Peter and Max could not get into Lester Rowe’s apartment.
Max tried the intercom in the lobby. When there was no response, his teacher went outside to the sidewalk, and shouted Rowe’s name through cupped hands. Four floors up, a window opened, and Rowe’s red head popped out.
“Who is it?” Rowe called down suspiciously.
“Max Romeo. I’m here with Peter. Let us in. We need to speak with you.”
“I’m in a bit of a hurry, Max. Can it wait until some other time?”
“No!”
“He’s already been here,” Peter said, looking up and down the street.
His teacher turned to stare at him. “Who’s been here?”
“Wolfe. I can feel it in my bones.”
“What do you mean? Feel what?”
Peter’s body had gone cold, and the very tips of his fingers felt like cubes of ice. With the sensation had come the knowledge that Wolfe had recently been here.
“I can’t explain it,” Peter said.
Rowe buzzed them in. They climbed the creaky staircase to Rowe’s apartment. At the third floor landing, they stopped so Max could catch his breath. His teacher’s cheeks had turned pink, and he seemed on the verge of collapsing.
“Still smoking those cheap cigars?” Peter asked.
“I’ve cut back,” Max replied. “Now, I only smoke one at a time.”
“I know this great program to help you quit. Every time you want a smoke, you dial a phone number, and a guy comes over and gets drunk with you.”
“Your jokes are getting worse all the time.”
“I had a good teacher.”
“Touche.”
They climbed the last flight of stairs. Upon reaching the fourth floor, Rowe stepped out of his apartment wearing a suit and snappy bow tie.
“Hello, Max. Hello, Peter,” the diminutive psychic said.
“Hello, Lester,” Max replied. “Sorry to barge in, but there’s a madman running around the city trying to kill our group. He’s already done away with Madame Maire and her husband.”
Rowe’s face sank at the news of Madame Marie’s death. “He visited my parlor a short while ago. He was going to cut my head off with an axe! I saw it in my crystal ball. This is horrible news about Marie, the poor thing. Come inside, I’m just finishing packing.”
Rowe dead-bolted the door behind them. The apartment was a reminder of what dwellings in New York once looked like, with high-ceilinged rooms, dark wood floors, and ornate crown molding. Rowe entered a bedroom where an open suitcase lay on the bed.
“Any idea why he’s after us?” Rowe asked, tossing clothes into the suitcase.
“He was sent by the Order of Astrum,” Max explained.
“The Order of Astrum. I haven’t heard that name in years.” Rowe closed the suitcase and locked the clasps. “The man’s pure evil. I looked into his future, and saw scores of people dying because of him. Is this the same fellow Peter saw during the seance?”
“Same man,” Peter said.
“Egad. What’s he up to?”
Peter shook his head. That was the frustrating part of seeing into the future. Often, he had no idea what the things he saw meant. A buzzer in the hallway rang.
Rowe looked alarmed.
“Ignore it,” Max suggested.
The buzzer rang again. It had a harsh, angry edge to it. Peter went to the bedroom window and gazed down at the street. A motorbike was parked at the curb with a helmet resting on its seat. The bike’s owner stood on the stoop, hidden from view. The only people who used motorbikes in the city were couriers and drug dealers.
“Are you expecting a delivery?” Peter asked.
“My travel agent is sending a ticket over,” Rowe said. “I have a cousin in Ireland that I haven’t laid eyes on in twenty years. I thought it was time we became reacquainted.”
“Don’t let him in until you get confirmation,” Peter said.
“Good idea.”
Rowe walked out of the bedroom and went down the hallway to where the intercom was located. He looked shaken by what had happened, and was muttering to himself. Peter turned to his teacher. “You’d better watch him, Max.”
“Right,” his teacher said.
Peter returned to the window and gazed down. The man on the sidewalk was gone. The icy feeling returned to his bones, and made him shiver.
Beside Rowe’s bed was a bookshelf. For a person who was against technological progress, Rowe had a large collection of DVDs, with labels like LIVING DEAD/BOMBAY 1/19/76, FIRE BREATHERS/BALI 3/16/88, WITCH DOCTORS/JAMAICA 9/07/94. One title caught his eye, and he pulled it from the shelf. CLAIRE amp; HENRY WARREN 12/10/92. His parents, filmed right before their deaths. On the cover, Rowe had scribbled a note which Peter now read aloud. “First encounter with the Order of Astrum. Claire and Henry showed us things that were beyond the realm of our imaginations.”
A yell sent him an inch off the floor.
“Peter!” Max called out. “Come here. Hurry!”
“I’m coming!”
He slipped the DVD into his pocket with a promise that he’d return it once he’d had a look. Then, he rushed out of the bedroom and down the hallway. Max and Rowe stood with their shoulders to the front door.
“What’s going on?” Peter asked.
“It’s Wolfe,” Max explained, frantically dialing his cell phone. “One of Lester’s neighbors mistakenly buzzed him in. I’m calling 911.”
“He’s in the building?” Peter asked.
“Yes!” they both said.
Peter’s vision clouded over. A burning rage swelled his chest and made his breathing shallow. Since he was a boy, he’d wanted to meet up with someone connected to his parents’ deaths. How he would act had played itself out countless times in his imagination. He knew exactly what he was going to do.
Entering the kitchen, he grabbed an empty whiskey bottle from the trash. It made a harsh sound against his palm. Returning to the hallway, he placed his hand on Max’s shoulder.
“Stand aside,” he said.
“Peter, don’t be foolish,” his teacher said. “I just spoke with an operator. A cruiser is on its way.”
“I said, stand aside.”
“Peter, no.”
“Do it. Both of you. Now.”
Peter had been told that he looked like a demon when he became enraged. It must have been true, because Rowe and his teacher backed away from the door.
“You going to fight him?” Rowe asked.
“That was the idea,” Peter replied.
Rowe grabbed a walking stick out of a bucket by the door, and thrust it into Peter’s other hand. It was made of walnut, and felt good and solid.
“Take this. It’s got some heft to it.”
“Thanks. Don’t come out until I say so.”
Max grabbed his arm. “Peter, please be careful.”
“I will, Max.”
“Make sure you hit him first, and hard.”
“Good idea.”
“Good luck, my boy.”
Rowe did him the courtesy of throwing back the dead bolt and opening the door. Peter squared his shoulders and stepped outside the apartment. He supposed he should have felt apprehensive, yet for some reason, he felt more confident than he ever had in his life.
He walked onto the landing, ready to slay the dragon.