The Wizards of Central Park West_Ultimate Urban Fantasy Read online

  “I saw…the whole thing,” Frisha panted as she tried to get her breath back.

  “You were a witness?” Eddie asked.

  Marlowe touched Eddie’s arm. “Not necessarily, Eddie. What did you see, Frisha?”

  “T'were Trefoil in the park, last night,” she clasped her hands to her eyes. “Oh, ‘tis terrible.”

  “By himself?” Marlowe worried.

  “Was that part of your plan?” Eddie challenged.

  “No, we had decided to hunt the creature down in daylight,” Marlowe said.

  “There was no record of an event last night…” Bankrock stated as he leafed through the pages on his pad.

  “Yes!” Frisha croaked. “I mean, no, I mean…I don’t know. He wert attacked, and I know not if he be alive or dead. The vision left me fore I could tell.”

  “Eddie, would you mind getting her a cup of coffee, please?” Marlowe requested, as he patted her hand.

  “Extra cream and sugar,” Frisha added as Eddie ran into the breakfast room. He quickly poured and brought out a cup of the amber liquid balanced on a gleaming white saucer.

  “Thou art a love,” Frisha slurped at the cup in a most unladylike fashion.

  “So, let me get this straight. You saw Trefoil…in a vision?” Eddie prompted to get the old woman back on track.

  “Yes. T'wert staring in me crystal, and there t’was Trefoil, fine as you please.”

  “In your crystal?” Eddie repeated.

  “She is a prophetess,” Bankrock explained, “of rather great renown.”

  “So, I’ve been told,” Eddie concurred.

  “Thou art a dear to say that,” Frisha licked her lips. “He t’was in the park, and all at once there wert someone with him, laughing.”

  She gave a deep, menacing, masculine chuckle.

  “Then, Trefoil, he leapt out of the way, as a blast of fire slashed through the air and lit a bush aflame, right t’where he’d been standing!”

  Marlowe pulled another of the sizable chairs over with one hand, as if it weighed nothing, and sat across from Frisha.

  Bankrock leaned closer.

  “The street lamp went out o’er his head and he lifted his staff to the ready.”

  Frisha rose from her seat theatrically and held up her wooden spoon to demonstrate. “So, our dear, brave Trefoil calls out, ‘Show yourself!’ Just like that!” Frisha collapsed back into the chair. “He’s so brave, and now he be gone. All is lost!”

  She began to wail with a terrible croaking sound.

  “Frisha, please!” Marlowe sympathized, attempting to calm her. “You must tell us what happened!”

  “Yes,” Bankrock found his voice. “We must know every detail!”

  She extracted the world’s dirtiest handkerchief from one of her pockets and blew her nose with a noise like a congested elephant.

  “O’ course, I’m sorry, Marlowe, I get so afeard,” she fretted.

  “Go on, dear lady,” Marlowe encouraged her. Eddie pulled out his own notebook and began to take notes.

  “I saw him hold up his hands, and make a protective bubble of blue light— you know blue is his staff’s color—”

  “I know, Frisha, please,” Marlowe urged.

  “So, he’s standing there,” Frisha replaced the filthy rag up her sleeve, like a lady at a medieval pageant, “and nothing happens. He just peered up at the trees. And then, I saw it! A serpent, so small and quick as to be unnoticed slid down the trees, fine as you like, and wiggles sideways towards him.”

  “A snake?” Eddie repeated, still writing. “What kind of snake?”

  “Very small and red,” Frisha said. “Trefoil watches the trees, he sees not the snake, so I yell out, ‘Look out!’”

  “Did he hear you?” Bankrock inquired.

  “No, ‘twas no time,” Frisha whined, her eyes wet with tears. “Quick as a wink this snake bites him on the leg!” She snapped her fingers for effect. “Then that voice calls out, ‘You’ve lost your edge, wizard!’”

  She spoke in a mock deep voice, which sounded very male and demonic.

  “So Trefoil yells out, ‘Face me, monster,’ but his leg is already beginning to swell. I sees him raise his staff to purge the poison, and he sends white light into the wound.”

  Eddie turned to Marlowe “Is that normal? I mean, for you guys?”

  “Absolutely,” Bankrock interjected. “Standard practice to cleanse any poison, especially from a metaphysical creature.”

