Black Knight Read online

  He stepped all the way to the bathroom and saw and felt that he had reached the end of the carpet. From the texture, through the soles of his shoes, he felt as if he was stepping onto stone tile. He wanted to get all the way inside the bathroom before he turned on his light. He had already slipped the red filter into place and he’d long ago adjusted the switch so he could turn it on without making a sound.

  Unfortunately, stepping into the bathroom was like stepping into a endless void. He didn’t have a morsel of light to guide him. He could be about to step on a rubber duck for all he knew, one that quacked.

  He had no choice. Aiming his light downward, cupping the lens with his palm, he turned it on. The red glow shimmered like a haunted spirit. A towel on his right leaped out at him; it hung from a gold hook. That was it, that was all he saw. He still had his hand over the lens. He stood without moving for another minute. He felt he had to wait, that he had to give Silvia a chance to betray herself.

  She continued to breathe softly, like a child.

  He slowly removed his hand from the lens and gasped.

  Lying on the bathroom counter was the emerald necklace.

  Beside it was a pair of emerald earrings.

  Marc couldn’t believe his luck. The gems were only a few feet away. If he took a step forward he’d have them. He’d be holding his future in his hands. He could slip an earring in both pockets, pick up the necklace, and turn off the light and walk out the bathroom door, out the bedroom door, then out the front door and begin a whole new life. It was all there in front of him and there was nothing to stop him.

  Behind him Marc heard Silvia stir.

  She rolled over and lay with her face in his direction.

  His heart shrieked in his chest but he retained enough of his wits to flip off his light. He struggled to keep his breath silent. He wasn’t worried about stepping on anything. Seconds ago, even in his exalted moment, he’d taken an inventory of the floor and it was clear of obstacles.

  No, his fear was of Silvia herself. Why had she taken that exact moment to move? Had she heard something? Or had she been watching him all along, assuming he was Ray come to slip into her bed?

  Marc found her timing too much of a coincidence.

  It was possible she was playing with him.

  Or rather, playing with Ray.

  Slipping the flashlight in his back pocket, he stepped forward and put an earring in both his right- and left-front pockets. He wanted to keep them separate lest they bang into each other. Granted, they would hardly make a sound if they did collide, but any noise in a silent room was loud. The necklace he picked up with both hands. His right gripped the stone, his left the gold chain. He turned and stepped to the bathroom door and looked out.

  Silvia’s silhouette appeared to stare right at him. Her comforter lay halfway up her arm, barely covering her invisible breasts, and the amount of light was so low he could have been in outer space. Yet he knew she was naked. It was as if he could smell her bare skin, and what a smell it was. In that instant, for an instant, he forgot the jewel in his hand.

  Then he shook himself. What was he doing? He was totally exposed! He had to get out of the room! He had to get out of the house! Silvia wasn’t real. Sandy wasn’t real. Nor was the first nineteen years of his life. The green jewel in his hands was all that mattered, the money it could bring, the freedom. Tonight, he could be born again.

  Marc turned and walked toward the bedroom door. He was about to step into the hallway when Silvia spoke at his back in a weary tone.

  “Come to apologize?” she mumbled, and even half asleep she had a note of sarcasm in her voice.

  Marc thought frantically. She must have seen him, and if she hadn’t, she knew he was there; or rather, she knew Ray was there. If he walked away he might annoy her. She might come after him. But how could he fake Ray’s voice? His voice was totally different.

  He’d done his reading, however, and knew it was difficult for people to tell who someone was when they whispered, even if that person was close to them. Never mind that it would be especially hard for Silvia to differentiate him from Ray in her exhausted and intoxicated state. He decided to risk it.

  “Tired, let’s talk in the morning,” he whispered, before quickly leaving the door. With each step he took toward the stairway, he listened frantically. Yet before he even put his foot on the top step, he heard her breathing return to a child’s rhythm. She had gone back to sleep.

