be on our way. Where are you all staying?”

“NO! Wait!” LaRouche shouts. “I must know. I promise I won’t turn you in. That is the best I can do.”

“Then this is the best that I can do. Near Loogootee, Indiana, there is a machine that can open portals to different universes. These three live in one of those universes but crossing over to this universe forces a change in their sex. I have been to that universe, where I became Queen Alexia, the most powerful witch in the world. This is Johnathyn Tyber, my husband, Leeanna Tyber, our daughter and Miran Pegues, thief, cheat, liar and con man extraordinaire.”

“Really, Alexia!” Pegues protests. “What have I stolen? Recently?”

I continue, ignoring his objection. “Pegues has crossed back and forth a number of times, which could account for the twisted nature of his aura. I’ve only been back and forth once, Johnathyn and Leeanna have just done the one way trip.”

LaRouche nods her head. “That explains a lot of what I saw, as hard as it is to believe.”

“Believe it, Mistress,” says Johnathyn. “My wife speaks the truth.”

“Mistress?” LaRouche quizzes.

“That’s how a witch is traditionally addressed over there,” I answer.

“I think I like that,” she huffs. “Respectful.” She walks inside. “Come in. I’ll help you fix supper for your family. And the thief.”

* * * *** * * * ***

I woke to the shrill skreech of metal grinding on metal. The air conditioning unit in the motel room had malfunctioned and was making an unholy din.

“What the FUCK is that?!” mumbled Ridgeway.

“The AC Unit,” I groaned. “Take a look at it, will you?”

“ME?! What the hell do I know about air conditioning?”

“You’ve got a degree in Mechanical Engineering.”

“Which has nothing to do with fixing shit. What’s your degree in?”

“I’ve got an MBA from Wharton.”

“No community college degree in HVAC?”

“No. I’ll call the office. Find the off switch on that damn thing! It’s putting my teeth on edge.”

She turns on the table lamp between the beds, temporarily blinding me as I fumble for the phone. I end up shading my eyes with my left hand before I can find it. The phone rings for the third time before Ridgeway manages to turn the infernal machine off. Thank God! The office answers. It’s a young female voice.

“Night desk. How can I help you?”

“This is …” I fumble around until I can find my key card. “Room 125. Our air conditioner has broken.”

“Just put it on vent. It’s not hot outside tonight.”

“It’s the fan that broke. Setting it on vent doesn’t solve the problem.”

“Well, what do you expect me to do about it?”

Ignorant Bitch! “I expect you to get someone in here to fix the damn thing or find us another room! That’s what I expect you to do about it!” I slam the handset down.

There’s something satisfying about slamming an old style phone handset down when you hang up in anger. I know the person on the other side hears nothing more than a quiet click but you like to think that the impact set their ears ringing.

Someone should make an app for that. They’d be a millionaire.

“What’s up?” asks Ridgeway.

“They’ll send somebody.” Pretty damn fast or she’ll hear from me again.

“Well, it didn’t sound good. I don’t know if they’ll be able to fix it.”

“If they can’t, we’re changing rooms.”

“Is it even worth it? I mean it’s …” She glances at the table clock. “3:23 in the morning. How much longer are we going to be here?”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Captain. I paid good money for this armpit of a room. Is it asking too much that the AC work?”

“No. You didn’t. You put the room on your expense account. It just seems like a big to do over something that isn’t …”

There’s a quick knock on the door followed by an almost instantaneous thock of the electric deadbolt opening. The door is pushed open a few inches.

“Hellooo. Night clerk. Here to fix the AC.”

The door continues to slowly swing open. A slight, red haired girl is standing there, hand on the door handle.

“Where are your tools?” I demand.

“My what?”

“Tools. How do you plan to fix this without tools?”

“Oh, I see. It’s not that kind of problem. Tom, he’s the maintenance guy, told me to watch out for the unit in this room. I’d forgotten but when you said it was Room 125, it rung a bell. It’s a simple fix.”

“Didn’t sound like a simple fix,” says Ridgeway.