  “But, he din’t!” Frisha said, as she became upset again. “The light traveled into the wound, then Trefoil jiggled and quaked as a man having a fit. Then the deep voice calls out, ‘You weren’t much of a challenge.’ Trefoil falls to the ground—and it looked like he was in…in…”

  “What, Frisha?” Marlowe begged.

  Her voice lowered to a whisper. “As if he fell into the Dark Sleep.”

  Marlowe collapsed into his chair heavily, a look of panic on his face. “The Dark Sleep,” he repeated in a solemn undertone.

  Bankrock, who’d gone so pale he was almost the color of Bob, mouthed the words, but no sound issued from his lips.

  Eddie frowned. “What is it, what’s the Dark Sleep?”

  Marlowe blinked and tried to focus.

  Bankrock spoke in a tight, quiet voice, “A place between life and death, and once there it takes more than the power of a single wizard to bring you back.”

  “Aye,” Frisha blubbered, “and some do not come back at all.”

  “This explains why I was not aware of this attack,” Bankrock said. “It was poison, not the use of magick.”

  Eddie took the woman by the shoulders and turned her to him. “Frisha, can you tell us where Trefoil is?”

  “I cannot,” Frisha said. “As soon as I saw what happened, I fell to a swoon. I only awoke a few minutes ago and ran right here.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Marlowe said.

  “I know not,” Frisha shook her head. “I think this vision did something to me. My second sight ‘tis all confused.” She slipped to the edge of the chair and grabbed Marlowe’s knees. “Am I bewitched?”

  “I warned you of this,” Bankrock snapped at Marlowe and adjusted his glasses. “The level nine magickal disturbance from Riftstone’s murder is creating shock waves that will affect other prophets.”

  “Don’t panic, Frisha,” Marlowe encouraged. “We’re safe in the daylight. We must find Trefoil.”

  “Aye,” Frisha gave an unenthusiastic nod, “as long as you’re there to protect me, Marlowe.”

  “Yes, good lady. Now, have you eaten?”

  “I’m too distraught to eat,” Frisha lamented. “But if ye have breakfast laid out, I suppose, to keep me strength up…”

  “Please help yourself,” Marlowe comforted as she rose. “It’s all in there, I’ll join you in a moment.”

  “You’re too kind, Marlowe,” Frisha lumbered into the breakfast room.

  “Marlowe!” Bankrock turned on the older man. “This is unacceptable!”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You are coven master, the bearer of the staff of Spirit, and the leader of the Five. Do something!”

  “I intend to,” Marlowe vowed in a calm, but stern voice. “I cannot understand why Trefoil went to confront the demon last night on his own! It is utter madness.”

  “When word of this gets out there will be panic throughout the coven,” Bankrock surmised. “Some may accept that Riftstone was killed, but now Trefoil? No one is safe!”

  “We must think of ways to help our situation,” Marlowe rubbed his forehead with one hand. “Running about like beheaded chickens is not the solution.”

  “But the danger—” Bankrock started.

  “We must find Trefoil,” Marlowe grabbed Bankrock’s arm. “Can you do that?”

  “What is he, a bloodhound?” Eddie asked.

  Bankrock glared at Eddie, his eyes still a bit wild. “With effort, I can locate any wizard within the coven. It i
s one of my talents.” He took out a small crystal ball from his tweed jacket pocket. “I only hope my faculties haven’t been affected as well.”

  “How can I help?” Eddie suggested.

  “Ah!” Marlowe considered. “Perhaps it would be best if you did return to your duties.”

  “How about this,” Eddie said. “I’ll check with the precinct, to see if there is any reports about Trefoil or any homeless guy in the park.”

  “Mayhaps the police can help,” Bankrock said hopefully. “But of course, do not tell them what you know.”

  “Right,” Eddie agreed. “Like, I would go to my captain and tell him that the homeless guy was murdered by a demon, who attacked another guy when he turned himself into a snake. That way he can put me in a nice padded cell.”

  “You see the problem we face, Eddie,” Marlowe pulled Eddie away from Bankrock and toward the front door. “It is difficult to know the truth and still live among mortals.”

  Eddie stared at him, unable to think of anything to say.

