“No fun today,” Mr. Jay had told Dawn as he gave her a list of duties he wanted her to complete while he was away.
“But I thought we came to the City to entertain,” the forever child stamped a foot. She’d been laying out her costume when he gave her the bad news.
“Yes,” the conjuror said, smiling weakly. “But that was before I understood how much the City has changed. It’s grown too dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” Dawn had thrown her things onto the floor. Mr. Jay could tell she was performing, going through the motions of being upset. He knew that she was secretly pleased at his decision. “How will we earn money?”
“Yes,” Mr. Jay said, putting his list down and motioning her to the table. “I mentioned having friends here, well it is my intention to contact one that owes me a considerable sum of money. That should provide us enough to head north.”
“To Nurserywood!” Dawn had exclaimed and leapt into his arms.
“Yes,” Mr. Jay returned the hug. “But I’ll have to go out in the day, and quietly-so I can’t have Mojo along.” Dawn pulled away looking sad. “So I’ll depend on you to follow the rules and wait for me here.”
Dawn nodded dejectedly. “I wish I could help.”
“You can,” he said, chucking her chin, “as soon as we get out of the City. And you will be helping me now by letting me to go about my errands without worrying.”
“All right,” Dawn had sighed, and then frowned at the list. A chubby index finger whipped out. “Clean the cooking pots!” Her eyebrows formed serious line. “Without water!”
“We have leftover drinking, and scouring pads,” Mr. Jay said, rising to his feet. “And cleanser and rags.” He had crossed to his pack, threw it over his shoulder. “And that’s just one of the chores, my dear.” The conjuror knelt in front of her. “So please try to have them completed when I return so we can get away quickly.” He gripped her shoulder then. “And DO NOT leave the hideout.”
“I promise, Mr. Jay. Never. Never. Never!” Dawn had said, little tears suddenly appearing in her eyes. And he had hugged her then.
Almost two hours had passed since he had left her. He took public transit up one Level. The City’s Skyways were roaring with traffic and the sidewalks crammed with people as he exited the bus. Moving cautiously, Mr. Jay had kept a wary eye for anyone following him, and for any sign of a trap ahead.
If the Prime were using Powers, he’d be certain now that the magician was in the city. Any delay just increased the danger for Dawn.
Mr. Jay hated leaving her in the hideout, but he couldn’t risk getting her out of the City during the day and they would need supplies. His intention was to visit a bank on Level Three and make a withdrawal. He didn’t have an account there, but he had a few tricks for just such a financial transaction. It was easier to create a bank account than cash-on demand. He chose Level Three because that was a couple Levels away from Dawn, if this trick didn’t work and he had to make a run for it again.
He chuckled to himself, entertained by the vagaries of fate. A bank robber now! What next? But his humor disappeared when a chill ran through him. It was like the air had changed, became suddenly harder, colder. Powers! There were conflicting energies emanating from different sources in the City. It had been a dull background radiation throughout his stay. The Change was going into its final act. He paused in the street and opened himself to the sensations. Old enemies were at work. Always old enemies. And the conflict was coming, sooner than later.
He thought about his plan of abandoning the City and taking Dawn to the safety of Nurserywood. A wave of guilt ran over him.
How can you give up on them now?
“Fuck that argument,” Mr. Jay said aloud. A man walking past him heard the comment and frowned. The magician smiled and told said, “I’m not fighting your battles anymore.” He started moving with the crowd. No more. The bastards took everything before and learned nothing. Watched it, participated. And learned nothing. That wasn’t going to happen again. Already, in the limited time he’d spent among them he’d been forced to draw upon his darker purpose, his own energies. If people did not attract violence and harm, they created it. And then looked for someone else to clean it up. This time the responsibility is theirs.
And Mr. Jay suddenly cried out. Almost stumbled. A sudden searing pain had shot up his leg, through his right foot-felt like it tore his kneecap off. He gasped, bent over as the pain subsided. People slowed on the sidewalk around him but did not stop.
The magician looked up. The day was so dark streetlights were on. So what?
Then he heard it. Quiet at first, but it was there: a chant. Was it from behind? He turned to look, saw a steady stream of citizens walking. They wore suits; they wore skirts. They carried umbrellas against the drips and drizzle from the drains and cracks in the Level above. He looked up. And turned, senses open, listening. The chanting. There. Toward the City center. The Tower? By the curious looks he was getting, he knew no one else could hear it.
Chanting. Deep and sonorous. Gregorian? No, just…
Another lighting bolt of pain shot up his legs. He screamed, staggering back, bumping into a man who let him fall.
A shiver ran through him as he lay on the sidewalk. The chanting was stronger now. It was familiar: an old language from an old world. Tears started rising in his eyes. No! A fire ran into his side. Pain burned his ribs and set flame to his hands and feet. “Fuck!” Mr. Jay rolled onto his back. His walking stick clattered out of his hand.
A man was kneeling by him. “You okay?” he asked, and then saw Mr. Jay’s tears and he frowned.
“No.” Again a blade of pain twisted in his ribs. “NO!” And now he sobbed, rolled into a ball. He couldn’t take this. What was this? Where was everyone? Where are the others?
“Hey buddy,” the man beside him said, “it ain’t that bad.”
Mr. Jay’s eyes glared blearily at him. He touched the stranger’s arm and a jolt of pain ripped his palm. “No!” And he collapsed in on himself, the day disappeared, the street, the stranger. And he saw a dark room. And on the floor was a pentacle drawn in blood. A circle of naked men and women knelt around it. Their voices chanted-sang. In the pentangle center, a dark-robed figure knelt. He was broad and bulky. In his hands, he held a crucifix. And the pentangle pulsed lambent red in time to the chanting. And the pulses echoed outward through the dark. Through the City. Thumped against the sidewalk under him. Burned along his nerves and out, to push forward.
He opened his eyes, and sat up. The stranger was standing away from him now, looking worried and frightened.
The chanting was growing quiet. The pulsations of power diminished. Mr. Jay pressed his palms against the sidewalk, followed the energy on hands and knees. There it was, a stain…a mark. Gone! People stopped to watch him.
Power had been unleashed. He cast around the sidewalk, snatched up his walking stick. Dark and dangerous things had been set loose in the City. He’d only felt their passing. Quickly they were burning through the City’s levels toward Dawn!