  Downstairs, standing in the kitchen beside a rack of keys, he thought of a wild idea. It came to him out of necessity. Prior to climbing in Silvia’s Jag, he hadn’t thought enough about the details of his escape.

  Now he realized his predicament.

  In the morning—or whenever Silvia and Ray woke up—they’d immediately know someone had stolen the necklace and they’d call the police. That would be fine, that was to be expected; he would be home in his studio apartment by then, probably asleep in bed.

  But it would take him time to get home. From the faint sound of waves he could hear—for the first time—out the closed kitchen windows, he must be all the way up in Malibu, beside the beach. Which meant he sure as hell couldn’t call for a cab to take him home. Once the theft was reported, any detective with a brain would check with all the taxi companies that serviced rich and famous Malibu to ask if they’d picked up a guy after four in the morning. That was a given.

  In his four previous thefts, his escapes had been easy. He’d just hiked a few miles out of his victim’s area before catching a late-night bus. He’d never been trapped in Malibu before. The town was extremely isolated, wedged in a long strip of land between the hills and the sea. Considering how long Ray had driven before they’d reached Silvia’s house, he must be far up the coast. That meant the only way out of the area was to take the Coast Highway south.

  But hiking along such a main road made him nervous. Cops were suspicious of guys walking alone in the dark, never mind that the sun would be up soon. True, he could stash the necklace in a tree or bush before leaving the area. If the police stopped him and searched him they wouldn’t find anything.

  Yet that wouldn’t stop them from remembering him. And if they dragged him in for questioning, they’d soon learn where he worked and make the connection to Silvia’s missing necklace.

  Hiking out of Malibu was not an option.

  Shit! Why hadn’t he thought of all this before?

  There was an alternative. He could hide the jewels nearby, then stay out of sight until ten or so in the morning before heading home. In the daylight he’d look a lot less suspicious. Later in the afternoon, driving his own car, he could return to the area and pick up the necklace.

  The idea had pluses but it had negatives as well. He wasn’t dressed right to hang out at the beach, and for all he knew he was in a private beach area. Also, once the theft was called in, the cops would be all over this section of Malibu, searching for suspicious characters.

  No, the bottom line was he had to get out of Malibu.

  Now. That led him back to his crazy idea.

  What if he jumped in the Jaguar, this minute, and just drove the hell out of here? It sounded insane but the idea had a lot going for it.

  Ray was snoring up a storm but his room wasn’t far from the garage, not like Silvia’s. But what if Marc softly closed the door to Ray’s bedroom? In their alcohol-induced stupors, would either of them hear the garage door open and close? The fact was Marc had been impressed how quiet the garage door opened and closed when they had arrived. The house was relatively new—it had the finest equipment.

  Also, he was exhausted. He couldn’t imagine spending the next six hours constantly looking over his shoulder, trying to creep home. If he took the Jag right now, he could be in his apartment in forty minutes, asleep in his own bed in less than an hour. And he wouldn’t have to leave the necklace behind.

  Even
if Silvia or Ray did hear the garage door open and realized the car and the necklace were missing, by the time they called nine-one-one and the cops were able to respond, Marc knew he would at least have made it to Santa Monica—and that itself would be a great place to dump the car before finding a safe way home.

  It was decided then. He was leaving in the Jag.

  Leaving the necklace on the kitchen counter, Marc crept to Ray’s room and gently closed the door. Ray continued to snore like a hog. Returning to the kitchen, Marc stuffed the necklace in his pocket and removed all three sets of keys that were hanging from the rack before heading for the same door he’d used to enter the house.

  Sitting in the car in the closed garage, Marc decided to keep on his surgical cap and gloves but to remove his face mask. It was still plenty dark outside, but anyone who drove by and peered in his window might notice the mask. But the medical stuff—it would probably make him look like a young doctor driving home after a long night.

