“Where the hell are we?” muttered Raven, looking around at the lush, flower-filled landscape.
“A stopover between worlds,” answered Lisa, who was standing beside him. All the others had vanished—or, more precisely, had been left behind.
“Between Earth and where?”
She smiled and shook her head. “It’s not as simple as that, Eddie.”
“Somehow I’m not surprised,” he answered bitterly.
“By the way, you were magnificent leading your men against the sheriff’s army.”
“First, I didn’t so much lead them as react to the other side,” said Raven. “Second, they were jailers, not soldiers. And third, they’re all imaginary anyway.”
She pointed to a gash on his arm that was dripping blood. “One of their swords must have had one hell of an imagination,” she said.
“Okay, I was magnificent,” he said. “Now where the hell are we?”
“A halfway stop.”
“Halfway between what and what else?” he asked irritably.
“Between what happened last and what happens next,” she answered.
He stared at her. “I love you,” he said. “I hope you know that.” He paused, then frowned. “But you’re driving me crazy!”
“I’m sorry, Eddie,” said Lisa. “Please believe me that everything you’re undergoing is necessary.”
“Damned well better be,” he muttered. “Well, what’s next?”
“I don’t think you’re in the right frame of mind for another excursion.”
“We’re calling them excursions, are we?” he said. Suddenly he shrugged. “Well, it beats calling ’em delusions.” He looked around. “So we just sit here and wait for . . . for whatever?”
“No, I think you’ll adjust quicker to something more familiar.” She reached out. “Here, hold my hand. I don’t want us to get separated, or you’ll spend all your time trying to find me.”
He reached out and took her hand in his. “Feels human,” he remarked with a smile.
“It is,” she replied. “Mostly.”
He was about to ask her to qualify that last word, but suddenly the world had vanished again and they were spinning, weightless, in total darkness. After a moment his feet touched the ground, the spinning stopped, and he tightened his grip on Lisa’s hand to make sure she couldn’t spin off in some other direction.
He opened his eyes, not quite sure what to expect, and found himself standing beneath a streetlight on a Manhattan street. He led her to a corner and read the street sign.
“I should have known,” he said. “This is Rofocale’s street. His apartment is four buildings down.”
“I thought as long as we were taking a break from other things, you might like to see how he’s progressing,” answered Lisa. “He is one of your sponsors.”
“He’s the chief demon of Hell,” growled Raven.
“He’s on your side,” she said. “What else matters?”
“Give me a minute to come up with an answer.”
“If it’s a negative answer,” said Lisa, “I’ve got another question for you.”
“Oh?”
She nodded. “How can you trust the Mistress of Illusions when you can’t trust the demon she clearly trusts?”
“So all the history books should know that you created Robin Hood and Friar Tuck and the rest?” he said dubiously.
She shook her head. “I chose the version of them in which you could function best.”
He frowned. “How many versions of them are there?”
She smiled. “More than I think you can imagine.”
He stared at her, tried to think of another question where the answer wouldn’t confuse or frustrate him, couldn’t come up with even one, then shrugged and sighed.
“Well, as long as we’re here, we might as well see how he’s doing.”
“I intuit that he’s making progress, but very slowly.”
“I’ll bet his boss is having a hell of a chuckle at his pain.”
“Certainly not!” said Lisa.
“The Devil doesn’t enjoy his lackey’s pain?”
She sighed and shook her head. “You just don’t understand.”
“Enlighten me,” said Raven.
“Eddie, even the Devil is simply a fallen angel.”
He stood perfectly still for a moment. “Son of a bitch!” he muttered. “I never thought of that.”
“Almost no one does,” she said sadly.
“Okay, let’s go check on him,” said Raven, heading off to Rofocale’s building with Lisa at his side.
They entered the building, walked into the elevator, found out that it wasn’t working, and climbed the stairs to Rofocale’s one-room apartment. Raven was about to knock when Lisa grabbed his wrist.
“It’s not locked,” she told him.
“You know that for a fact, do you?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” she responded.
He reached out, grabbed the doorknob, twisted it, and pushed it open.
Rofocale was sitting on the edge of his bed, not looking much better than the last time Raven had seen him, but at least sitting rather than sprawled out.
“Hello, Eddie,” he said. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“You have?” said Raven, surprised.
“Ever since you returned from Sherwood.”
