Stalking The Zombie: Fables of Tonight Page 15

  “Who did you—?” Suddenly Winnifred frowned. “Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “Not the Grundy!”

  “He’d be able to tell us who knows enough magic to pull this off,” said Mallory.

  “He’s the most powerful demon on the East Coast— and in case it’s slipped your mind, he’s your mortal enemy!”

  “Maybe he doesn’t like someone else practicing magic,” suggested Mallory. “Maybe we can make a deal. He may be Evil Incarnate, but he’s got his own sense of honor. He’s never broken his word to me.”

  “His last word was that he was going to disembowel you slowly and painfully,” she reminded him.

  Mallory shrugged. “A poetic metaphor.”

  “From a demon who never breaks his word?”

  “All right,” he said with a sigh. “I won’t talk to the Grundy. What do you suggest?”

  “Our obvious first step is to go to the circus and look around,” said Winnifred. “I’m not without my contacts there.”

  “You have contacts at the circus?” said Mallory, surprised.

  “I was a white hunter for forty years before I retired and you saved me from a life of boredom,” she reminded him. “I’m the one who captured half the beasts in the circus.”

  “I don’t suppose any of them practice magic?”

  “Don’t be silly, John Justin,” she said. “They’re just dumb brutes.”

  “Lions and tigers and the like?” asked Mallory.

  “Nothing so mundane,” she said. “I brought back every gorgon, gryphon, dragon and harpy you’ll see there, as well as some of the more exotic creatures.”

  Mallory stared at her with open admiration. “I’m suddenly remembering why I wouldn’t let you say No when I offered to make you my partner.” He got to his feet. “We might as well get started.”

  Ninety pounds of feminine muscle and fur launched itself through the air and landed on his back.

  “I’m going too!” said Felina.

  “I don’t think so,” said Mallory. “We’ll probably be there more than five minutes, and I’ve never seen you behave yourself for five minutes at a time.”

  “But I’m your friend, John Justin.”

  “Only when you’re hungry,” said Mallory. “You’ll just be a nuisance.”

  “No, I won’t,” Felina assured him. “Oh, I’ll desert you when the going gets rough—but in the meantime I’m your devoted friend.”

  “I don’t suppose you could devote yourself to getting off my back,” said Mallory.

  “Yes, John Justin,” she purred, leaping lightly to the floor.

  “You’re going to listen to orders and do exactly as I say, right?”

  ‘Yes, John Justin,” she purred.

  “And you’ll behave yourself?”

  “Yes, John Justin,” she purred.

  “Why don’t I believe you?” he said.

  ‘Yes, John Justin,” she purred.

  Mallory and Winnifred exchanged looks. “Okay,” he said, “let’s get this show on the road.”

  Winnifred walked through the doorway. Mallory was about to follow her when Felina leaped onto his back again.

  “Prove your love,” she purred. “Carry me.”

  The Ringling & Bailey Barnum Brothers Circus was ensconced in an abandoned hockey stadium. Here and there were small crosses commemorating where various hockey players had died in fights, or from minor infractions like high-sticking, knifing, mugging, or shooting with an unregistered handgun.

  The main arena now housed three rings, plus rigging for all the high-wire and trapeze acts. It was mid-morning, and some of the performers were running through their routines. Winnifred seemed to know her way around, so Mallory fell into step behind her. Finally, after greeting a number of old friends, she stopped and turned to him.

  “I think we can cover a lot more ground if we split up, John Justin,” she said. “I’ll start interviewing the performers, and you can concentrate on the sideshow.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Mallory. “Come along, Felina.”

  “Look at those juicy birds!” whispered Felina, pointing above the center ring.

  “Those are trapeze artists,” said Mallory. “Come on now.”

  He reached out, grabbed her hand, and began walking off toward the sideshow.

  “I wonder how much white meat they have?” mused Felina.

  “I never knew you to be that fussy about what you ate before,” noted Mallory.

  She pointed to the three flyers and the catcher. “I never had that many to choose from before.”