She switches on the overhead light. “Don’t worry, it is. It’s just jumped the fan belt. See, there’s just one motor that runs both the fan and compressor. An electric clutch controls when the compressor kicks in but the motor mount is broken in one place so the motor can shift, the pulley wheels get out of alignment.” She slips through the room, past our open bags and all the papers on the table. Quickly dropping to her knees, she slides the metal cover off the front of the AC unit, revealing the equipment inside. “See,” she points to something on her left, “just as I said. Here’s the belt. When it jumped, the idler wheel hit the pulley. That’s what made all the noise.” She looks up at me. “You want to see what I’m doing to fix it?”

“Why would I care? Just repair the damn thing!”

“Well, in case it happens again. You won’t have to call me, you can do it yourself. It’ll be faster.”

“Young lady, if it happens again, you will be getting us a new room.”

“I’ll watch,” Ridgeway sighs. “Anything to get this done and I can go back to sleep.”

As Ridgeway approaches the end of the room, she knocks some papers off the table and onto the floor, landing next to the girl.

“I’ll take care of that,” she says. “You just watch what I do.”

Ridgeway leans down, grabbing a chair with her right hand to steady herself, and looks over the girl’s shoulder as she does something to the insides of the machine. It takes just a few seconds.

She turns her head, looking back at Ridgeway. “See that?”

Ridgeway straightens up. “Roger that.”

“Great,” the girl replies as she collects the papers scattered on the floor next to her and stands up. As she begins to return them to the table, she stops, giving the photo of Mastiff a better look.

“Where’d you get this picture of Alex?”

“Of who?” I ask.

“Of Alex. He didn’t have a beard back then but there’s no doubt it’s him.” She looks back at the photo and sighs deeply. “I didn’t think it was possible but he looks even better with that little pointy beard, like the Devil or something. Damn!”

“You know him?”

“Oh yeah! Came through here like, four months ago, something like that.”

I grab the photo of Alex Thompson and hand it to her. “Did this man also come through here, maybe about the same time, maybe later?”

She looks it over and thinks about it. “Naw, I don’t think so. Can’t be sure though, we get a lot of people through here and most of them are for just the night. I can’t remember all of them.”

“Then why are you certain about this man?”

“Are you kidding? Look at him! Wait a second.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her cell phone, swipes at the screen several times and then hands it to me. “Tell me that you could ever forget that face and body.”

Her phone is displaying a photo of a bare chested Mastiff, sans beard. His body is simply sculpted. A perfect male body and an incredibly handsome face. There’s little doubt it’s the same man. She reaches out, taking the phone back.

“You want to see something else?” she asks with a conspiratorial grin. Without waiting for a reply, she swipes the screen again and then hands the phone to Ridgeway, who immediately chokes, trying to catch her breath.

“Oh my GOD!” she croaks

“Yeah,” the girl giggles. “Ain’t it?”

“How’d you …?”

“In the hot tub.”

“Did you …?”

“Nooo,” she moans. “I wanted to, I mean, just look at it! But his wife and daughter had just been killed by a drunk driver. It wasn’t the right time, damn the luck.”

“What are you two talking about? Give me that phone,” I demand.

Ridgeway tightens her grip on the phone. “I don’t know if this is something you should really see.”

I hold out my right hand, snap my fingers and then open it, palm up. “Captain, there is little in this world I haven’t already seen.”

She hands the phone to me, placing it in the palm of my extended hand. “If you say so, Donna.”

I turn the screen of the phone towards me and look at the photo displayed there. And look at it. And look at it. And look at it. With a trembling finger and thumb, I touch the screen lightly to enlarge the photo and then, starting at the bottom, scroll up, up, up, up, up, up, and finally up to the top. I become aware that someone is calling my name.

“Ms. White?”

“Uuumm yes,” I answer, not taking my eyes from the screen of the phone.

“Ms. White!”

I look away from the screen. “Yes! What is it?”

Ridgeway reaches out and grips the phone but I don’t release it.

“The girl would like her phone back. It’s her phone and her pictures. Let go.”

I look down at my hand but Ridgeway’s palm covers the screen. I reluctantly loosen my grip, the spell broken. Ridgeway takes one more long, lingering look before returning the phone to the girl with a whispered apology of “Sorry.”

