The Last American Wizard (31 page)

Send Money vibrated on the table, creating a rather loud rumble. Steve picked him up. “We get so few calls. I wonder who this is.” The screen showed an image of the Queen of Swords. “I do believe the rest of Ace’s Family may be joining us.” He clicked on the speaker and put the phone back on the table.

“Hello?”

“Hello. Is this the Fool?” It was a woman’s
voice.

“You wouldn’t believe how many people have asked me that in the past few days,” Steve
said.

“Yeah, you must be Rowan, that’s the same lame sense of humor. This is DC Metro Police Officer Stacy Grafton. You might remember meeting the three of us after the incident at the Tune Inn.”

“I do remember,” Steve said. “You don’t sound like nearly as much of a
b–”

“Stop.” She cut him off. “I tore the throat out of the last guy who tried that
joke.”

Steve instantly decided that discretion–silence, actually–was the only reasonable
option.

Grafton continued. “Life has gone straight to hell after we met you. It’s bad enough to have the heads of dogs about half the time– most of the elite units on the force appear to have turned into something similar–but I appear to have been assigned a Card and
so have Mike and
Lyle.”

“Let me guess,” Barnaby said. “You appeared on our screen as the Queen of Swords, so the guys are the King and the
Knight?”

“This Thoth deck doesn’t seem to have a King, so Chubb is
the Knight and Lyle is the Prince. It’s not the worst thing that
could have happened, I guess; one of the guys in the 20
th
Precinct ended
up
as
the
Ten
of
Swords,
and
now
no
one
will
ride
with him.”

“I wouldn’t think so,” Barnaby said. “It’s the fundamental
card for
betrayal.”

“Yeah,” Grafton said. “I mean, he’s cheating on his wife and taking a pretty good bite out of the gay clubs down near the baseball stadium, but he’s no worse than a lot of other cops. Anyway, to get back to the three of us, we seem a bit smarter and, if anything, better police than we were before. Now that all the service weapons are inoperable, it’s useful nice to have a sword show up when you need one.”

“It beats having to fill out paperwork at Ordnance Control, doesn’t it?” Ace asked. “I’m hoping one will show up for my use any
moment.”

“Oh, that you, Master Chief?” Grafton asked. “Yeah, the cutlery would be more useful if we had a clue how to use them, but the fact is that very few people want to throw down when they notice that you’re carrying a long, sharp, pointy thing. But that’s not why I
called.”

“You got trouble?” Ace
asked.

“No, the opposite. We were out having a couple of beers and we all got a terrible itch,” the patrolwoman said. “All of us figured no one but you guys would be so irritating. I lost the coin toss and gave the ‘lawyers, guns, and money’ code into a dead phone. How do you do that, by the
way?”

“A remarkably smart smartphone,” Steve
said.

“OK, whatever. Anyway, it put me through. I hope we aren’t interrupting anything
important.”

“Oh, goodness, no,” the president said. “Nothing important at all.”

After a pause, Grafton said, “Madame President. It’s an honor to meet
you.”

“And you as well, Officer Grafton. As it happens, your timing could not have been better. We’re in the process of working out what resources we have to deal with a small problem that might occur…” She paused and looked around the group. “…When, do you
suppose?”

Barnaby said, “Sunset is the combination and negation of both dark and light; it’s a powerful time for all magic of the Hermetic Corpus.”

“Especially ‘unicursal hexagrams’?” Steve asked. The president looked confused. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but taking all this sorcery seriously is extremely difficult. In addition, if I really thought that I was about to go out and battle a thirty-foot national monument with a female graduate of the all-male SEAL team, a
PG County drug lord with an MBA, three cops who can double as their own K-9 dogs, the voice of the NSA computers, and a Chinese ghost in my phone…well, I might get
discouraged.”

Harlan nodded. “Yes, I can understand that. Wait, what’s that about a Chinese kid? Is there a foreign national
involved?”

“One of the young people who worked on the assembly line where these phones are made,” Steve answered. “Died right when this phone was finished and ended up locked
inside.”

He held up Send Money and said, “Say hello,
Send.”

A banjo tune began to play from the cell phone’s speakers and then a woman’s voice sang in Mandarin. The president listened for a moment, and then asked, “Abigail Washburn’s ‘
Song of the Traveling
Daughter’
?”

The screen on the phone showed an animation of Goofy waving both US and Chinese
flags.

“Well, I try to watch as many TED talks as I can,” Harlan
said. “Very cute. Barnaby, are you sure there isn’t any official Chinese
involvement?”

“I’ve communicated with several of the central servers at Unit 61398 of the People’s Revolutionary Army and they said they have their own problems–something about brave animals and creatures made of nothing but
hunger.”