“You knew I was there?”
“Of course,” said Rofocale.
Raven stared at the red humanlike creature sitting on the bed. “You should have told me who and what you were.”
“Would it have made you more comfortable in my presence?”
Raven frowned. “Probably not.”
“If you took it wrong, I was in no condition to defend myself.”
“I don’t attack cripples,” said Raven. “Not even crippled demons.”
“I know,” said Rofocale. “You would be He Whom We Sought if you were.”
“You make it sound like a title,” said Raven.
Rofocale shrugged. “In a way.” He turned to Lisa. “He did as expected?”
“We wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t,” she answered.
“Good. The time is getting close.”
“The time for what?” demanded Raven.
“It’s still a little too soon to tell you, Eddie Raven,” said Rofocale. “I don’t want you to be frightened or overcome by the magnitude of it.”
“Of what?” persisted Raven.
“Of what we have been preparing you for,” said Rofocale. He winced in discomfort. “I’d invite you to relax and visit, but this place was not created for visitors, and besides I’m sure she has more important things on tap for you. I’d accompany you, but my strength isn’t up to it yet.”
Ask your Dark Master for some, Raven wanted to say, but somehow he knew that if it were available Rofocale would already have it.
“All right,” said Raven. “I’ll check on you whenever I can.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I have suffered far worse injuries over the eons, and I shall be fine.”
Once I knew who and what you are, I never doubted it.
Raven held the door open for Lisa, then closed it and followed her to the stairway.
“Before we leave the building,” he said, “was there anything you wanted to say to him?”
“I’ve already said it,” she answered.
“While I was talking to him?”
She smiled. “When else?”
“You had a whole conversation with him while we were there?”
“Yes.” They reached the foyer. “Don’t let it distress you, Eddie. He’s not a normal human being.”
And neither, it would seem, is the woman I love.
She smiled again. “I read that thought. I appreciate the sentiment.”
“Well,” he said wryly, “I can tell that if we ever get married, one of us had damned well better not cheat.”
She laughed. And then, suddenly, her face was totally serious.
“Let’s survive the next few days and weeks, Eddie,” she said. “Then we’ll worry about getting married—if we, and the world, are still here.”
“Fair enough,” he agreed. “You hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“I saw a Chinese restaurant about two blocks from here last time I was walking away from the apartment,” said Raven. “Looked okay.”
“Then let’s give it a try,” she replied.
“Turn left at the corner.”
They walked two blocks, then turned to their right about forty feet, and entered a tastefully decorated restaurant displaying rows of fans and delicate lanterns.
“What do you think?” asked Raven.
“I think it’s charming,” she answered. “I hope the food is up to the décor.”
A waitress approached them.
“Table for two, please,” said Raven.
“Follow me, please.” She turned to Lisa. “I like your outfit.”
Raven looked at Lisa, blinked, shook his head, and blinked again.
“You’re still Lisa?” he asked of the Asian girl in the brocaded robe who stood beside him.
“I’m still the Mistress of Illusions,” she answered. “And for you, of course, I’m Lisa.”
“You don’t look like her.”
“Adaptive coloration,” she replied. “If this was a Hawaiian restaurant I might be wearing a sarong and letting my hair hang down to my waist.”
“Your hair doesn’t begin to reach your waist.”
She smiled. “Don’t bet on it, Eddie.”
They continued following the waitress and a moment later were seated at a table.
They each looked at their menus, and Eddie said, “I wonder how the kung pao shrimp is.”
“I’ll ask,” said Lisa, signaling the waitress, who returned to the table. Lisa spoke very briefly in a Chinese dialect that Raven found incomprehensible, smiled, and turned to him. “It’s the specialty of the house.”
“I’ll have some,” he said to the waitress, and Lisa ordered in the dialect. “How many languages do you speak?” he asked as the waitress retreated.
“As many as I have to,” she replied.
He stared at her. “I have to ask,” he continued. “Did you study them all, or do they each come naturally?”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?” he persisted.
She smiled again. “Yes, one or the other.”
He was sure he’d get another non-answer to anything he wanted to know, and he thought he’d go crazy indulging in idle conversation when there was so much he wanted to ask, so he sat in silence, and she accommodated him.
Finally, after almost ten minutes of silence, their meals arrived.
