Advanced Mythology (27 page)

Keith’s heart pounded. He’d forgotten to put his invisibility spell back on! If he could just slip away in the crowd he could put it on again, but the man had a solid grip on him. He had to get away. The Information desk was within reach of his fingertips. If he could get loose he could vault the edge and explain to the security guards when he wasn’t in danger of being shot. He didn’t want anyone else hurt, either. The pier was so crowded, with all those children. He couldn’t disable the gun, but he could stop the thug from going anywhere. He worked his arm around until it was pointing toward the floor, and fired off a quick charm.

The guy jerked to a halt as his feet stuck fast in place, but he didn’t let go. Keith felt cold metal jab him in the back of the neck, just under the edge of his scarf.

“Undo it or I’ll kill you right here,” the man growled in his ear. “You’re not going to pull that on me again.”

So it was one of the guys Beach had with him downstate, Keith realized. Reluctantly he closed his fist, releasing the glue spell. The grip on his arm propelled him forward again.

Keith sensed the presence of another, larger man coming up alongside his captor. He heard the sound of electronic beeps, the new man dialing a cell phone. His voice was deeper than the first. “Yeah. Got him. Pull up.”

“How’d you find me?” Keith asked, resisting an impulse to hold his hands in the air.

“Shut up.”

They emerged into the cold January day and stood huddled in a knot on the curb. Keith felt his mind spinning as he tried to calculate how he could get away from the pair of thugs without getting shot. His nerves were so strung out he almost burst into laughter when the car that zipped in to the curb in front of them was a black Volkswagen Beetle with dark-tinted windows. It hardly looked like a gangster’s ride.

“Get in,” said the first man. He pulled open the door and pointed with his elbow, a gesture that allowed him to keep the gun in his hand concealed. He yanked open the door, pulled the seat forward, and shoved Keith at the back seat.

“Come on, guys,” Keith said, looking up at his captors. He tried valiantly to keep his feet on terra firma. The moment he got into the car he was lost. “You must have the wrong guy. You want Harry Potter, right? He lives in England. I can’t give you his address, but …”

A hand holding a white cloth emerged from the front seat and smothered the rest of his sentence. Something wet and medicinal-smelling smeared his face. Keith opened his mouth to complain about the odor, but he had trouble forming words. The world blurred into a mosaic of dark and light. Something hard hit him in the cheek and barked against his knees.

He heard a thread of music. It was his cell phone ringing. Answering it seemed like the most important thing in the world, but he couldn’t work up the strength to take the kingfisher-colored phone out of his inside coat pocket. So nice of the second big man to do it for him.

“Take a message, huh?” Keith muttered through his gag, as his leaden eyelids drooped closed.

“Sorry,” Wysinski said, holding down the POWER button until the phone turned off. Vasques grabbed the unconscious Keith by the belt and shoved him into the back seat. “I don’t do secretarial work.”

* * *

Paul Meier put the receiver back in its cradle.

“No answer,” he said. “He told me he was going to lunch with a buddy who’s in a play on Navy Pier. Probably you can’t get a decent connection inside the building.”

“I don’t like it,” Dorothy said, tapping her long, coral fingernails on the tabletop. “The client likes his style. I hate to go on with the meeting without him. This meeting’s to clear an ad budget for five different trade shows all spring and summer. I left it in his hands. He knows these i-business ads backwards and forwards. I’m not sure which is which. Maybe we ought to cancel.”

Paul shook his head. “You’ve got the keylines. The preliminaries were already approved. Pitch ’em for all you’re worth. I’ll help out. We’ve got the final of the new commercial to show. That always cheers ’em up. Don’t worry. Keith’ll probably waltz in here fifteen minutes late with a weird excuse, a box of doughnuts, and a bad joke.”

***

Chapter 26

Wasn’t that his belt buckle? Keith wondered, staring at the mysterious, square silver object in front of his eyes. Why did his head hurt so much? And who was groaning like that? The sound made it hard for him to think. He tried to rub his temples to drive away the pain, but his hands were stuck. Trying to tug them loose, he discovered they were tied behind his back. And his feet were attached to the legs of the chair he was sitting in. He was freezing. Where were his coat and hat?