“Well, I suppose it’s OK.” The president looked
doubtful.
“At
least, our cybersecurity here in the White House is safe as
houses.”

A telephone gave a single ring in one of the outer offices. Another rang on the opposite side. This continued for a moment, with one phone following another in a continuously approaching trill. Finally, all the phone lines on the Resolute Desk rang one
after another and the president jumped suddenly and pulled a slim cell from her pants pocket. As she stared at the screen, there was a momentary
silence.

The president was still staring at her screen. Then she nodded and said to Steve’s cell phone, “Yes, the translation programs never do seem to work, Mr. Money. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. I’m sure we’ll talk
later.”

Looking thoughtful, she put the cell back in her pocket. “Well, he seems to be a very nice young man, and I rather doubt he is working for the State Council or the People’s Army–not after what he just told me about several of the senior officers’ off-duty interests. He certainly does know his way around our phone system.”

Barnaby spoke first. “Yes, well, Send Money was right on the scene and got quite a blast of magic when the worm turned. I think he’s about as deep inside the US communications infrastructure as you can
get.”

“You’ll be going in with all the Swords; that’s something anyway.” The voice came from directly behind Steve, and he jumped and twisted to see Old Howard in full, if tattered, uniform. “Pardon me for interrupting ma’am, but I’ve got a message for the Ace of
Swords.”

Ace nodded and the old Marine continued. “Albert Pike
wanted you to know that he’s prevailed on the High Council to cut off all ties with the Illuminati, so you won’t be seeing the sphinxes tonight.”

“Well, that’s certainly a relief,” Ace said. “One massive stone being is quite
enough.”

“Yes, ma’am. In addition, Mr. Pike will join the fight when he can. He’s still in the Grand Temple, quieting the hotheads,” Old Howard continued. “He also told me to tell you to hurry up. Apparently, young Jones, the Hanged Man, feels that President Lincoln, bless his soul, will be heading out very
soon.”

He shook his head sadly. “You have to understand. I served in the Union Navy and it’s very difficult for me to comprehend how the Liberator could turn against this
nation.”

President Harlan spoke slowly. “Thank you for the information…uh…”

“General Oliver Otis Howard, US Marine Corps, ma’am.” He snapped to attention and saluted. “At your
service.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, General Howard,”
Harlan said. “May I ask what magical power you possess that got you into my office so
easily?”

“Magic?” Old Howard laughed. “No, I don’t have any magic. I’m just dead like anyone else.” He turned back to Ace. “I’ve got
to leave, Master Chief. I’ll see you after the
battle.”

Ace cocked an eyebrow in
question.

Old Howard had begun to fade but he caught her unspoken query and said, “No, Chief. That’s not a prediction. Just a
hope.”

Ace nodded and he was
gone.

“OK, I think you need to get moving.” The president stood up and everyone else followed suit. “Again, is there anything I can provide?”

Steve said, “Something that Old Howard just said… Do you have a PSYOPS team handy? Or anyone with a
loudspeaker?”

“I’ll have the Pentagon send a couple of mobile loudhailers.”

“Otherwise,
I
would
say
that
clearing
people
away
from
the Memorial area is top priority. I think you should consider anyone within a mile radius to be in immediate danger. Anything else, Ace?” She shook her head, and Steve spoke into the phone. “Officer Grafton, how fast can you and the rest of the Royal Family get down to the
Memorial?”

“Faster than you
can.”

“Yeah, don’t rub it in,” Ace said. “Just get
moving.”

“OK, I’ve finally reached my limit.” Steve said. “This is obviously just a particularly good opium dream. No way is that statue going to stand up and start killing people. It’s simply not going to
happen.”

They were standing at the base of the broad marble stairs that led up to the immense white cube of the Lincoln Memorial. Inside, it was still lit by the evening sunset glowing through the
translucent panes of waxed marble on the
roof.

It was quiet on the Mall; tourists, journalists, and commuters had been pushed out or blocked away by the Park Police. It had been an efficient process, coordinated by the well-named Sergeant Fear, an enormous man who was still barking orders into a walkie- talkie just off to the
side.

Two Humvees were parked on either side of the Reflecting Pool, their three-foot-diameter sound horns pointed at the statue. Cables led to a single microphone on a stand in front of Steve. He was studiously ignoring it, certain that he’d sound like a fool the second he began to have a conversation with the sixteenth president. He giggled nervously when he realized he was supposed to sound like the
Fool.

Ace shot a sharp glance at him and asked, “You holding up?”

“Sure. Except for the fact that I’m obviously hallucinating in my
little
cot
at
the
Happy
Home
for
the
Overly
Imaginative,
I’m wonderful. Peachy, in
fact.”

She reached over and punched him sharply on the shoulder. “That feel like a
hallucination?”