  They walked out of the main area and into the broad corridor, some sixty feet wide, that circled it. The corridor was lined with sideshow attractions and kiosks offering everything from beer to protection against deadly spells. One man was selling nothing except umbrellas guaranteed to protect the buyer from rains of toads.

  “The all-seeing all-knowing Madame Nadine will guess your time of death for a dollar,” offered a woman in glowing robes as Mallory and Felina passed by.

  “I’m still alive,” said Mallory.

  “I meant your first death,” explained Madame Nadine, as if speaking to a child. “For another dollar, I’ll guess your height, weight, and political affiliation.”

  “What if you’re wrong?”

  “Then you’ll feel smug and superior all day long.”

  “But I’ll also feel two dollars poorer,” said Mallory.

  “What do you want for two dollars, Mac?” she said irritably. “For twenty bucks I’ll do an Irish jig and sing ‘The Ring Dang Doo,’ if that’s more to your taste.”

  Mallory pulled a hundred dollar bill out of his wallet and held it up.

  “For that,” said Madame Nadine, “you get three sexual perversions and a player to be named later.”

  “Not interested,” said Mallory.

  “That’s odd,” she said. “You don’t look like some kind of sicko.”

  “This is my cat,” said Mallory, indicating Felina.

  “You want a threesome, it’ll be a hundred and fifty.” “Why don’t you just listen to me?” said Mallory in annoyed tones.

  “It’s two hundred for listening to you talk dirty,” she said.

  “Do you want to earn this money, or do you want to tell me all the things you won’t do for it?”

  “You talk, I’ll listen,” said Madame Nadine.

  “Like I said, this is my cat,” said Mallory. “I’m moving to a smaller place. I want to find someone who can shrink her down to two or three feet in height. Let me know who can do it and the hundred is yours.”

  “Just for that?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Just for that.”

  “No sexual perversions, no threesomes with animals, no wild orgies with totally disgusting sex toys?”

  “Nope.”

  “Damn!” said Madame Nadine unhappily. Then: “Okay, the man you want to see is Marvin the Mystic.” “Where do I find him?”

  “I seem to remember that the deal was a hundred bucks for his name,” she said. “Nobody said anything about telling you where you could find him.”

  Mallory reached into his pocket and pulled out a ten dollar bill.

  Madame Nadine frowned. “Five hundred.”

  “I already know his name,” said Mallory. “I’ll just ask one of the others where to find him. Come on, Felina.”

  “Wait!” said Madame Nadine.

  Mallory stopped and turned to her.

  “You say ten, I say five hundred,” she said. “Let’s split the difference. Four hundred seventy-five and I’ll tell you.” “Let’s split the difference,” replied Mallory. “Eleven dollars and I won’t ask someone else.”

  “All right,” she said, holding out her hand. Mallory gave her a ten and a one. “If you’ll go around the corner you’ll come to the Visitors’ Locker Room. Marvin has appropriated the coach’s office, which is just off to the right.” “Thanks,” said Mallory. He studied her face. “You only got eleven dollars. Why do you l
ook so happy?”

  ‘You’ll find out,” promised Madame Nadine. A maintenance man walked by, carrying a shovel and a pail. “Hey, Mac,” she said, all interest in Mallory gone now that the deal was completed, “guess your fourteen favorite Andrews Sisters for a dollar?”

  “There were only three,” said Mallory.

  “Depends which Andrews family you’re talking about, doesn’t it?” Madame Nadine shot back, never taking her eyes off her new mark.

  “Let’s go,” said Mallory to Felina, heading off toward the locker room and hoping he wouldn’t pass anyone rehearsing a trained bird act along the way.

  They reached their destination, and Mallory looked around for the coach’s office. It took only a moment to locate the door, but a goblin, an elf, a troll and a leprechaun were lounging in front of it.

  Mallory took a step toward the door, and suddenly all four of them turned to face him, shoulder to shoulder. “Take a hike, buddy,” said the goblin.

  “I want to see your boss,” said Mallory.

  “Our boss left orders,” said the troll. “Nobody disturbs him.”