“Awake at last?” Beach’s supercilious voice asked from somewhere behind him. A hand grabbed the back of his neck and dragged his head up, away from the familiar buckle to a face he’d seen a couple of times before: the scary lady, crouching before him. She was dressed in a cheap-looking fur-trimmed coat with a hood that framed her narrow face, and fur-trimmed gloves. No, one glove. The bare fist grasped a gold chain. Keith peered at the object dangling at the chain’s end. It looked like a golden plumber’s weight.

“He is aware,” she said, staring at Keith avidly. He couldn’t put his finger on her accent. She sounded like Dracula’s younger sister. With those burning eyes, she could have
been
Dracula’s younger sister. He turned away from her gaze, trying to figure out where he was. He was not going to give Beach and his minions the satisfaction of the usual question.

The concrete ceiling of the chilly room was low, with water stains visible in the corners. One bulb, protected by a wire cage, burned in the center of the ceiling. The sealed concrete floor was divided by a long metal grate a foot wide that ran the length of the room. The room smelled strongly of chemicals. Cleaning supplies, a metal pail on wheels and a cluster of brooms were propped against the walls. A few feet away was an ancient and filthy industrial sink with a rag slung over the lip. Some kind of janitor’s closet? Maybe, but it was a strange janitor’s station with the noise of car engines so close. But the ratiocination helped him to gather his wits. He saw the shadowy forms of two men in the corners in front of him, flanking the only door he could see in the cinderblock walls. Besides Beach, he could hear someone breathing behind him.

“Now,” Beach said, pulling a chair up in front of Keith and swinging it around so he could sit with his arms propped on the back, “let’s talk.”

“Can’t,” Keith said promptly, though his lips were stiff with cold. “I’m late for work.”

Beach pursed his lips wryly. The boy had seen too many spy pictures. He thought that by acting manly and holding out he would keep his secrets. Beach shook his head.

“I’m only civilized up to a point, Keith,” he said. “I thought you were a nitwit when I first met you, but there’s deeper thoughts going on in that noggin of yours.” He thumped Keith on the top of the head with his knuckles. “It looked like a fluke—what could a lad like you know about the higher powers? And then we found this in your stuff.” He nodded, and the dark-eye-browed man stepped forward with a bag. From it he drew Keith’s magic lantern.

“Hey, that’s private property,” Keith protested.

“So we stole it,” Beach said with a nasty grin. “This, too.” The man with black eyebrows produced the candle lantern and lit it. “Goes on with a breath. Goes out with a breath. Do you have anything to tell me about how it works?”

“What about it?” Keith asked nonchalantly. “’S a space-age chemical that’s carbon-dioxide activated.”

“Yeah, I might have fallen for that explanation if it wasn’t that I’ve seen the very same design before. Stefan?”

Stefan had one more item in his bag, another lantern. He turned it in his hands as if it was a priceless gem. In spite of himself Keith leaned in close to see it. The ornamental carving, fluted pillars and a complicated band of beading top and bottom, didn’t match any of the elves’ styles, and there was no maker’s mark on the bottom. “Where did you get that?”

“Not space-age technology, lad,” Beach said pityingly. “It’s hundreds of years old. Found in backwoods Romania. But it still works.” To prove it, he breathed on the wick. It burst into flame. “Now, would you mind just telling me how you come by a lamp that’s the absolute replica of one that dates from the Renaissance?”

“I bought it,” Keith said.

Beach hauled back his fist and drove it into Keith’s cheekbone. Keith gasped. His chair rocked onto two legs, and settled down again, while his head rang from the blow. “Wrong answer. Let’s try a different one. What’s this thing do?” He held up the magic lantern.

“It’s a toy,” Keith said. “A replica of the old movie projectors from the turn of the century. It doesn’t do anything.”

The scary lady made a noise. Beach glanced at her with raised eyebrows and turned back to Keith. “Maria thinks you’re lying. What’s it do?”

“It shows a picture,” Keith said with the greatest reluctance. “Anyone can use it. Just hold it flat on your hand and look at the screen.”

Beach followed his instructions. The image of Dunn as a second-grader appeared on the light gauze. Maria let out a fascinated coo.

“How’s it work?” the Australian demanded, nearly shoving the box in his face.

