Crimes of Magic: The Witch's Artifact

  Chapter 13

  Gregor was accompanied by his minion dressed in burgundy. The minion had a leather sheath attached to his sash with the handle of what looked like a long knife or short sword sticking out of the top. On his back was a quiver of arrows, and in his hands he held a short bow with an arrow nocked in the string. His eyes were darting back and forth, looking for danger.

  “You have magic circle in bedroom, Mr. Cowboy,” Gregor said. Draped over one arm, he had my tarp with the inked circles. “Made translocation easy. I am thinking you are not just cowboy. Where is lovely detective?”

  “She’s not here. This is my house.”

  “Of course is your house. Did you not think we would find half handkerchief you left in dungeon?”

  Leaving that homing beacon in Gregor’s basement had seemed like such a good idea at the time. I never thought about the half I took with me acting as a homing beacon for Gregor.

  “Drop knife,” the burgundy minion ordered.

  I dropped knife.

  “Hands behind back,” Gregor demanded as he held up a pair of plastic manacles. They looked like two giant nylon cable ties formed into two loops joined at the locking ends.

  While the minion covered me with his bow and arrow, Gregor fastened my hands behind my back.

  “How did your sidekick get that sword through?” I asked.

  “Ceramic blade, wooden handle, same with arrows. This time I am prepared.”

  Gregor was starting to seem less like Boris Badenov and more like a Russian Mafioso.

  “Now, for last time, where is detective?”

  “She’s still at her house. I haven’t seen her today.”

  “Where is house?”

  I gave Gregor a fictitious address on Oak Street. He wrote the address in a small notebook and replaced it in his pocket.

  “Very well. In case you are lying, you are coming with us.”

  “Are we going to her house?” I asked, careful to avoid using Rachel’s name.

  “No. Translocation limit is three. We get her later. You have car?”

  “Yes, the keys are in a bowl by the door.”

  Gregor checked the bowl and said, “Ah, BMW. Where is parked?”

  “Just outside.”

  “Very good,” he declared.

  Gregor laid out the tarp on the kitchen floor just inside the doorway, and he began placing the magical symbol cards inside the circle.

  “Those look just like the cards you used to teleport into Beth’s store.”

  “Of course—is what we use.”

  “Let me see if I can remember what you did,” I said, and I began reciting the instructions for invoking the teleportation spell.

  “Very good Mr. Cowboy. You have good memory. Now step in circle.”

  The minion and I joined Gregor in the circle, Gregor made the final adjustment, and shimmer, flash, shimmer, we were back in his lair.

  Gregor retrieved his paraphernalia and put the objects in one of the worktable drawers.

  The burgundy minion laid his bow on the worktable and placed the quiver beside it. He opened a drawer and took out a black pistol. Training the weapon on my back, he followed me, and I followed Gregor out into the hallway and into the library.

  In the library, a tall, lean, stately man dressed in an expensive-looking charcoal gray suit sat in one of the armchairs. His thick white hair was combed straight back from his forehead, and his eyes were a piercing gray-blue. He appeared to be in his early seventies, but his face had a healthy, lightly tanned complexion.

  “So, this is one of your intruders,” he said with an English accent.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “I am Master Wizard Seth. You have already met my associate Gregor and his emissary, Vlad.”

  I guess “emissary” sounded better than “minion,” but I thought “minion” was more appropriate.

  “And what is your name, sir?” Seth asked.

  “I’m Robert Walker.”

  “Vlad,” the Master Wizard said, “unbind Mr. Walker’s hands. He is no danger to us here.”

  Vlad cut the plastic manacles that bound my hands behind my back.

  “I understand, Mr. Walker, that you came here with a young woman. Is that correct?”

  “Actually, Gregor kidnapped us separately, but we left together.”

  I was just stalling for time. I was hoping against hope that Rachel would discover that I had been kidnapped and would find some way to rescue me. I knew she would need some time.

  “Your associate stole something from my daughter,” I continued. I decided to keep up the pretense of parenthood and not mention the murder. “We were trying to get it back.”

  “Ah yes,” Seth intoned. “The Wand of Aerten. How did your daughter come into possession of the famous Bender of Destiny?”

  I sensed that my fabricated story was trapping me in a corner of deceit.

  “It belonged to her biological mother. It meant a lot to her.”

  “Your daughter is the daughter of Siobhan of Westmeath?”

  He pronounced the name “Sha-VON.” Oh what a tangled web I had woven. Mental note: Lying is not my forte.

  “I don’t know her real parents’ names. We adopted Beth.”

  “So you are not aware of the nature of the Wand?”

  “No, it was just a memento of her mother. We thought it was an antique of sorts, maybe from India.”

  “Are you not a thaumaturge?”

  “No. I’m not a thaumaturge. Gregor said he is a thaumaturge, but I’m not.”

  “Then how were you able to translocate out of this house?”

  “Gregor taught me how. I just did what he taught me. He said it was opening a secret ninja passageway.”

  “Gregor, did you teach Mr. Walker the Spell of Translocation?”

  “I did not teach him, Master. He watched me cast spell. It was just monkey business—imitation. He was just lucky. He is cowboy.”

  “And what of the woman, Gregor. Did she learn to copycat the spell?”

  “No, no, Master. She knows nothing. I kept her in closet, then in dungeon. Cowboy says she is detective, not magician.”

  “Is this true, Mr. Walker?”

  “Yes. I hired her to help me find my daughter’s wand thing that Gregor stole.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Gregor knows. I gave him her address.”

  “Is this true, Gregor?”

  “Yes, Master. I write down address, and I know where are Cowboy’s car and keys. I have address and vehicle.”

  “Very good. Now, Mr. Walker, what is your profession?”

  “I’m a retired physicist.”

  “You seem young to be retired.”

  “Well, in that case, I’m unemployed.”

  “I see, and what do you know of magic?”

  “Nothing. Like I said, I’m a physicist, not a magician. I don’t even believe in magic, I’m a man of science.” I was still trying to play dumb.

  “And you believe that magic is not science?”

  “Of course magic is not science. Magic is superstition. Science is reality.”

  “Have you ever considered, Mr. Walker, that reality is not what you believe it to be?”

  “Reality is completely objective. As a scientist, we perform empirical tests to make sure that we understand reality. There is no ‘belief’ involved. Science is rational.”

  “Is it not true that your scientific theories have become progressively more complicated to encompass the seemingly contradictory results of your experiments. Has not quantum theory been invented to explain mysterious results? Has not string theory been invented to try to reconcile quantum theory with classical physics?”

  “Sure. That’s how science works. If reality doesn’t match theory, then you have to change the theory.”

  “Do you not think that your scientific theories have become too complicated and convoluted. Shouldn’t
you be able to describe reality in a much simpler way?”

  “Einstein said that everything should be made as simple as possible, but not simpler. Reality is too complex for simplistic explanations.”

  “You are so conventional, Mr. Walker. Did not Shakespeare write ‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy’?”

  “Hamlet was superstitious.”

  “Magic is not superstition, Mr. Walker. Magic is science. Your complicated but limited science is unaware of the true nature of our reality. Vlad, lock this man in the basement, but search him first. Make sure he has no devices. I must consider our course of action.”

  Vlad marched me down the stairs to the basement again and locked me into the cage after searching the pockets of my robe and sweatpants.

  “What is the Bender of Destiny that Master Seth mentioned?” I asked Vlad.

  “No talk,” Vlad replied, and he went back upstairs.

  I guess Vlad wasn’t much of a conversationalist, at least not in English.

  Here I was, back in the “dungeon,” but this time without a pocketful of magical objects. Seth was obviously a more strategic thinker than was Gregor.