A Calculated Magic lm-2 Read online

  “You’re expecting another attack?” he asked.

  “They found us at the camp,” answered Cassandra. “I discovered a radio transmitter back in the woods. Which probably means that their confederates realize the first attack failed. Chances seem pretty good that they’ll try again. I’d be very surprised if we make it to the city without an encounter.”

  “But we’ll be on the highway,” he declared. “Nobody fires a gun on a highway.”

  Cassandra smiled. “Ever hear of drive-by shootings, my naive young friend? Assassins don’t worry about breaking city or state ordinances,” She patted the mysterious sack, which shook violently under her touch. “Better we’re prepared than dead.”

  Jack nodded unhappily, Cassandra actually appeared quite cheerful. Which was not surprising. As an Amazon, she lived for danger. Violent action defined her existence. The one thing she never walked away from was a fight.

  “You think they’ll try an ambush on the road instead of waiting till we get to the city?” he asked, opening the door to the Buick.

  “If I wanted to kill someone,” answered the Amazon, sliding into the driver’s seat, “I couldn’t think of a better location than the Chicago highway system.”

  “The traffic is murder,” admitted Jack.

  “The major roads are always under construction,” stated Cassandra, turning the key in the ignition. “There’s potholes big enough to swallow a truck. Drivers in this area are the worst tailgaters in the country. Entrance ramps barely exist, making high-speed merges a crapshoot. Everyone drives twenty miles above the posted limit.” She grinned. “Who would notice a few guys shooting at each other from car windows?”

  “Well,” said Jack, settling back in the sedan’s lush seat, “at least this car’s built like a tank. I remember you saying that when we bought it. And it does have its secrets.”

  The Buick was no ordinary vehicle. It had been rebuilt inside and out by Fritz Grondark, one of the fabled dwarven mechanics. Already possessing one of the biggest engines ever put in an automobile, the magically enhanced Buick was capable of outrunning anything on the road. Incredibly responsive to its driver’s touch, it could make impossible turns and stop in half the time of a normal vehicle. The unmarked condition of its exterior proclaimed that it could not be scratched or dented. Jack wondered if that also meant the car was bulletproof. He hoped so.

  Stepping on the gas, Cassandra gunned the car onto the country road that led from the trailer camp to the highway into town. Nervously, Jack kept a lookout for anyone following them.

  The first fifteen minutes passed without incident. Jack liked jazz while Cassandra preferred classical music. After much debate, they settled on an oldies station. Weekday traffic was light and they made good time. Cassandra kept their car in the middle lane, maintaining several car lengths between them and any other vehicles. The mysterious sack remained untouched in the backseat.

  “Seat belt fastened?” she casually asked Jack, adjusting the rearview mirror as she spoke.

  “Of course,” he answered. “Why?”

  “It’s against the law to sit in the front without your belt buckled,” said the Amazon. “Besides, there’s two cars coming up fast behind us. I think company’s arrived.”

  Turning, Jack caught a glimpse of a pair of black Cadillacs a half dozen car lengths behind them. There were two men in each car—one driving while the other was in the rear seat. Jack noted they were dressed in the same khaki greens as his earlier attackers.

  “If they’re pros,” said Cassandra, “one car will pull up on our side while the other remains behind. That gives them a second chance if we manage to evade the first attempt.”

  “Wonderful news,” said Jack, slumping in his scat. “Can’t we outrun them?”

  “Not with this traffic,” said Cassandra, waving at the congestion ahead. “There’s too many trucks for us to weave safely in and out of traffic. We’re moving at a steady fifty. Don’t worry. We can take them.”

  Jack suspected the Amazon was using the heavy traffic as an excuse. She hated running from a fight. No matter what the odds. He only hoped Cassandra’s honor wouldn’t get them both killed.

  The Amazon grunted in satisfaction. “Here they come. The first car is making a move. They’re pulling up on your side. Obviously, you’re the primary objective, Jack. These guys want you dead.”

  “Terrific,” said Jack. “You have a plan?”