“I don’t know how it works,” Keith said. It was nearly the truth: he didn’t know
how
it worked, just that it did. Beach drew back his hand again. Keith recoiled to the extremes of his bonds.

“You do know
something
,”
Beach said. “You made us stick to the ground like glue. You did it again at the pier. What was that?”

“Would you believe hypnotism?” Keith suggested, not very hopefully. “The power of positive thinking. I didn’t want you to move, and you couldn’t.”

Beach shook his head, narrowing his gaze on Keith. “It doesn’t make any sense, lad, and I’ll tell you why: I don’t believe in coincidence. I should have twigged it when you ran away from the advert I showed you. You knew what that writing was. No, don’t try to tell a lie,” he said as Keith choked out a protest. “I can’t find anybody else who even reacts to it except to say that it’s pretty. You bugged out like a rabbit with a firecracker under your scut. I’ve been chasing that lingo for years, now.” He poked Keith in the chest with a forefinger. “I know it’s got something to do with magic.
Real
magic. You’ve proved twice now, and maybe more, that you’re tied in in some way. And you’ve got the goods, the candle, and this magic lantern. You can’t tell me that it’s just chance that put all three of those elements together. Now,” he said dangerously, leaning close and lowering his voice, “I’ll be reasonable if you will be. Who taught you to do that?”

“I just picked it up,” Keith said. “You can get books on anything these days. I practice.”

“Oh? What were the names of the books?”

Keith shrugged, as far as his pinioned arms would let him. “I don’t know. Something I got out of the library.” Well,
that
was true, but it didn’t satisfy his tormentor. Beach grabbed hold of Keith’s left ear and twisted it. Keith yelped.

“You think someone would write this stuff down? You think I’m stupid? Hasn’t it occurred to you what might happen to you if you don’t cooperate?”

Keith ground his back teeth together as images of trap doors into the Chicago River and machine-gun massacres in garages popped up in his mind. “I can guess.”

“Yeah,” Beach said with amusement, as if he could see for himself what Keith was thinking. “You’re the one who’s seen too many pictures. Fine. Let your imagination go wild. I know everything about you. I know where you live. I’ve read your mail and listened to your phone conversations. I know if you tell a lie. I’m a businessman. I can make it worth your while to help me. I want the power. Take me to wherever you learned what you know. Is whoever taught you still alive?” The cool eyes watched Keith, who was determined to give away no information. “We’ve been watching you, you know. We’ve tapped your phones, read your e-mail, gone through your stuff. You’ve got no secrets from us. Yes,” he said, watching as the boy tried to remember every single contact he’d had for the last several months, “if you’ve got something it’d be better to tell us when it’s easy to do it.” He got up. The chair legs emitted a horrible groan as they scooted across the floor. Keith winced. “I’ll give you a while to think about cooperating.”

* * *

“This kid’s got rocks in his head,” Wyszinski complained. “It’s two in the morning. We’ve been asking him the same questions for hours. He’s not going to give it up.”

“No, he’s a wily one,” Beach insisted. “He can’t hold out forever. Pretty soon he’s going to want to eat and use the toilet. He’ll want to sleep. We won’t let him. We’ll see how long his resolve is good for once he starts feeling miserable. He’s a
nice guy.
He wants people to like him. He’s had a soft life. That kind’s got no stamina. Knock him around a little more, reason with him prettily in between, and he’ll be begging to tell us what he knows.”

“How do you know he’s not going to magic himself out of here,” Vasques asked sourly.

“Wouldn’t he have done it?” Beach argued. “He may know a few fancy tricks, but there’s got to be plenty more powerful spells out there. Look at him. He’s a boy. Who’d trust him with the whole grimoire, eh? We want more than spells; we want tools. The lantern and the other artifacts are toys. You can be sure there are weapons.”

A low tapping on the door interrupted them. Wyszinski stood to the side and opened the door a crack. “Yeah, Miller?”

“Clean-up staff’s coming,” the operative whispered. “We’re going to have to get out.”

Wyszinski relayed the information to his employer, who frowned. “I thought you said we could have this room for a few days.”

The burlier half of VW shrugged. “He said he couldn’t promise. At least he’s giving us a warning. We don’t want the cops.”