The girl gives her a saucy wink. “No prob. Happens all the time. I told Alex I’d delete these but I just couldn’t. How many times in a girl’s life are you going to run into something that big?! And who’d believe you if you didn’t have proof?”

“I sure as hell wouldn’t have,” says Ridgeway.

“There ya’ go,” she says, pocketing the phone.

“You said his name is Alex?” I ask.

“Yeah, Alex.”

“Any last name?”

“No. He wanted to keep off the records.”

“And you agreed?”

She reaches for her pocket. “Do I need to show you the pictures again?”

“No, I guess not.”

“So, why do you guys have Alex’s picture?”

My mind isn’t operating at full efficiency, still contemplating what I saw displayed on the screen of that phone so Ridgeway answers.

“Alex has become a bit of a celebrity in New York City. He’s got a magic act. We’re just doing background research. You know, the old ‘up close and personal’ angle, for a personality profile.”

“You mean like in ‘Us’ magazine?”

“Something like that, Ms….” I inquire.

“Me? I’m Julie Schmidt.”

“Well, Ms. Schmidt, is there anything else you can tell us about Alex?”

“Not that you could print in your magazine. Though, I will say one thing. The way he talked about it, I would NOT want to be those dudes driving the car that killed his family. When he catches up with them? Very bad news.”

CHAPTER FORTY

They were all gathered together in my apartment. Lee and I on the couch, Johnathyn in the chair next to us and Pegues sitting across from us on a chair borrowed from Ms. LaRouche. We had told her everything over supper. She took it well and seemed to believe it. She had left us to get keys to the two empty apartments. She is going to let everyone stay here until we’re finished.

Lee and I had cleaned up, just like the old days, before returning to the living room. The television was on but the sound on mute. We were watching to see if the video of my act made it on the local news broadcast.

“So, Leeanna, what do you think of New York City.”

“It is everything you said it was, Mother! The buildings so tall! So many people! The horseless carriages! Everything. At first, I was afraid to ride on the subway, I was afraid to even go underground, but when I saw how big the cavern was, I was amazed! One time, a man tried to take Father’s purse. He had a knife.”

“What?! Why didn’t someone tell me?”

“It was of no consequence,” says Johnathyn. “I barely broke his arm, though the other riders seemed to enjoy it. Many applauded.”

I can imagine. A subway rider’s fantasy come true.

“Where were you when my family was attacked, Pegues?”

“Searching for you. They refused to stay at the hotel, insisting on acting like tourists. I warned them but it did little good.”

I felt a momentary flush of pride. “How did you eventually find me?”

“We did not,” says Johnathyn. “It was clearly impossible with so many people. Miran said that you were quite skilled at hiding in the past so we relied on the rings. We waited until you found us.”

“How could you possibly expect …”

“I knew, Alexia. There was no doubt in my mind,” he says.

“Nor mine,” adds Leeanna as she snuggles against me.

“That is why they had to come with me, Alexia. Without them, there was no chance of success. We need to talk, you and I, before …”

Lee bolts upright, pointing at the television. “Mother! That’s you!” she shouts.

“I’ll be damned.” I grab the remote off the coffee table in front of me and hit the mute button.

“…most remarkable performances you will ever see in your life. I promise that this is all original, unedited video, except for time.”

The video rolls. They end up giving me almost three minutes at the end of the broadcast, the community interest segment. It’s pretty impressive work. The cameraman did a good job. At the end of the segment, the female anchor addresses the reporter.

“Amazing footage, Carol! Simply amazing.”

“It’s all completely true, though, to be honest, the video doesn’t do him justice. Lance Mastiff must be seen to be believed.”

“Are you a believer, Carol?”

She sqirms slightly in her seat. “And how,” she sighs. The show signs off and I switch the set off.

“So, what do you think?” I ask. “I want your honest opinions but you need to keep in mind that I’m working with very little magic. This world has a tiny amount of magic when compared with home. Now, you can all tell me how wonderful I am.”

Johnathyn and Leeanna laugh along with me, both of them full of praise, but Pegues says nothing.

“What do you think of Alexia’s performance, Pegues?” asks Johnathyn. “Was it not wonderful?”