  Marlowe went on. “You need to know one other thing. Abraxas attacked Riftstone and Trefoil because they were two of the Five.”

  “Yeah, I get that,” Eddie said, as they reached the door.

  Marlowe’s eyes narrowed. “Now that you carry the Staff of Fire, he will seek to kill you as well.”

  Seventeen

  A police station is always hectic. Phones ring, witnesses are interviewed, collared criminals demand their rights, and voices yell above the din. However, for the trained cop, the sounds become a background canvas on which their work is painted.

  Eddie Berman walked into chaos which would overwhelm the average man, and barely noticed it. His world had undergone a complete shift in the last thirty-six hours. What he believed was real had been forcibly altered.

  It was a huge surprise to Eddie when he walked out of Marlowe’s front door, to find himself coming out of an impressive brownstone on the corner of 85th Street and Central Park West. The four story brick edifice was built with a huge turret that jutted from the facade like a fairy-tale tower. However, like the box where Frisha resided, Marlowe’s house was much larger on the inside than what was possible based on the outside.

  Eddie immediately got his bearings and walked the block to the 86th Street transverse road. His mind drifted to a question beyond his first lesson in magic and the attack on Trefoil: what would he tell his wife? This was followed by the equally close second: what would he tell his partner?

  Eddie never lied to either of them before. But what other choice did he have? He could barely believe what he’d seen. How could his partner or spouse accept such things secondhand? His daddy had an expression for times like these: “When shit flies, it hits everything.”

  Eddie was suddenly choked up by a wish that he could sit down with his old man and talk. He would be the only one who would listen to Eddie’s tale and actually give him advice he could use. Or would this situation be even too much for Lawrence Berman?

  He missed his daddy so much some days.

  Walking up the stairs to the detectives’ room, Eddie saw Luis behind his desk writing in his own small notebook.

  Luis didn’t even look up as Eddie sat at his desk across from him.

  “You gonna tell me about it, or what?” Luis snapped, his eyes focused on the movement of his pencil.

  “Tell you about what?” Eddie replied, aware that his response was completely lame.

  “You say you can’t meet with me, you gotta go alone—your wife calls me because you’re not home, and now you stroll in like nothin’s happened.” Luis raised his head. “You wanna talk?”

  “There isn’t much to say,” Eddie declared. “Last night turned out to be a dead-end. In fact, every part of this case goes nowhere. I think you were right. List it as unsolved and file it.”

  Luis sat back in his chair, his eyes never leaving Eddie’s. But the expression softened, shifted from anger to a befuddled astonishment.

  “Let me get this straight,” Luis replied. “Eddie Berman is telling me to give up on a case? What happened to not wanting to settle?”

  “It happens,” Eddie griped. “No leads, no witnesses, weird forensics. Maybe we have to let it go.”

  Eddie lowered his head and picked up the nearest folder on his desk and began to peruse it. There was a sudden “SLAM” as Luis threw his entire caseload on Eddie’s desk.

  “Okay, partner,” Luis’s voice was quiet but intense. “What’s going on?”

  Eddie sat up, still startled. “Nothing’s going on!”

  “Well, my bullshit detector has gone into the red zone!” Vasquez forced himself to keep his voice low. He glanced around the room to make sure that they were not being watched by any of the other detectives. “You don’t go home, you lie to your wife. What you got? Some chippy on the side?”

  Eddie’s face flushed. “Absolutely not! You think that’s what this is about?”

  “I don’t know what it’s about, ‘cause you won’t tell me,” Luis leaned closer to Eddie. “But when a man starts lying, that’s the first place to start. If I’m wrong, why don’t you straighten me out?”

  Eddie exhaled with force, and stared at his partner. Here was a man who once took a bullet meant for him.

  “Luis, I…it’s just…,” Eddie’s mind raced to try to give his partner something that was true. “I’m not having an affair.”

  “Good thing, because I would be the first one to kick your sorry ass,” Luis threatened.

  “But things—strange things-are happening because of this case,” Eddie explained.

  “Oh, yeah?” Luis said, a bit placated. “Like that homeless lady yesterday?”

  “Yeah.” Eddie sighed. “I think maybe you were right. This case is a no-win. Let’s pass it on to the Feds and let Wilcox botch it instead of us.”

