Okay, what now? he wondered. What else have you got in mind for me? And more to the point, what are you preparing me for?
There was no answer, of course.
“Well, what the hell,” he muttered. “I’m pretty sure I’m Eddie Raven, but I’m not sure of a hell of a lot else. I may only know two people in this Manhattan, this universe, and one of them just vanished. I suppose I might as well try to connect with the other, even though if I were a betting man I’d give odds against it.”
He opened the door, remembered to lock it behind him (unlike the last few times), and was soon out on the street, walking toward Rofocale’s dilapidated building and even more dilapidated room.
“Hey, fella,” said a voice from the shadows. “You need a little protection?”
“That’s a new pitch,” said Raven.
“But an earnest one.”
“Who are you protecting me against?” asked Raven.
The speaker, all seven feet and four hundred pounds of him, stepped out from between two buildings. “Me,” he said with a smile that implied he’d be just as happy, perhaps even more so, if Raven turned down his offer.
Not to worry, Eddie, whispered Lisa’s voice in his ear. He’s just a cheap crook, not one of them.
One of whom? thought Raven.
Just trust me. You have nothing to fear from him.
Right, thought Raven sardonically. He only outweighs me by a couple of hundred pounds, all of it muscle.
You’ve faced worse, Frankie. Or should I say Alan? Or Mordred?
“I’m waiting for an answer, Mac,” said the huge man.
“It’s still a pleasant night,” replied Raven.
The man frowned. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
“Since I don’t plan to pay you until Hell freezes over, it means you showed up a few years too early. Now get the hell out of my way before I get really annoyed with you.”
The huge man sneered at him. “Okay, fella—you asked for it!”
He had time to shoot one quick thought off at Lisa—I hope to hell you’re right!—and then the man was upon him, raining blows right and left. But with a speed he didn’t know he possessed, Raven ducked most of them and blocked the rest. He backed up a few feet as the man kept coming after him, and managed to get in two quick punches—one bloodied the man’s nose and the other shut his left eye.
The man stopped swinging long enough to press a hand against his swollen eye.
“Who the hell are you, anyway?” he demanded.
“Someone who doesn’t like to be threatened or attacked by dumb palookas,” answered Raven. “And I’ll tell you something else: There are a hell of a lot of us walking the streets after dark, just waiting to teach bastards like you a lesson. So if you’ve got half a brain, and based on the last few minutes that’s being generous, you’ll find a better way to make a living before one of us gets really mad at you.”
The huge man stared at him. Raven thought for a moment that he was going to extend a hand in friendship. Instead he spat on the street, pulled out a handkerchief, blew his nose, turning the entire fabric red, and retreated to his hiding place between buildings.
Thanks, thought Raven.
What for? asked Lisa.
For your help.
I didn’t help you, Eddie.
I’m not that strong or that fast.
You’d be surprised at what you are, Eddie.
Okay, he thought. What am I?
He could almost see her smiling as she answered him. That would be telling.
And there’s some rule against telling me?
I know you think there isn’t, or shouldn’t be, but remember: I am the Mistress of Illusions. I operate under a different set of . . . well, rules, ethics, principles, whatever you want to call them. There was a pause. Anyway, I’m glad you faced up to the danger.
Let me guess, thought Raven. This was a test?
Not a planned or predetermined one, no, she replied, but a test nonetheless—and it was essential that you pass it, for greater tests lie ahead. Far greater.
I don’t suppose you’d care to enlighten me about them, or why I have to take them at all?
He could almost see and hear her chuckle. Right the first time.
Then, if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way before I face any more tests by guys who are too big to play defensive end for the Giants or the Patriots.
He waited for an answer, and when none came, he examined the contours of his mind and found that she was no longer in contact with it.
He resumed walking, stopped at an all-night eatery for a sandwich, a piece of pie, and a cup of coffee, tried without much success to make sense of the day’s events, and finally left a couple of dollars on the counter, got up, and began walking again.
What the hell is going on? he wondered for the hundredth time. What did the Master of Dreams, whoever he was, have against me? Why has the Mistress of Illusions made me her special project, or even her boyfriend? Why is Lucifer’s right-hand man—or right-hand demon—actually trying to help me? I keep trying to go back over my life, pulling up meaningful incidents, but Rofocale took most of it away from me. I think I was a normal guy, I feel like one, but who the hell knows?
Damn it all! I’ve already had a demonstration of how Rofocale can tamper with my memory. So what is the truth?
And the only truth he could be sure of was that he didn’t know.