“How did you find an area with so much magic in a city such as this, Alexia?”

“I didn’t find it, Pegues, I made it. I started small and built it from there.”

“How did you even start small?”

“I worked at it. There’s some belief in magic around this building so I worked and practiced on some simple stuff, took it out to the Park and began the shows. The more people who watched, the more believers. I added bigger tricks, got more believers. I’ve made a pretty strong hot spot out there right now and it’s not just a coincidence that the main office of The Consortium is Ground Zero.”

“You intend to finish what you started here, despite the desperate need for you to return?”

“Yes, Miran. I’m this close to finding the evidence I need. It won’t take more than a few days, at most. We can talk about my possible return home tomorrow. I need to get my rest tonight if I’m going to be on top of my game for the lunchtime show.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“I knew it! I knew Mastiff was Thompson but no one would believe me! Now we have the proof.”

Julie Schmidt had just left the room. I wanted to give her a few moments to return to the night office before celebrating.

“As soon as we can get back to New York, we can assemble a hit team and take him out!”

“We don’t have proof, Ms. White.”

“What do you mean; he called himself ‘Alex’ for God’s sake. What more do you need?”

“It could have been a coincidence.”

Why is Ridgeway raining on my parade? “Please. Do you really think it’s a coincidence? You can’t possibly be that stupid.”

“Don’t insult me, White. Have the odds shifted that Lance Mastiff and Alex Thompson are one and the same? Yeah, they have, but you don’t have proof. Without proof, your company is never going to authorize another death. They may not anyway, even with proof. Why kill the man?”

“Because he’s coming after us! After ME! He wants me dead! I was the one that passed on Dupree’s request, no, his DEMAND that the Thompson family be killed to remove the threat to his government.”

“Does Thompson know this for a fact?”

“Of course he does! He sat in my office over there and did his magic enhanced hacking until he found the request.”

“Why didn’t he kill you right then? He could have. He certainly dealt with Dupree, didn’t he?”

I still have nightmares about that. Haven’t been able to eat pork either.

“Maybe I escaped before he got the chance, Captain.”

“No, Alexia wanted us to leave as quickly as possible.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We both know The Consortium wasn’t going to clean up the mess they left behind over there and Alexia had no leverage to make them.”

“What about her threat to kill everyone there?”

“We were all expendable as far as Winthrop Group was concerned. You were probably too. Once Alexia decided to shut down production, she no longer had a bargaining chip and she knew it. She wanted us out of there immediately and we obliged. Killing you wouldn’t have sped up the process but it wouldn’t have slowed it down either. You were a freebie and she didn’t take it then. Why would he take it now?”

“So, you’re saying my death would have been inconsequential. Do I understand you, Captain?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

How could she think my death would mean nothing?! How can she ignore the current threat to MY life?! Perhaps she should know the truth about what her life is worth.

“Are you aware that The Winthrop Group has been systematically killing practically every soldier that served over there in order to protect the knowledge of the other universe and The Consortium’s possession of the technology to access that universe? Were you aware of that, Captain Ridgeway? Are their deaths inconsequential?”

“WHAT?!”

“Ever try to contact any of your old comrades since returning to this world? No, you couldn’t. They’re all on some kind of secret, hush hush, job in a far off, dangerous part of the world. Is that what you’ve been told?”

She was calmer than I expected.

“How do YOU know this, Ms. White?”

Suddenly, mentioning this didn’t seem like a smart idea. “I … uugghh … I don’t actually know it to be absolutely true. I’ve heard rumors, just rumors. Nothing substantiated.”

Ridgeway slowly leans towards me, subtly flexing the surprisingly substantial muscles in her arms, shoulders and back. Her threat is clear as is the anger in her eyes. “You didn’t think it was worthwhile to try and substantiate rumors about the wholesale murder of people you worked with for months at a stretch?”

I don’t usually make mistakes like this. Letting my emotions get the better of me only leads to trouble. Hope I can talk my way out of it.

“Captain Ridgeway, I was and still am in the same boat you are. It’s not just my corporate future at risk here. People at my level can disappear just as easily as the common soldier and for the same reasons.”