Steve managed to stay
erect–barely.

He rubbed his arm. “No, I have to say that that was either real or the Xbox people have had a major breakthrough in the implementation of physiological feedback
in
virtual environments.”

“Want me to hit you again so you can continue the experiment?”

“No, thanks.” Steve took a quick step away and continued. “I’m willing to accept this as reality but I reserve the right to change my position when Sergeant Fear comes to arrest us for screwing up the entire city of
Washington.”

“You’re babbling,” Barnaby said from the cell phone on his belt. “You sound like redundant feedback loops we used to get in the early computers. I remember once when a PDP-6 got so bollixed, it simply sat there and threw punch cards around the
room for a week.
Afterwards…”

Steve tuned out the program’s voice and regarded his tiny army. The three Metro police officers were now in full battle mode. They’d definitely been associated with the Thoth tarot deck, one of the more bizarre decks, in Steve’s
opinion.

The men were in green skintight fighting suits and looked
quite a bit like comic book superheroes. Stacy Grafton had a difficult time when she found that the Queen’s raiment consisted of a long full skirt and not a damn thing on top. Instead of regal insouciance, she’d just stood with her arms crossed, looking irritable and chilly until Ace tossed her a spare T-shirt out of her. Steve noticed that her partners were very careful not to stare or make
jokes–it
might
have
had
to
do
with
the
large
sword
Stacy held in her right hand and the severed head of some bearded fellow that kept appearing in her
left.

Mike Chubb was the Knight–outfitted with green armor that looked like it would stop a .357 Magnum, a pair of wicked-looking sabers, and some sort of flying horse with a positively evil gleam in its eyes. He was equipped with a double pair of gauzy wings–the kind you’d see on a dragonfly–but kept reaching back and checking them. He was a big guy and Steve could relate to worrying about the carrying capacity of fairy feathers.

Lyle Bautista appeared far more pleased with his getup as the Prince of Swords. Bulked-out deep-green armor with round yellow wings and a gold helmet made him look like an Irish Spiderman after an intensive weight-training regimen. He was gingerly trying out a strange, rounded chariot pulled by three creatures that could only be described as Mini-Me versions of him. They stood about six inches tall, but from his frantic efforts to keep them from leaping the Potomac, they clearly had whatever it took to pull a mystic
chariot.

Ace looked like Ace. Solid, tough, determined, and ready to kill. For a second, Steve wondered why he kept hanging out with such a murderous woman but, with a sigh, had to admit–at least to himself–that she was a hell of a lot more fun than most women he’d dated and both women he’d
married.

Now he just had to make sure that she never found out he felt that
way.

Barnaby’s voice broke the evening quiet. “Stand by.
The
Great Ones say that they’ve detected activity in the transcendent
realms.”

“‘The Great Ones’?” Steve asked. “I thought they’d called themselves
‘Stormy’?”

“Personally, I think someone has been letting those damn quantum’s get a few too many Kelvins–they take to warm
nitrogen the same way you would to a cold beer. Never mind that; it’s just another item we’ll have to deal with later. Right now, I’d concentrate on President Marble over
there.”

“Marble?” Steve said. “Funny, I always just took him for granite.”

Ace turned her head slowly and fixed him with a truly terrifying glare. “How long have you been waiting to get that out
of your
system?”

“Are you kidding? Damn near all….” Steve stopped cold as a sound
like…

Well, it really couldn’t have been like anything except the
deep and echoing
crack
of seventy-six million pounds of marble splitting in two. Like thunder, it rolled away down the mall and then returned, volume almost undiminished by the
distance.

The electric lights had gone on inside the Memorial, and Steve could see as the statue shifted forward on the enormous chair and moved its head to stretch the neck
muscles.

“Do marble statues have neck muscles?” flashed through his mind.

He heard a quick series of three
snaps
behind him and turned to see that the three police officers had gone into their full cynocephalic battle mode–their armor instantly altering to accommodate double-jointed legs, broader shoulders, and long snouts. Stacy had gone all furry and, even though she probably had a half dozen breasts now, clearly felt sufficiently clothed to return Ace’s T-shirt. There was a clopping of hooves on the stone terrace and Carlos appeared on his
right.

“Hold on, everyone.” Steve held up a hand. “Let’s stick to the plan. Persuasion
first.”

“Might as well,” Ace muttered. “God knows if anything else will
work.”

Steve stepped up to the microphone, and tapped on the windscreen. Deep thumps issued from speakers mounted on top of the PSYOPS units. Movement over by the left-hand truck caught his eye. The two enlisted men assigned to the sound unit were carrying their unconscious commanding officer on their shoulders as they ran flat-out in the direction of the Tidal
Basin.

Idly, Steve thought it looked like a sensible decision and remarkable loyalty on the part of the enlisted
men.