  Marc pushed the button attached to the sun visor and the garage door opened smoothly. He backed up and pushed the button again the instant he reached the end of the driveway. The garage shut and the window to Silvia’s bedroom remained dark. He paused for a minute a short ways down the road to see if it stayed that way and it did. No other lights went on.

  He was in the clear. They were both still asleep.

  The house Silvia lived in was half a football field from the ocean. Her road led directly to Pacific Coast Highway, and soon Marc was flying south with a crazy grin on his face. He knew he must look like a madman but he couldn’t get rid of the smile. He had never known such joy. He had no words for how he felt. He just prayed that the feeling lasted.

  The fact that no extra lights had gone on in Silvia’s house gave him the confidence to drive the Jaguar all the way to West Hollywood. But he made one major change to his wild plan as he approached his apartment. Before he dumped the car, he decided to swing by the place where he hid his hoard. Now he was anxious to get the necklace out of his pockets.

  His hiding place was only a mile from where he lived, in an alley behind a row of buildings that should have been condemned twenty years ago. There, behind a stinking Dumpster that was no longer used, was a red brick wall with three loose bricks. Inside the wall was a narrow space surrounded by plasterboard on three sides and cheap wood paneling on the other.

  Still being careful, he parked a block from the hiding spot, casually walked over to it, hid the necklace and earrings in a brand-new garbage bag, stowed it in the wall, and was back in the Jag in five minutes.

  Now he had to get rid of the car. No sweat; he left the sports car locked on a residential street four miles from where Silvia had watched her film.

  He was only two miles from home. It was a relief to finally be able to take off his gloves and cap. But despite his excitement, his fatigue hit him again and the two miles felt like a long way to walk. He was tempted to hop on a bus.

  But even though his legs ached, walking home on the side streets was the smart move. Now that there was a glow in the east and the sun was about to rise, and he was back in Hollywood, no one would give him a second look.

  The sun rose before he reached his apartment. He was only a quarter mile from home but he had to take a piss and couldn’t wait. Sliding into another decrepit alley two blocks from his goal, he quickly relieved himself against a grimy wall and pulled up his zipper.

  He turned to leave the alley when he suddenly realized he was walking in the direction of the sun, when it should have been at his back. He turned again and saw a second sun. For an instant he felt utterly disoriented. He turned back to the burning disk he had seen the first time and was forced to blink.

  It had moved closer in the brief span he’d put his back to it, and it definitely wasn’t the warm and soothing morning sun he’d known all his life. It wasn’t even yellow. Rather, it had a glaring white center and was surrounded by a blazing violet halo. Both lights were suddenly so bright they momentarily blinded him and he instinctively raised his arm to protect his eyes.

  A wave of intense heat swept over him.

  A massive fist seemed to slam him from head to toe, from behind, shoving him toward the lights. He felt his feet lift off the ground and assumed he was about to fall forward. But for some reason he never hit the ground.

  That was the last thing he remembered.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I SEE THEM, THE TWO of them. The most powerful man in the world and the most dangerous woman. I know their names, their faces. I know their history. One I loved, one I feared—as recently as a month ago, just before I watched them die. Yet here they sit, at an outdoor table in the food court of the Century City Mall, eating bowls of ice cream.

  Kendor and Syn.

  Once upon a time they were the oldest couple on earth, perhaps the happiest—their love born of the Iron Age, more sturdy than that period, surely strong enough to withstand the challenge of centuries.

  Yet slowly, over the years, grief had eaten away at Syn. The death of a son in battle; then, six hundred years later, the loss of a daughter to the plague, along with her daughter’s offspring, a boy and a girl, Syn’s grandchildren. Finally, the disappearance of Syn’s last child—an idealistic young man who fled from England to the New World to escape the horror his mother was becoming.

  I suspect the sight of them feels even more bizarre because of the mundane nature of the setting. I mean, they’re just sitting there eating ice cream in a food court.