  “Of course,” said the Amazon. “Something nice and easy and unexpected. Grab the sack. Don’t be afraid. There’s nothing in it that can hurt you. At least, not as much as a bullet.”

  Immeasurably cheered by that remark, Jack reached behind him and pulled the cloth bag onto his lap. Something large and active wiggled on his legs. But he was too concerned about the assassins to care.

  “Now what?” he asked, terribly aware of the other car’s hood only a few feet away from their rear bumper.

  “Shooting accurately from a moving car isn’t easy, even for trained killers,” said Cassandra. “The man in back won’t risk firing until they’re right on our side. Loosen the string on the top of that sack. Be ready. When I yell, toss the bag out your window. And then duck.”

  Jack untied the cord on the cloth bag. Putting both his hands beneath it, he waited for Cassandra’s command. Behind them, a motor roared.

  “Now!” the Amazon shouted, and spun the steering wheel to the right.

  Metal screeched against metal as the Buick slammed hard into the black Cadillac. Jack caught a glimpse of the driver of the other car, feverishly fighting to keep his vehicle on the road. Then, obeying orders, Jack hurled the cloth bag out the window. Sending it hurtling directly into the front seat of the other car.

  Immediately he ducked, expecting the roar of gunfire. Instead, there came a horrifying scream, the screech of tires, and the sound of steel hitting concrete. Seeing the ghost of a smile appear on Cassandra’s lips, Jack slowly straightened in his seat.

  “Perfectly executed,” declared Cassandra, her gaze fixed on the rearview mirror. “They collided with the cement guardrail on the shoulder. The Cadillac is pretty well demolished, but that’s their worry. No other vehicles involved, but traffic behind them has slowed to a crawl. As usual, nobody on the highway can drive past an accident without gawking for a few seconds. By the time their buddies in the following car make it past the scene, we’ll be downtown.”

  “What was in that bag?” asked Jack.

  “A snake,” said Cassandra. “A nice big one I found in the woods. Not the least bit dangerous, but it sure looked vicious. I thought it might distract the driver at a crucial instant. Guess I was right. Surprising how the coolest professionals are suckers for large, ugly, nasty reptiles.”

  Jack drew in a deep breath, glad he had not asked Cassandra earlier about the contents of the bag. He was not particularly fond of reptiles himself.

  “They were both mortal,” he said, as much to himself as his companion. “Neither of them were supernatural.”

  “I noticed,” said the Amazon. “It looks like not all of your enemies are mythological beings. Any idea who the killers might be? Or why they are after you?”

  “Unfortunately,” said Jack, “I suspect I know the truth. Something the first killer said set off alarm bells in my mind. I think I’ve finally placed the reference. And I’m not happy about it.”

  He paused, gathering his thoughts together. The more he considered the clues, the more positive he grew that he had correctly deduced the identity of his attackers.

  “You’re wrong about the supernatural element,” he continued. “The evil mastermind behind these assassination attempts is a particularly notorious mythical being. He’s definitely not mortal. The problem for us is that his followers are. They’re usually the dregs and lowlifes of society. In these times, that means there could be thousands of them. And most likely, they’re all programmed to try to kill me—without any regard for their own safety.”

  4

 
; They arrived downtown without further incident. However, remaining cautious, Cassandra insisted that they park blocks away from the building in which Merlin’s suite was located. Office workers breaking for lunch provided plenty of cover for their entrance to the complex and onto the elevators. Only when they were on the way up to the thirty-fourth floor did the Amazon relax.

  “Dedicated assassins are real trouble, Jack,” she declared when they were alone on the elevator. “Over the centuries, I often served as a bodyguard for the rich and famous. I worked for both kings and queens and, at times, the masterminds who pulled their strings. In every case, when a group of dedicated professionals decided that their target had lived too long, death proved inevitable. Even the most competent protector, and I was the best,” the Amazon stated completely matter-of-factly, “could not stop fanatics.”

  Jack nodded. “Ever hear the story of Saladin’s pillow?”

  “No,” said Cassandra, a puzzled expression on her face. “I remained in the Far East during the Crusades. I found chivalry repulsive. What about Saladin?”