“Mr. President,” he said into the microphone, and heard the words echo back from the marble memorial. The statue raised its head and Steve swore he could
feel
the pressure of those eyes, set deep and penetrating under that heavy, brooding brow. “Mr. President. If you can understand me, please raise your right hand.”

A white stone hand came up. Then a deep voice with all the ringing tones of a boulder being struck by a hammer said. “I can indeed raise my hand. However, let me ask you, friend; would it not be simpler and more agreeable if we simply
conversed?”

“Mr. President,” Steve continued. “Do you know where you are?”

There was a subdued creaking–almost inaudible at the distance where Steve was standing–as the statue leaned forward, placed his hands on his knees, and peered out into the swiftly darkening twilight. “Well, yes. I believe I do. There have been many changes–those stinking hovels down by Tiber Creek are gone, as is Tiber Creek itself, now that I think upon it–but much remains as it was. It’s good to see that Congress finally managed to agree on funding President Washington’s cenotaph. It is a magnificent obelisk, although I personally favored the Greek colonnade with which Mr. Mills originally intended to encircle the base. Oh, my. Those must be electric lamps that now illuminate the Capitol. Glorious. Unless the nature of man himself has altered, I have no doubt that the building itself is still far more worthy of admiration than are those who labor inside it.”

Steve laughed and responded, “You are correct,
sir.”

“There are roads and a good number of vast and no doubt useful structures that were not here in my day, but this is plainly the City of Washington within the District of Columbia.” The immense stone figure stood up carefully from his chair, walked bent over with his hands clasped behind his back until he passed through the immense entrance, and stood erect on the
terrace.

“I have to say, I’m a bit surprised by the number of electric lamps–the entire city seems to glow. In my time, the only city that sat this bright under the stars was Atlanta after General Sherman passed
through.”

He looked down, shame and regret showing clearly on his weathered face. “By the Lord God, I wish that Atlanta had never had to burn. Nor Richmond. Nor any other Southern city. It has been a black stain on my soul for all these long
years.”

There was a pause and then the massive bearded head came up again, the voice strengthening. “Our cause was right and I still know in my heart that we could never falter in defending the cause of freedom so approved of my judgment. It was not a war we began but one we accepted, and thank God, we did not let it end until the object of our determination–the freedom of all men and the unity of this nation of freemen–was accomplished. I remember saying in Baltimore that ‘if destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its author and
finisher.’”

Steve had no idea how to respond to that emotional speech, so he just let the sounds of crickets and frogs grow until they alone dominated the quiet night. Lincoln continued to survey the city with a calm and mildly interested
air.

Steve dared to hope that Lincoln’s spirit–the great soul which was both animator and prisoner of the eidolon–in the end, could not destroy the city he’d fought so long and hard to preserve.

“Shit,” Ace whispered. “Look at his right
shoulder.”

It took Steve a moment, but he finally made out a man
standing on the stone shoulder of the president’s frock coat and steadying himself by holding on to the edge of his ear. He snapped up the rose lens and made out Adam Weishaupt, the leader of the Illuminati.

“Barnaby!” Steve yelled. “What’s he
saying?”

“How the hell do I know?” the computer replied. “Do you see a lot of electronic equipment up there? Wait… OK, Send Money is reconfiguring those big public address horns as parabolic microphones. He should have sound in just
a–”

Weishaupt’s voice, a combination of hatred and soothing persuasion like a hornet caught in a spoonful of honey, came out of the cell phone. “…unhappy to inform you that liberty has not triumphed. This is the reason we have labored tirelessly to bring you back from your well-deserved
rest.”

“That son of a bitch.” Ace put her right hand above her head, and with a whizzing
smack
, Joan of Arc’s sword appeared in her palm. This time, Ace’s face showed no indications of pain as she said, “Thank you once again,
ma’am.”

The oily voice continued to come from the speaker. “Do you see that city across the river? The tall buildings and bright lights? That is Rosslyn, the capital of the Confederate States of America. Those two glass buildings made to look like the prows of ships? They are the President’s Plantation and the Assembly of Slave States–defiantly built so as to look down on our own White House and Capitol. The lifeblood of thousands of the enslaved,
black, yellow, and brown alike was used to slake the mortar that holds those structures
aloft.”

Weisshaupt’s voice became a rasping monotone as the statue faced away but they could hear Lincoln clearly over the speaker. “This cannot be! Grant and Lee have met and the Army of Virginia surrendered! From Richmond to New Orleans, the fortresses and redoubts have fallen and the rifles of the defeated are stacked like sheaves of corn! The black man is free and that resolve was won in blood and burns forever in the hearts of all true
Americans!”

“And so it did, my president, but only for a short
time.”