  “Right,” chimed in the leprechaun. “So just take off before we lose our tempers. I haven’t killed anyone since breakfast, and I’m getting restless.”

  “Right,” said the goblin. “You take one more step in this direction and we’ll dispatch you with such skill and dexterity that they’ll award us both ears and the tail.”

  “Right,” added the elf. “There won’t be enough of you left to bury!”

  “Uh . . .” said the troll nervously. “I don’t want to be presumptuous or anything, but what’s that hideous creature behind you?”

  “That’s Felina,” said Mallory. “Say hello to the boys, Felina.”

  Felina offered them a toothy grin and extended a hand. An instant later shining two-inch claws jutted forth from each finger.

  “Now,” said Mallory, “you were saying something about not disturbing Marvin the Mystic?”

  “Well,” said the troll, backing up a step, “when you get right down to it, I don’t see how a friendly little visit could actually disturb him.”

  “What’s the matter with you?” demanded the elf.

  “Trolls are afraid of cat people,” said the troll. “Everyone knows that.”

  “Well, elves aren’t afraid of cat people,” said the elf, making no attempt to hide his contempt for his companion.

  Felina took a step toward the elf.

  “Now let’s not have any misunderstandings here!” said the elf. “Call her off!”

  “I thought elves weren’t afraid of cat people,” said Mallory.

  “We aren’t!” said the elf nervously. “But we’re desperately afraid of dying!”

  “Wimps!” snarled the leprechaun. “It’s just a cat person!”

  “Then you plan to stand your ground?” asked Mallory.

  “Let’s set the rules of engagement first,” said the leprechaun. “Best two out of three falls. No biting. No scratching. No rolling pins. No weapons larger than .45 caliber. No kidney punches.” He paused. “I’m sure I’m forgetting something.” He turned to the goblin. “What town are we in, Harry?”

  “New York,” said the goblin.

  “Right,” said the leprechaun. “No kissing in the clinches, and no reading New York Times editorials over a fallen foe for more than an hour.” He looked Felina in the eye. “Is that acceptable to you?”

  She grinned and nodded.

  “It is?” said the leprechaun. “I mean, once you’ve been humiliated and battered into senselessness, I don’t want it said that the fight wasn’t according to Hoyle.”

  Felina replied with an eager purr.

  The leprechaun turned to Mallory. “Just to make it official: we have an agreement, right?”

  “Right,” said Mallory.

  “You’re sure, now? No backing down.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Okay,” said the leprechaun, stepping back a few feet. “Take her, Harry.”

  “Me?” said the goblin, surprised.

  “Well, I negotiated the rules,” said the leprechaun. “I knew you’d want to do something.”

  “I kind of thought I’d pull out a bible and read over the corpse,” said Harry.

  “What makes you think she’s religious?” asked the leprechaun.

  “What makes you think I’d be reading over her?” Harry shot back.

  “This is ridiculous!” said the leprechaun. “I function best in an advisory capacity. Now stop arguing and go tear her limb from limb.”

  “Yeah, go get her, Harry,” said the troll. “We’ll cheer you on to victory!”

  “And if you lose we’ll always honor your memory,” added the elf.

  “Gee, guys,” said Harry, staring almost hypnotically at Felina’s claws, “I’d love to, really I would, but my lumbago’s been acting up lately.”

  “You don’t have lumbago,” said the leprechaun.

  “It’s adult onset,” said Harry defensively. “It began about twenty seconds ago. One of you will have to step in and take my place.”

  “Can’t be me,” said the elf. “My rheumatiz just flared up not half a minute ago.”

  “My arthritis is bothering me,” said the troll. “You wouldn’t want to fight me if I wasn’t at my best.”

  “I guess it’s you, then,” said Mallory to the leprechaun.

  “What the hell,” said the leprechaun. “If no one else will kill her, I’ll do it myself.” Suddenly he began looking around in panic. “Omygod!” he cried. “I forgot about my prostate problem! Where’s the john?”

  He raced out into the hall.

  “The poor guy’s going to have an accident,” said Harry, running toward the exit. “I’d better go after him and help clean up.”