  “I’ll tell you shortly,” said Jack, as the elevator stopped on Merlin’s floor. “First, it’s time to face my mother.”

  Steeling himself for the inevitable, Jack pushed open the door that read, Ambrose Ltd., Investments. As always, a brief smile flickered across his lips as he silently scanned the company motto etched in black letters beneath the title. We Guarantee Your Future. Merlin used the best possible method to back up his investment advice. He studied the future in his crystal ball.

  “Johnnie!” Freda Collins’s voice had lost none of its earsplitting intensity in the year since Jack had seen her last. As usual, the hug that followed squeezed the last breath of air from his lungs. Jack stood six feel tall, and was slender and dark like his father. His mother matched him in height, but was blonde, blue eyed, and big busted. Many people, seeing and hearing her for the first time, mistook her for an opera singer. Or a lady wrestler.

  After crushing his shoulders to a pulp, his mom thrust him an arm’s length away. “Still skinny as ever,” she declared, with a laugh that shook the room. “Maybe married life will put a little meat on your bones.”

  Then she paused, catching her first sight of Cassandra, who stood frozen in the doorway. “You?” said Freda, an odd note in her voice.

  “You,” his mother repeated, this time not as a question, but as a statement of fact. Then she spat out a word in an unknown tongue that sounded remarkably like a curse.

  Jack’s eyes bulged. In all of his life, he could never once remember his mother swearing. But he never recalled seeing the look of intense emotion that swept across her face as she stared at Cassandra.

  “So you refer to yourself as Freda now,” said Cassandra, her own voice tight with suppressed feelings. “Quite a change from the old days.”

  “You are obviously the one called Cassandra,” said Jack’s mother. “I should have recognized you from Merlin’s description. Though I assumed you long dead, food for the ravens.”

  “As did I of you,” replied Cassandra. “Ripped to shreds on some battlefield by vultures.”

  With a savage howl, Freda Collins flung herself forward. To be met in midair by a screaming Cassandra Cole. Arms locked around each other’s shoulders in an unbreakable grip. A few anxious seconds went by before Jack realized that the two women were embracing. And laughing wildly.

  “Uh, care to explain what the hell is going on?” he asked, wondering where Merlin and Megan might he hiding. Not that he blamed them much for keeping out of the way. “I gather you two recognize each other.”

  “In the good old days,” said Cassandra, her face beaming, “we were best of friends. Many were the times we fought side by side, slaughtering anyone foolish enough to cross our path.”

  “Those were fine times,” nodded his mother in agreement. His mom, the one who baked gingerbread men at Christmastime. “The clash of steel, the sweat of battle, the smell of blood, the agonizing cries of the dying.”

  “Remember the Thirty Years’ War?” asked Cassandra. “Fighting with the Swedes against Tilly in Leipzig. Those were violent days, filled with excitement.”

  “Especially with the bubonic plague killing half the population of Venice the same year,” replied his mother. “They wanted to burn you as a witch because of your color. Lucky I was there with my sisters to save you from the fire.”

  “I paid back that debt during the war between Russia and Poland thirty years later,” returned Cassandra. “Those Cossacks had more than a game of kiss and tell on their minds.”

  “You were a demon,” said Freda. “How many did you slaughter that afternoon? Twenty, thirty?”

  “Mother,” protested Jack, his face turning red. “What are you saying!”

  “Sorry, Johnnie,” said his mother, not quite succeeding in suppressing a grin. “Different times, different customs. I’m quite satisfied living with your father these days, helping him manage his business. Each age has its noble warriors. In this century, businessmen fight the great battles. But it is fun to reminisce a little about the past.”

  “Your sisters?” interrupted Cassandra.

  “The same as ever. We talk infrequently. They took offense that I left the act to get married. The last I heard, they were touring out west in a rodeo. My ravens spy on them. According to the birds, they continue performing trick riding stunts, forming human pyramids on the backs of horses, and shooting holes in playing cards. The same dull stuff we did for Buffalo Bill.”

