Not subject to any of the usual binding spells, the demigod frightened Roger. When it was accidentally freed from the magic circle holding it prisoner by an unexpected earth tremor, the being proved to be more trouble than he could handle. Roger reluctantly found himself serving the Crouching One in the demigod’s quest to rule the world.
At the door to the travel agency, Roger once again muttered a silent prayer to whatever powers existed that kept the Lord of the Lions confused about the power of direct dialing. The ancient god still did not understand the modern world. Otherwise, it might realize that making reservations to Las Vegas didn’t require Roger taking an afternoon trip downtown to a travel agency.
At times, these brief moments of freedom tempted him with the thought of escape. A quick drive to the airport and he could be in another country in a few hours. Roger strongly doubted that the Lord of the Lions would be able to locate him once he was a thousand miles away. He had plenty of money in bank accounts easily accessible throughout the world. His nemesis was woefully ignorant about branch banking. Still, two factors prevented Roger from acting.
The first, and most important, were the marks on his elbow. The five spots were the fingerprints of the demigod, placed there when he first summoned the creature to the material plane. Roger remembered watching objects wither and age, then turn to dust, after being touched by the Crouching One. His was a grip that killed.
At present, the Lord of the Lions needed him, and thus the spell of dissolution was held in check. Roger suspected any attempt to escape would result in the magic taking effect. He had no desire to be reduced to a pile of ashes.
Secondly, the Lord of the Lions planned to rule the world. He was a ruthless, ambitious god. Forgotten and unworshiped for thousands of years, the demonic being possessed little of its original powers. Still, it schemed and plotted a return to greatness.
Recognizing its limitations dealing with the modern world, the Lord of the Lions had promised Roger tremendous rewards for his help. Assuming that the promises of a part-God, part-demon could be trusted. Roger doubted the Ancient One’s word—but the thought of being absolute ruler of the United States tempted him more than he liked to admit. For there was the real possibility that the Lord of the Lions might prevail.
The demigod’s first attempt at restoring its powers had nearly succeeded. A massive human sacrifice in Chicago had been thwarted at the last minute by a college mathematics student named Jack Collins, aided by several supernatural creatures. Collins had used logic and modern technology to defeat the powerful sorcery of Dietrich von Bern, Master of the Wild Hunt, and servant of the Crouching One.
To Roger’s surprise, the Lord of the Lions accepted the setback with equanimity. Good always arose to battle evil. If the Crouching One symbolized darkness, then Jack Collins and his friends, under the guidance of Merlin the Magician, represented the light. The demigod had engaged in such battles before. It was confident, in the end, night would triumph over day. Roger wasn’t so positive, but his opinions didn’t matter. At least, not yet.
As he pushed open the door to the travel agency, Roger wondered for the dozenth time why the Crouching One wanted to go to Las Vegas. The demigod had offered no explanation for its command and Roger knew better than to ask. The Lord of the Lions acted in strange and mysterious ways.
As he explained his needs to the woman behind the desk, Roger mentally shrugged his shoulders. At the moment, the Crouching One was in control of events. Roger accepted that fact for now. But it didn’t mean he wasn’t planning to change things in the future.
Ever since raising the Lord of the Lions, Roger had schemed to gain mastery over it. For all of its age and knowledge, the demigod possessed the personality of a strong-willed child. Roger felt sure, given enough time, he could use psychology to influence the Crouching One’s ideas. Lately, growing impatient with his servitude, he had begun investigating another method of attack. What could be summoned by black magic could be controlled by black magic. Or so Roger reasoned. All he needed was some time alone with his computer. And the black magic texts in his library.
Jack Collins had been quite useful in that respect. The longer Collins and his friends held the Crouching One in check, the better.The Ancient One had a one-track mind. Worrying about the Logical Magician, it ignored the ambitions of its assistant. Roger smiled. His scheme was nearly complete. Another few days and he would once again be in charge.
Arrangements for the trip took three minutes less than Roger estimated. He had six minutes to spare before returning to his mansion and the Crouching One. That gave him plenty of time to make the world a bit more difficult for his boss. He looked around the office, and noticed a bunch of flyers and cards about Las Vegas.
“Would you mind if I take one of these?” he asked the travel agent, reaching for a postcard.
“Of course not,” said the woman. “Planning to inform friends of your upcoming visit? I have some postage stamps if you need one.”
“Thank you,” said Roger, sincerely. He scribbled a short note and address on the back of the card. “I appreciate the courtesy.”
“No trouble,” said the agent. “I’ll put the card with our outgoing mail.”
The woman glanced at the name and address. “Jack Collins, Chicago. A close friend of yours, Mr. Quinn?”
“We’ve never met,” said Roger, rising from his chair, smiling. “But I’m sure we will. Soon. Quite soon.”
8
“Are you positive my mother wanted you to bring us to this place?” Jack asked suspiciously several hours later.
“Trust me, boss,” said Hugo. “I know it don’t look like much on the outside. But wait till you step indoors. You’ll be surprised. I promise.”
Jack looked at Megan and shrugged. “What do you think?”
They were on a deserted side street on Chicago’s near south side. Big, old buildings, most of them warehouses, crowded the block. None of the structures appeared less than a hundred years old and all were in a state of near collapse. Of them, only one had a doorway that opened to the street. A solitary light burned above the entrance. On the side of the door was a small metal sign reading Members Only.
After a brief trip to Megan’s condo on the near north side, where they had changed into appropriate clothes for a fancy dinner, they had taken a taxi to the address given them by Hugo. The raven flew ahead, promising to meet them at the club. Mongo had remained at Merlin’s office, discussing philosophy with Megan’s father.
“Well,” said Megan, “considering our location and the lack of traffic, I suspect finding a cab might prove to be difficult. And there’s no way I plan to start walking anywhere in this neighborhood. It’ll be getting dark soon. Better inside than out here. Besides,” she added cheerfully, “what can happen to us in there?”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” replied Jack. He stared at Hugo. Jack regretted leaving Mongo behind. Of the two, the other raven seemed a great deal more reliable. Hugo was more than a bit flaky.
“Okay, bird,” he said, finally coming to a decision. “Megan’s right. Standing out here won’t do us any good. Lead on. I just hope that after centuries your fabled memory hasn’t started slipping.”
“About time,” said the raven, and flapped over to the door. Hovering, it pecked the wood paneling hard three times. “Open up in there. It’s me, Hugo Odinsbird, with two friends. We have reservations.”
A few seconds passed and then, soundlessly, the door swung back, revealing a pitch black tunnel. “Enter,” declared a low, gently mocking voice. “And welcome.”