“Yet, you did nothing about it until the bell tolled for thee. I guess I should have expected as much from management.”

“I may be management but I’m just middle management. I don’t create policy.”

“No, you don’t!” she spat, “but you sure as hell could have let us know what was going on!”

“And then what happens? I simply disappear, an accident of some kind. They’re bigger than the both of us, Ridgeway.”

“Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t. We won’t know until we try. What do we have to lose?”

We? “You’ll still help me?”

She stares, clearly considering if I’m worth her support. She finally raises her right hand, pointing the index finger at me

“If you keep your job at The Consortium, I expect you to help all the grunts who spent time over there. If you don’t, I’ll come for you. Understand?”

One death threat at a time.

“I understand perfectly, Captain. Wake the pilot, we’ve got a flight to make and DNA to gather.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

I’d left Lance and his friends upstairs, returning to my closed store to think about all that I’d been told. An entire universe driven by magic! It was almost inconceivable. If I hadn’t read their auras, I wouldn’t have believed it. I could not sense any subterfuge, certainly not from the boy or the tall woman. The shorter woman was a different story. It may have been her basic nature but she was much less trustworthy, though she mentioned little that didn’t support everything the others said.

I’d love to see that world, a world where my kind are respected, honored even, though apparently they are also hunted. I guess no one cares about you until you can make a difference. Then you draw attention, both good and bad.

This universe may be the better place to live. To a ripe old age. I hear someone walking down the stairs in the back hallway and then down the hallway towards the showroom. Towards me. I step back behind the counter into the shadows and wait a few seconds. The door to the hall slowly opens. A woman sticks her head into the showroom.

“Mistress LaRouche?”

I reach over and switch on the lights.

“Over here, Mirantha. Or is it Miran?”

“Which ever you prefer, Mistress.”

I step closer to her, giving her face a careful review. It is difficult to believe that she was a man two weeks ago. She notices my interest and smiles.

“You have questions, Mistress LaRouche?”

“So many, Mirantha. So many. Where do I start?”

“Where ever you prefer, Mistress.”

“Why are you down here?”

Her eyes hold mine for a moment then she breaks away, slowly strolling up a nearby aisle, viewing the merchandise on display.

“I felt like I was intruding on family time. Alex, Johnathyn and Leeanna wanted to spend time together as a family.”

“Did they tell you that?”

“No, Mistress, I could sense it though.”

“In your world, Alex Thompson is Alexia Tyber. Married to Johnathyn Tyber, step-mother to Leeanna Tyber and is a powerful witch. Correct?”

She continues to wander the aisles. “Mostly correct, Mistress. In the end, Alexia was the most powerful witch in my world. By far.”

“She had no peers?”

“None that were known, Mistress.”

“What about this Witch’s Council you mentioned?”

“It is a group of 13 witches. When both Opulessa and Alexia were there, they were all much stronger. With both of them gone, they are much less so. Due to their inability to cooperate, their power to influence events is greatly reduced.” She picks up a monkey’s skull, checks it out, returns it to the table and continues silently browsing.

“So now, with everybody over here, Alex returns to being a man but Johnathyn is now a woman and Leeanna a boy. Alex is no longer a powerful witch but is now a wizard.”

“So it would seem, Mistress. I am referring to the part about him being a wizard. That Johnathyn is now a woman and Leeanna a boy is indisputable. On my world, only women are capable of wielding magic. It seems that on your world, both men and women are able to do so but there is very little magic to wield.”

“A problem that Alex, as Lance Mastiff, seems to have solved.”

“Apparently so.”

“He said it was your idea.”

“Not exactly, Mistress. I thought that the change from a woman with great power to a man with no power might be too much for him. I know that it would have been a problem for me. I also knew he was going to try to avenge the deaths of his family and would need any advantage he might be able to get. I believed that he should seek out whatever magic he could find in this world and told him so. I never thought he would accomplish what he has.”

I could tell from the tone of her voice that this discovery was not a pleasant surprise.

“Why does this worry you?”

She stops, quickly snapping her head around to glare at me.

“What magic is this? Are you in my mind?”