  Jack rubbed his forehead in bewilderment. His mind was overloading with too much data too soon. He spotted Megan edging out of the door of Merlin’s inner office. Anxiously, he hurried over to his girlfriend.

  “You were expecting this?” he asked, taking hold of her hands. As usual, a tingle of excitement raced through his body from the touch. To Jack, Megan was real magic, pure and simple. The old-fashioned kind.

  “Not really,” she replied, grinning. “We thought it would be nice to leave you and your mother alone for a few seconds to say hello. Neither of us expected this outburst. Father’s hiding behind his desk. What’s the story?”

  “Apparently Cassandra and my mom are old drinking buddies,” said Jack, rolling his eyes in mock dismay. “We know Cassandra is the last of the Amazons. My mother, it turns out, is evidently some sort of warrior maiden.”

  Megan giggled, as behind them the two women chattered away contentedly. “Your mom reminds me of the lead singer in one of those Wagnerian operas. You know, the sturm-and-drang things featuring Rhine Maidens and Siegfried and the Norse Gods.”

  Jack opened his mouth to reply, then snapped it shut. He felt a little dizzy. It was either too many dramatic revelations in too short a time or going too long without lunch.

  “The two birds that arrived with my mom?” he asked. “They anywhere around? I want to ask them some questions.”

  “Probably yakking away with Merlin,” answered Megan. “I never met ravens who talked so much.”

  “I’m not surprised,” said Jack, opening the door to the inner office. “Let’s say hello to your father. This pair won’t notice we’re gone.”

  Merlin the Magician nodded a cursory hello to Jack and Megan as the two of them entered the inner chamber. The wizard, an elderly man with weather-browned skin and a long snow white beard, was engaged in a deep conversation with one of the ravens. Hugo and Mongo sat perched on the top of the magician’s chair, their yellow claws sunk deep into the leather.

  Though he had lived with the birds most of his life, Jack still couldn’t tell one from the other. Now that he realized the pair were creations of magic, not nature, he understood their identical nature. The blackbirds had been imagined to life as twin ravens. Mankind’s subconscious mind had never given them any distinguishing aspects. Each bird was the exact duplicate of the other.

  “Finally made it back,” said the raven, not speaking with Merlin. Jack assumed it had to be Hugo. “What took you so long?”
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br />   “We encountered some more problems on the highway,” replied Jack. “Besides,” he added, unable to resist, “it’s not as far traveling straight as the crow flies.”

  “Crow?” squawked the bird, sounding indignant. “No insults, please. Mongo and I are ravens. We’re the most famous ravens in all of mythology.”

  “I’ll bet,” said Jack. “Though I’m not sure how the pair of you hooked up with my mom.”

  “Simple,” replied the bird. “Once the priests of the White Christ arrived in the northlands, the Boss realized his days were numbered. Before vanishing, he worked hard providing all of his loyal servants with good homes. Mongo and me always got along real well with your mother so we decided to stay with her. The wolves, Geri and Freki, moved in with your aunt Hannah.

  “We stop in to see them once or twice a year. To keep things simple, they pretend now to be dogs,” The bird laughed, a bizarre sound. “Big, big, dogs, with immense teeth.”

  “I’m lost,” said Megan, “completely, hopelessly lost.”

  “Merely uninformed, daughter,” said Merlin, rising to his feet. “You’re lacking the proper information. This fascinating creature has just told Jack that his mother is one of the fabled ’Choosers of the Slain.’ Or, as they are called in books today, the Valkyries.”

  Megan looked at Jack, her eyes wide. “Valkyries as in ’Ride of’?”

  “You got it, sister,” said Hugo. Beside it, Mongo flapped its wings and cawed out a few barely recognizable bars of the Wagner piece. The screeching hurt Jack’s ears. “Freda was a high flier once. She and her sisters tore up the skies on Wings of Horses.”

  “Then who are you two?” asked Megan.

  “Hugi and Mugin at your service, ma’am,” said Hugo. The two birds dipped their heads, as if bowing politely. “Trained circus performers, notorious spies and gossips, and onetime companions to the mightly All-Father, leader of the Norse Gods, Odin.”