Beach drummed his fingertips on his thigh. “We’ll have to take the boy back to the hotel. We don’t want to attract attention. Get Miller to distract them. We need five minutes.” Wyszinski nodded and sidled back to the door.

* * *

At the other end of the gloomy room, Keith lolled in the chair, trying to ease the cramp between his shoulder blades. He watched the bad guys huddle and whisper, his heart sinking. Whatever Beach and his friends were up to, he knew he wouldn’t like it. He wished he could hear what they were saying.

His head hurt. Beach had been relentless, coming at him time and again, in different ways, but always with the same questions. He sounded pleasantly reasonable: all Keith had to do was tell him where he learned to do magic, and who was making what he called “the artifacts,” and he could go home. When Keith refused to answer they roughed him up, hitting him or twisting his fingers or ears. The air was freezing, but they’d taken away his coat and hat. They ate carryout Chinese food in front of him, not giving him so much as a noodle. He didn’t like it, but he could take it. For now.

Worry ate away at his insides, gnawing at his empty stomach. If he didn’t give them information willingly, sooner or later they were going to try drugs or serious torture, and he’d be spilling everything he knew about the Little Folk. Suddenly his bright idea of having the elves sell handcrafts to support themselves was backfiring all over the place. Why did it never occur to him that somebody might figure out the toys and things were magical? Why didn’t he think that somebody might want to learn how to do it for themselves, the way he had? Keith didn’t think this Beach character wanted to learn charms and enhancements for the purpose of recharging his car battery. No, he was all set to abuse it in some bid for world power, or something else underhanded and international-spyish. Thank heaven Keith hadn’t gone all the way with his plans for a Hollow Tree website. Beach would have been able to find not only the lantern, but every other gizmo the elves made.

Keith steeled himself. He had to keep silent, no matter what they did to him. If they tried to force him to talk … Keith gulped. The elves trusted him. He might have to make the ultimate sacrifice to keep them from harm. Tied up like this there was only one weapon at his disposal, his homemade fire charm. He dreaded how his parents would feel claiming a charred body at the morgue, but at least he could take the bad guys with him. The elves would be able to live without fear. He only wished he could tell them why. And Diane. Oh, God, he was never going to see her again!

His ears perked up as he caught the edge of a whisper. Keith thought Beach said something about going home, but sudden voices passing by outside the door drowned out the rest of the sentence. People! He hadn’t heard other people in hours. No one was near enough to cover his mouth this time! He took a deep breath to yell for help.

“Psst! Red-crested land man!”

The air rushed out of Keith like a balloon deflating. The voice sounded as though it was coming from inside the room.

“Psst!”

Very slowly, he turned his head to see who was speaking. Over his shoulder he saw a human figure at the rear of the room. He jumped, then realized it was only a set of coveralls on a hook. No one was there. Had the knockout drops the black-eye-browed man given him affected his brain?

A rustle from the other end of the room distracted him. Keith hunkered down in the chair as Beach approached him again. The tall man pulled a gun out of his pocket and shoved the barrel against Keith’s chest.

“We’re going to move now. Since you know the drill from all your movie-watching, I don’t have to tell you that it would be a bad idea to try and give us the slip.” He nodded to one of the men, who bent to untie Keith’s legs.

Tingles shot into his feet as blood returned. It took a few tries before Keith could stand up on them. Stefan set his coat over his shoulders and the hat on his head. Keith huddled into the coat, grateful for the warmth, but it felt too light. He jogged the garment on his shoulders. No jingle.

“Are you looking for these?” Beach asked, holding up his telephone and keys. He kicked aside a section of the floor grate and dropped them. Keith heard them clatter against concrete. He tried to dive for them, but the gun barrel prevented him. “Whoops! Clumsy me. Now, move it.”

* * *

Keith blinked at the acid-bright lights. His eyes focused in the new light to see row upon row of fat concrete pillars painted red and tarmac striped with yellow lines and blotched with oval stains. They were in a parking garage, echoingly empty because of the lateness of the hour. Two more men in blue and green down bomber jackets moved in close to the group and nodded. In the harsh fluorescent light all their faces were drawn and worn. They looked as tired as Keith felt. Beach nudged Keith in the shoulder blade, and they edged away from the black-painted metal door.