“We thought it was time we had a chat with you,” the elder facing him said. “You’ve been an outstanding recruiter, the best we’ve ever had. You’ve done such a good job, we decided you deserved to be rewarded. Would you like that, Ray?”
Ray started to get excited. He’d become a member of the Order in prison after hearing stories about members gaining mystical powers as rewards for pleasing their masters.
“Are you going to give me special powers?” he asked.
“We can. Is there something in particular you’d like?”
“I know this is going to sound stupid, but I’ve always wanted to bend silverware with my mind. You know, like spoons. I always thought that was really cool.”
The elder facing him smiled like a department store mannequin. The elder didn’t possess a soul, and it showed through in everything he said and did. Ray imagined himself as an elder one day, immortal and able to wreak havoc on the world whenever it suited him.
“Consider it done,” the elder said.
“Cool,” the tattoo artist said.
“There’s something else we’d like to give you as well.”
“What’s that?”
“Call it the gift of knowledge. It’s time for you to be enlightened.”
Enlightened. That was a strange word for the elder to use, and Ray nearly laughed.
“I’m game.”
“Good,” the elder to his right chimed in. “You see, we have a master plan which involves the good citizens of New York being exposed to something that will forever change their lives. A portentous event designed to alter their souls, so to speak. We cannot put this plan into motion with Peter Warlock in the picture. Warlock must be erased.”
“I thought that was Munns’s job,” Ray said, uncertain where this was going.
“You must make sure that Munns does not fail.”
“Whoa. I was going to leave town.”
“You cannot leave,” the elder facing him said sternly. “You must stay, and make sure that Munns does away with Warlock.”
Ray shifted uncomfortably in his plush velvet seat. He didn’t like when plans got changed at the last moment. Yet at the same time, he understood the elders’ concern. Munns was erratic, and could very well screw up. If Peter Warlock was going to be taken out of the picture, it would probably be better if Ray hung around and made sure the job got done correctly.
“If I say yes, will I become like you?” Ray asked.
“You will be given the opportunity to become like us,” the elder facing him replied. “The process takes time. First, your old self will fall away, then your new self will be born. With your new self will come new responsibilities. You will become one of Dante’s disciples.”
“Who’s Dante?”
“Dante is the anti-conjuror. For the past thousand years, he’s performed his magic for the delight of Satan and his guests. Satan has decided that it’s time to unleash him, and is sending Dante to New York. You will have the honor to be one of his assistants.”
“Will this make me like you guys?”
“Yes. It will bring you one step closer. Would you care to meet Dante?”
Ray had always wanted to join the inner sanctum of the Order, for he knew that one day it would lead to him standing at Satan’s side and becoming immortal. Whoever Dante was, he was sure he could find a way to get along with him.
“Bring him on,” Ray said, unable to hide his excitement.
“Splendid. Enjoy the show.”
The elders vanished, and Ray found himself sitting alone in the theater, shuddering from a burst of cold air. He could no longer remember what the elders looked like, their memory having been erased. He would have given anything to be so powerful.
The house lights dimmed. The curtains parted to reveal a darkened stage. A single spotlight shone down, its beam so bright it reminded Ray of a light coming out of a flying saucer in a Spielberg movie. Smoke filled the stage, followed by a flash of light, from which stepped a wild-looking young man wearing a flowing purple robe. This had to be Dante, his new boss. The guy was a trip, with spiked purple hair, pierced eyebrows, lips, and nose, and Gothic designs smeared across his face. He moved in a slight crouch while staring sinisterly from side to side, and looked like a jackal that had learned to walk on its hind legs. Plucking two black scarves out of the air, the anti-conjuror bunched them together, and made a screaming vulture appear.
The vulture was released into the theater, and flew in a lazy circle over Ray’s head. More vultures appeared from the same scarves, and were also set loose. The birds weren’t hidden in Dante’s coat or stuffed up his sleeves, but were molded to life right before his disbelieving eyes. Ray had once seen a magician at a birthday party, and thought the whole thing was a bunch of crap, the tricks obvious if you looked hard enough. Dante’s magic was different. It looked real, and something told him it probably was.
Ray started to applaud, figuring he’d better make his new boss happy. The hollow sound echoed throughout the theater. Dante silenced him with a menacing glare. Clearly, he did not like interruptions.
A final vulture was brought to life, and sent airborne to join the flock. Ray kept one eye overhead, noticing that the vultures had positioned themselves directly over his chair.
“What’s your name?” Dante’s voice was high-pitched, like a woman’s.
“Ray,” he replied. “Nice to meet you.”
“Do you know what the purpose of magic is, Ray? Magic is supposed is to reveal the secrets of the universe and life itself. Magic is not supposed to create illusion, it’s supposed to strip illusion away. It’s about finding eternal truth.”
Ray didn’t know what the hell Dante was talking about but nodded anyway.
“Here. Let me show you.” Dante cupped his empty palms together while his eyes bored a hole into Ray’s soul. “Think of a thing which truly frightens you. Don’t tell me, just think of it.”
That was easy. The one thing that truly frightened Ray were rats. One had bitten him in the foot as a kid, and he’d never shaken the experience.
From Dante’s cupped hands appeared a rat with a curled tail. It leapt to the stage, and was quickly followed by another. Soon, rats were pouring out of Dante’s cupped hands in such great numbers that they flooded the stage, and began to pour into the audience.
Ray had seen enough, and jumped out of his seat in fear. Too late. A rat was attached to his pant leg, tearing at the fabric. Several more jumped on his shoe, their weight dragging him down. Within seconds he was covered in furry rodents whose sole intent was to scare him to death. Then the vultures swooped down, attaching their beaks to the tattoo artist’s shirt, and lifted him into the air with the rats still clinging to his body.
“Don’t do this to me,” Ray cried.
Dante stepped to the foot of the stage to appraise his handiwork. He had peeled back the darkest layer of his subject’s soul, and seemed pleased with himself. “You now work for me, Ray. Do as I say, and you’ll do fine. But if you disobey me, my furry friends will skin you alive. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes. Please make them go away,” he begged.
“When your job is finished here, you will join me in the city. We’re starting rehearsals soon, and I want you to be there. Does that sound good, Ray?”
“Yes. They’re biting me!”
Dante howled with laughter and lifted his arms into the air. The vultures released their grip on his clothes, and Ray let out a blood-curdling scream as he fell into the audience.
A car horn’s blast brought Ray back to the real world of Westchester County. A delivery truck idled behind him at an intersection, the driver fuming. Ray could still feel the rats on his body, and tried to swipe the invisible creatures away. The delivery truck passed, firing its horn.
Ray pulled off the road and started to cry. Dante had made him want to die. He’d never felt that way before, and his fear was tearing him apart. This was not what he’d bargained for, and he told himself there was still time to escape to Maine or upstate New York and get out with his soul. He would live in the woods if he had to. He was ready to do just about anything to get away from this madness.