“No magic. Woman’s intuition. Plus, any good shop owner can read a potential customer. You’re clearly worried about something, something you did not expect to find.”

Mirantha carefully approaches me, pulling a stool next to mine and sits down. “Mistress, I need your advice. I am concerned about Alexia. You are her friend and know her better than I.”

“I have known Alex since he was a little boy but I’ve never met Alexia.”

“They are one and the same.”

“Not necessarily so. Are you the same person while in this universe as you were in your universe?”

“Of course I am!”

She sounded a bit defensive when she said that but I wasn’t in a position to challenge her.

“If you say so. What is your concern?”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Can I be honest with this witch? She is a friend of Alex. If I say too much, she may alert him, revealing what I tell her. Despite what she said, she may be able to read my thoughts, rendering my ability to hold my tongue useless. This is a dangerous talk but I need additional information.

“We told you about Queen Opulessa, how powerful she was and how she abused that power.”

“It appeared that the men running the government also abused their power.”

“No doubt, Mistress, but I do not have any say about those men now. I do with Alex.”

“Why would Alex abuse his power?”

“He is young. He is idealistic. He is a radical.”

“And you are a thief. Or so I’ve been told.”

“I am a patriot, Mistress. I fear for the future of my world. I desire to do what is best for my world. If I can do that and make a small profit at the same time, what is wrong with that?”

“On our world, we say that a man can not serve two masters.”

“I have always served many masters. Perhaps not all of them equally well. In this case, I am afraid that Alex has become too powerful for my world.”

“I don’t understand. He hasn’t done anything remotely like what he did over there.”

“You are correct but he is doing more over in this world than any witch could do if they were brought to this world, including Opulessa. Almost all of our witches could not do on my world what I saw Alex do on your television in this world. Somehow, he has gotten stronger.”

“I may have an explanation. Do you have sports on your world? Athletic competitions?”

“Some regions have competitions between the younger men. Riding, shooting, running, that sort of thing.”

“This world has the same only larger. Men who race long distances will train in high altitude cities because there is less oxygen. They stress their systems until they can perform under adverse conditions. When they come down off the mountains to race where oxygen levels are normal, they perform much better because they are more efficient than those who trained where oxygen was plentiful. They learned how to do more with less.”

“I think I understand, Mistress. Yes, I’m afraid not only of her new found power but what she will do with it. I was sent here to persuade her to return with me, to be the salvation of my world but what if she isn’t the salvation but is instead the means to its destruction?”

“Are you truly afraid of that?”

“Mistress, you have not seen what I have seen. Witches at the level of Opulessa and Alexia are only limited by their imaginations. Alexia has experienced so much more than anyone on my world, has such a better understanding of how things really work thanks to her kom-pu-ter and is now much stronger than she was when she left. I am at a loss as to what I should do.”

“And you want me to tell you what to do?”

“I seek your advice, Mistress, but I will decide what I will do.”

“Not Alex?”

“It will be his choice in the end, but I will choose to make the offer.”

“Hasn’t the offer already been made?”

“It can always be revoked.”

“How could you do that?”

I would just leave, taking the portal generator with me but I dare not tell her that.

“I would explain it to Alex. I am certain he would understand.”

She smiles with her mouth but not her eyes, laughing lightly.

“Yes, I’m sure he would. We are both on the horns of a dilemma, Mirantha. I would not want to deny Alex his chance to fulfill his destiny by saving your world. Have no doubt, he would do his best but he is human. Humans are weak, we rationalize, we’re selfish, we have egos. I can’t predict success or failure but I know he would try. My problem is that he could also help change my world. With his abilities, he could help restore magic in this universe. Look what he has accomplished in such a short time! He’s young, handsome, and articulate. He could continue to build on what he started. There may be no limit to what he could accomplish.”

“Or he could abuse that position in your world, Mistress.”

“As I said, he is human. So am I and so are you. None of us are gods.”

“Alexia could be close to a god if she returns to my world. What is your advice to me, Mistress?”

She turns her head away, looking off into the distance, lightly tapping a finger on the top of her shop counter. The finger stops and she fixes her eyes on mine.

“My advice, Mirantha Pegues, is to complete your mission. Let Alex choose his own fate.”