  I’m alone in the busy mall. I almost always shop alone, and I’ve just exited Bloomingdale’s, where I purchased a gray pantsuit from the Anne Klein section. The suit is folded in a red box and tied with a white ribbon, and when I put it on for this evening’s meeting and it makes me look older and more sophisticated than my eighteen years of age, then it will have served its purpose.

  The outfit cost more than I used to spend on clothes in a year. The meeting I’ve been called to tonight is important. It’s with the Council, the Tar, the elder witches that help guide the world, the real world and witch world, from behind the scenes. My own father has “ordered” me to attend the meeting, and Cleo herself, the leader of the Council, has called and requested my presence.

  The thought of going makes me nervous. It’s been a month since I stood before the group of ancient witches, and I’ve only a short time before my plane leaves for San Francisco, where the gathering is to take place.

  Yet here, suddenly, out of nowhere, I see these two titans I watched die in witch world—an important point. Although had they perished in the real world—like my boyfriend, Jimmy, did—they still could exist in witch world. But death in witch world itself is the final death, or so I’ve been told, the one no one returns from.

  Yet I’m in witch world now.

  It makes no sense that they are still alive.

  The sight of them paralyzes me. I fear they will see me; I literally can’t move. Yet when they do happen to look in my direction—hell, I could swear they look right at me—I see no sign of recognition. I could be just another spoiled rich girl with a new outfit tucked under her arm. They simply keep on eating their ice cream. It’s like they’ve never tasted anything so delicious.

  Maybe they didn’t see me, I think.

  My legs are shaking, I have to sit down. I choose a table in the outdoor portion of the food court, where I can keep an eye on them, sitting behind a wooden post wrapped in thick green vines. I can see them but I don’t think they can see me.

  Of course, the way they’re acting, it’s like they couldn’t care less that I exist. I idly wonder what kind of ice cream they’re eating. Kendor keeps digging into his large plastic pink bowl. It looks like he’s working on some kind of chocolate dish. Syn’s eating something lighter, with strawberries and kiwis sprinkled over it; and the two are so totally absorbed in their dessert, they can’t be bothered to exchange a sin
gle word.

  Weird. The whole scene is just plain weird.

  An old man suddenly approaches them. His clothes are fairly ordinary. He wears a pair of black slacks and a loose-fitting white shirt. His dark sandals, though, are odd. No buckles, no straps, no shine; they look like someone carved them out of wood.

  The guy is tall; he’s got bulk without being fat. The word “burly” suits him. His hair is long and scruffy, more white than gray. Despite his age, his crusty skin, there’s a spring to his step, to the way he moves. He’s clean shaven but a part of me suspects that’s a recent development. He looks like the sort that’s used to a long beard and whiskers. If he weren’t clean shaven, he could pass for a wizard. His eyes are a rarity; cerulean blue with a hint of green. My daughter has similarly colored eyes.

  The old man sits at the table with Syn and Kendor as if they’re old friends. They acknowledge his arrival with a nod and for once turn away from their ice cream. The man points in the direction of the movie theaters, and to the mannequins in a store window. He talks as he directs their attention and it’s odd because it’s as if he’s explaining what they’re seeing. It’s only then I realize that might be exactly what he’s doing. Syn and Kendor appear dazed, almost as if they’re sleepwalking.

  “Did the bastard drug them?” I say aloud, when I really should be asking how the guy brought them back to life.

  They stand, the three of them, and the old man deftly guides them toward the nearby escalators. They head down, into the mall’s parking structure, disappearing from view.

  Quickly, I grab the box containing my new outfit and jump to my feet and follow. I’m not a big believer in coincidence—I can only assume the old man chose to parade Syn and Kendor in front of me on purpose.

  If that’s the case, though, he goes to no trouble to wait for me in the underground lot. I barely catch a glimpse of the man helping Syn and Kendor into the backseat of a blue SUV—opening and closing the door for them—when I have to turn and run for my own car. It’s like he’s chauffeuring them around, while playing a game of cat and mouse with me.