  “You want to give a case to that son-of-a-bitch?”

  “It can’t be solved.”

  Luis sat back in his chair, his eyebrows heavy with suspicion. “You gonna tell me where you were last night?”

  Eddie blew air out again. “It’s a long story.”

  Luis looked past Eddie and said in a low voice, “Well, you’d better make it short, because here comes someone else who wants to know.”

  Eddie turned to see Cerise as she strode straight toward them. Her jaw jutted with determination and Eddie could see circles under her eyes from lack of sleep, even with her dark skin. She’d obviously been crying.

  Damn, Eddie thought, I can’t lie to her. I’ll tell her the truth even if she thinks I’m crazy.

  She approached Eddie slowly, like a female praying mantis preparing to spring and consume her mate alive.

  Then, a most peculiar event happened at the same moment. Hank, the evidence clerk, entered the room. He was reading a file and didn’t even notice the oncoming freight train that was Cerise Berman. He walked right past her to Eddie’s desk.

  “Hey, Lew,” Hank said, “you need to sign here, even though you didn’t take that evidence yesterday.”

  Eddie looked at the paper open in the man’s hand as his wife drew closer.

  “You must’ve been worn out yesterday,” Hank smiled. “I got here around five AM, and you were sacked out in the locker room.”

  Eddie turned his head so fast it almost gave him whiplash.

  “What?”

  Cerise stopped dead and listened intently.

  “Yeah,” Hank went on, oblivious to Eddie’s wife. “I got here and there you were sleeping like a baby. Didn't have the heart to wake you. Bet your neck’ll be stiff today. Sign here.”

  Hank pointed at a line as Eddie stood open-mouthed. As if in a dream, he pulled out his pen and signed his name.

  “You saw me?” Eddie marveled.

  “Yeah. What happened? You and your old lady have a fight?” Hank chortled, his back still to Cerise who stood as shocked as her husband.

  “No, I was just, you know, tired,” Eddie wondered how on earth this happened
.

  “Don’t make it a habit,” Hank stated as he closed the folder. “Captain frowns on cops sacking out in the station, unless you are in a bunk room and you signed up for it. I don’t want to report you, Lew.”

  “Thanks, Hank, I, uh, appreciate that,” Eddie stammered. Hank shrugged, turned, and walked past Cerise. Her face had undergone a surprising transformation. Gone was the tight mouth and angry glare.

  Eddie carefully approached her. “Hey, baby.”

  “Oh, Eddie, I’m sorry. I was coming here to yell at you, and you were so tired—” she fell against his shoulder and hugged him fiercely. “I’m so stupid sometimes!”

  “Is that where you ended up, Eddie?” Luis rose from his desk and drew closer to the couple. “Jeez, I didn’t think to look down there.”

  Eddie smiled. A miracle had just taken place.

  “I made a spectacle of myself,” Cerise pulled a tissue from her purse to blot her nose and eyes. “And Luis, I bothered you last night—”

  “It was no problem, Cerise,” Luis comforted. “We both worry about this guy.”

  “But I thought—I mean—” Cerise stammered. “Oh, Eddie, I thought you were with another woman.”

  Eddie held his wife at arm’s length. “Baby, I would never, ever—”

  “I feel like a fool. I’ll go to work. Will you be home for dinner?”

  Eddie nodded emphatically, overjoyed that this problem solved itself without any action on his part.

  “Lieutenant Berman?” said a short, bearded man.

  Eddie turned toward the familiar voice, and found Marlowe as he stood nearby. He now wore a conservative dark suit with a multicolored tie so bright it practically lit the room. But, if one possessed the ability to transform clothing at will, one might change clothes a lot.

  “Yes,” Eddie found himself at a loss as to the correct way to react.

  “I may have located that witness you asked me about,” Marlowe said. “We spoke last night? Did you get home all right? I was concerned, you looked tired.”

  “Oh,” Eddie gave a quick look to Cerise, “yeah.”

  “I’ll let you get to work, Eddie.” Cerise pulled away.

  “I hope you don’t mind, officer,” Marlowe went on, “but those people you asked about are only available tonight. Do you still wish to question them? Or have you changed your mind?”