  “He might have two accidents!” shouted the elf, joining Harry.

  “Or three!” cried the troll, racing off after them.

  “I never get to have any fun!” complained Felina, her claws vanishing back into her fingers.

  “Come on,” said Mallory, walking toward the office door. “When we’re done here I’ll buy you a hot dog.”

  “They’re no fun to play with after they’re dead,” said Felina unhappily.

  Mallory reached out for the doorknob, but the door opened before he could touch it, and he stepped into an office that was decorated with football trophies, crystal balls, a blackboard filled with X’s and O’s and another filled with magic spells scribbled in a foreign tongue and strange symbols. Sitting at a desk was a small, wiry man with a very sparse white beard and shaggy white eyebrows. He wore a robe of spun gold and a triangular hat with signs of the zodiac on it.

  “Marvin the Mystic?” said Mallory.

  “Of course.”

  “My name is—”

  “John Justin Mallory, I know,” said Marvin. “The great Marvin sees all and knows all.”

  “Not bad,” admitted Mallory.

  “Besides, Nadine called me on her cell phone and told me you were coming over, so I prepared a little greeting for you.”

  “I’ve seen better security forces,” said Mallory.

  “Good help is hard to find these days,” complained Marvin. “Still, all they were required to do was delay you for a minute so I could prepare my defenses.”

  “And are they all prepared now?” asked Mallory. “Absolutely,” said Marvin. “You could pull a gun out and shoot me at point-blank range and the bullet would never reach me.”

  “Really?” asked Mallory.

  “Uh . . . just a minute,” said Marvin nervously. “Don’t pull a gun and test it out. The spell works in theory, but I’ve never actually put it into practice. I mean, it should work. But I also created a spell for blackjack. I play with my computer, and I win every single hand . . . but for some reason the spell doesn’t work in Vegas or Jersey, or even at Creepy Conrad’s over on 34th Street.” He frowned as he considered the problem, then shrugged. “All right, Mallory. What can I
do for you?”

  “You know Micro and Macro, right?”

  “The giant and the midget, right.”

  “The former giant and the former midget,” said Mallory. “These days they look just like you and me.” “Even including the beard?” said Marvin. “Remarkable.”

  “No, not the beard—the height. I’m told that you have the skills to have done that to them.”

  “I certainly do,” said Marvin. “My magic can stop the world from spinning, can halt the stars in their courses, can make Time run backwards. Of course, it can’t get Thelma the kootch dancer into the sack, but I’m working on it.”

  “What do you have against Micro and Macro?” asked Mallory.

  “Nothing,” said Marvin. “Why?”

  “So you’re not carrying a grudge?”

  “Certainly not. They were two of my best friends.” “Just for the record: did you put a spell on them?”

  “I did not.”

  “Who else has the skill to make Macro smaller and Micro bigger?”

  “Well, there’s always the Grundy.”

  “The Grundy probably doesn’t even know they’re alive.” “Yeah, I suppose when you’re Evil Incarnate you take more of an interest in them after they’re dead.” Suddenly he looked very nervous. He turned his face to the ceiling and said in a loud clear voice: “That was just a figure of speech. Actually, the Grundy is the salt of the earth, the most noble of demons, and he would never listen in on a private conversation or misinterpret an expression of enormous respect.”

  “I’m starting to understand why he and I have a mutual respect for each other,” said Mallory with a grimace. “Neither of us has much tolerance for bullshit.” He paused. “Who else could do it?”

  “Shrink and grow them?” said Marvin. “Well, there’s Morris the Mage, and Big-Hearted Milton, and they say Dead End Dugan is pretty good at hexing ever since he came back.”

  “Came back from where?” asked Mallory, curious in spite of himself.

  “The cemetery over in Queens,” answered Marvin. “He’s a zombie now. And then there’s—”

  “Just a minute,” said Mallory. “I don’t really need a list of every magician in the city. Do any of them work for the circus?”

  “No, not since Spellsinger Slim accidentally left his wand in Backbreaker Bennie’s bed.”