Her eyes burning with anger, Cassandra lowered her staff to the floor. For a second Jack suspected she planned to launch the stick like a spear at Anderson. Evidently, the same thought occurred to the security chief. Carefully, he shifted his position so that Jack’s body completely shielded him from the Amazon. Raising her empty hands to indicate her compliance, Cassandra backed away from the wood staff.
“Smart girl,” said Anderson. Grunting with effort, he slowly started to shuffle to the door of the lab, dragging Jack along with him. “Stay right where I can see you. Benny Anderson knows all the tricks in the book, and then some. Twitch funny and Collins’s neck goes snap.”
They were less than five feet from the exit when an unexpected figure filled the doorway.
“What is the meaning of this disgraceful conduct, Mr. Anderson?” declared Darrell Quiggly, Dean of Students. A tall, thin man, with iron-gray hair and distinguished features, Quiggly filled many roles on campus, including that of Anderson’s boss. “Release that young man at once.”
“But, Dean…” began Anderson, swinging around to confront the official. “This is that drug…”
“No excuses, Anderson,” interrupted Quiggly, his voice raised in anger. “I said release him. Violence against students is strictly forbidden, no matter what the reason. Immediately, if you value your job at this university.”
The Dean’s appearance and the confusion he caused was all the diversion Cassandra needed. Jack sensed rather than saw her grab her walking stick, position it correctly, and thunk the security chief across the head in the span of mere seconds. Silently, Anderson released his grip around Jack’s throat and collapsed to the floor unconscious.
Swallowing and rubbing his neck, Jack stared at the Dean, waiting for Quiggly’s reaction. Surprisingly, a broad grin crossed the school official’s face.
“Fooled you too,” he chuckled, his features already twisting like Silly Putty. “Damn, I’m good.”
“Simon,” said Jack, barely able to speak. “You’re the best.”
“Lucky we found those battery packs as soon as we entered the photo department,” said the changeling. “I sent Fritz to the car with them and came to lend a hand here. Anderson’s ranting and raving cued me in on what was happening and I reacted accordingly.”
Gingerly, Jack touched the unmoving security guard with his foot. “What do we do with Benny?”
“Leave him there,” said Cassandra, with a shrug. “The tap I administered should be good for an hour or more. That’s plenty of time for us to disappear. Considering your reputation already, a few broken bones and stolen equipment won’t change anything,”
“It might add a few more years to your sentence,” declared Simon. “Assuming your case ever makes it to trial. I figure fifty years to life at the moment.”
“Maybe longer,” said Jack, grinning. “We better save Merlin, because there’s no way in hell I can salvage my reputation on my own anymore.”
Stepping over Anderson’s body, he walked over to the storage shelves. Carefully, he lifted the long black rectangular tube from where he had placed it only minutes before.
“See if you can find another one of these,” he said to his companions. “The one thing I’ve learned from reading hundreds of fantasy novels is that it never hurts to have a spare super-weapon when dealing with the forces of darkness.”
35
Roger hated animals. He considered them dirty, stupid, and useless creations, placed on Earth for one purpose and one purpose alone—to serve as food for people like him. Not surprisingly, he had never visited the municipal zoo. If asked to list a hundred places in the city he wanted to visit, the zoo undoubtedly would be number one hundred, following even hospital emergency rooms at midnight, unsupervised kindergarten classes, and hare krishna festivals. Yet, despite his inner revulsion for the surroundings, he found his trip to the zoo on May first strangely fascinating.
His “uncle,” as he named The Crouching One for those few mortals who encountered the demigod, had insisted on the excursion. Ever since learning of the existence of the zoo from a newspaper article a week before, the Lord of the Lions had pressed Roger to schedule an afternoon sojourn at the wildlife preserve. It seemed singularly appropriate that they visit the park on what was scheduled to be the day of the ancient god’s greatest triumph. Or, as Roger secretly hoped, his greatest failure.
Dressed in a bright yellow shirt adorned with red flowers, loose-fitting slacks, and sandals, the Crouching One appeared a typical senior citizen out for a day of sun and relaxation. Dark sunglasses kept hidden its blazing eyes. It walked slowly and carefully, avoiding human contact as much as possible, and remained surprisingly polite considering its godlike pride. Even Roger, expecting a disaster of near biblical proportions, was impressed by the Lord of the Lions’s demeanor.
They spent most of the day at the lion enclosure. A warm spring sun had lured the beasts outside, and they rested on the rocky perches and grassy knolls of their huge compound. The zoo tried to duplicate their animals’ original habitats as closely as possible, and the lions appeared quite comfortable in their savanna-like surroundings. A high concrete wall and wide trench separated them from the idle and the curious.
The Crouching One stared at the huge beasts with a single-minded concentration that after a few minutes Roger found disturbing. Though he knew the origins of the demigod’s title, the Lord of the Lions, for the first time he realized exactly how true was that name. The shape and form of the Crouching One’s skull uncannily resembled that of a jungle cat. Even the way the demigod stood unmoving, as if ready to pounce, approximated that of the huge beasts.
“Talking to them?” asked Roger, only half in jest as he noticed the Couching One’s lips mouthing words without sounds.
“Of course,” replied the ancient God, turning its head for a second to stare at Roger. Even the dark glasses could not hide completely the glow of its eyes. “Though men worshipped me, these here,” and it gestured with gnarled fingers at the lions, “are my children.”
The Crouching One returned its attention to the beasts. “These few are much different than the great killers of my time. Instead of hunting, they are content to be fed. They are lazy, preferring to spend their time resting in the sunshine instead of searching for prey. Civilization has ruined them, made them weak.”
The Lord of the Lions smiled its unpleasant smile, the smile that twisted its face into a shape not the least bit reflecting humanity. “All of that shall change shortly. When my rightful powers return, I will shatter their cages. And the hunting cry of my children will once again echo through the land.”
Not wanting to irritate the demigod, Roger decided not to mention that these days, half the citizens in California owned enough legal and illegal firepower to stop a herd of rampaging elephants, much less a pride of old and near toothless lions. There were certain truths about modern civilization that the Crouching One was not yet ready to accept.
Roger looked down at his watch. “Only a few more hours till sunset in Chicago. According to the last call from von Bern, everything is running on schedule.”
“As I predicted,” said the Crouching One. “Exactly as I predicted.”
“Maybe,” said Roger, treading on dangerous territory. “Still, the German never caught Jack Collins or his friends. The computer news service from Chicago reported a robbery last night at Collins’s college. The security chief’s account of the affair was pretty garbled, but it sounded like our enemy. And he took some pretty fancy scientific equipment.”