“Is there a way to test it?” he asked, staring at his plate.
“You think it might be too hot?” she responded.
He shook his head. “I just want to make sure it’s not too deadly. If there’s one thing I don’t seem to be short of, it’s people who want me dead.”
“It’s fine, Eddie. Dig in and enjoy it.”
“You can tell just by looking at it?”
She smiled. “No. But Rofocale has already checked out the chef, the staff, and the kitchen.”
“Just since we entered?”
“Since you suggested it as we left his building.”
Raven sighed. “It’s nice to have friends, even if they are demons from Hell.”
“One demon, Eddie,” she replied. “I am not in that category.”
“Are there any other Mistresses of Illusions?” he asked.
“Not for the last . . .” She seemed to be doing the math in her head, then shrugged and smiled. “Not in a very long time.”
He wanted to ask how her predecessor had died, but was afraid to have her tell him on the assumption that his enemies were probably her enemies as well.
Suddenly she leaned over and kissed him.
“What was that for?” he asked.
She smiled. “I admire your restraint. Now dig in before your food gets cold.”
He took a mouthful, decided he liked it, and took another. Finally he nodded his head. “It’s good,” he said.
“I told you it was,” replied Lisa. “You can trust me, Eddie. In fact, I’m the only person you can trust.”
“Including Rofocale?” he asked.
“He’s not a person,” she answered. “And you can trust him until I tell you that you can’t.”
“Which will be in the far distant future, I hope?”
“I hope so, too,” she said. “We’ll see.”
“So what’s next?” asked Raven.
“Dessert.”
He grimaced and shook his head. “I mean, do I become Pinocchio, or perhaps King Kong, or maybe one of the animals Noah didn’t have room for on the Ark?”
“I truly don’t know, Eddie,” she said. “But whatever it is, I’ll be there beside you, and we’ll find a way to overcome it.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier if you and Rofocale just told me what all this is leading up to?”
An expression crossed her face that he had never seen before—apprehension? Concern? Terror?
“Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry I asked.”
She reached out and laid her hand on his. “I’m sorry I can’t answer.”
“Can’t or won’t?” he asked.
“In this case there’s less difference between the two than I think you can imagine.”
The waitress came by to pick up their plates and take their dessert order. They waited in silence, finished their desserts in silence, and walked out the door in silence after Raven paid the bill.
“I’m sorry you’re mad at me,” said Lisa as they began walking down the sidewalk.
“I’m not mad,” said Raven.
“But you haven’t spoken in ten minutes, maybe fifteen.”
A self-deprecating smile crossed his face. “I’m afraid to ask anything.”
“I do not look forward to half a century of wedded silence,” said Lisa.
Raven smiled. “That’s the most encouraging thing I’ve heard in days.”
She stared at him with a puzzled frown.
“That we’re going to be married and live another fifty years,” he explained.
“Then make sure you take care of yourself in the coming days and weeks.”
“Not to worry,” said Raven. “I don’t plan to leave an almost-widow behind.” They passed a small theater. “Assuming we survive, I wonder if they’ll make a play out of it?”
“Why should they?” she asked.
“It’s no more far-fetched than half the shows on Broadway,” he answered. “As strange as the last few weeks have been, are they any weirder than good and bad witches, or singing bloodthirsty barbers, or bitter, mutilated men living in the depths of an opera house? How much stranger can Rofocale be?”
“I consider that a healthy attitude,” said Lisa. “Ridiculous, but healthy.”
He chuckled. “If we live through this, maybe we’ll become the next Burns and Allen and make everyone else laugh at this idiocy.”
“That’ll certainly draw anyone over the age of seventy-five or eighty,” she said.
He stopped and stared at her. “But you know who they were. How old are you?”
“As old as my nose, and a little older than my teeth.”
“That was a legitimate question.”
“I’m an old-time radio fan, Eddie. There are still some of us around . . . or how did you know about Burns and Allen?”
“Touché,” he said with a wry grin.
Suddenly he felt a wind on his face. He stopped and turned to face the source of it.
“What is it, Eddie?”
He shrugged. “Just a window fan. Powerful one, though.”
“Colorful, too,” said Lisa.
He looked at it. Suddenly it began slowing down, and he watched in fascination as the colors—a different primary color on each blade—became more distinct.
“Pretty,” commented Lisa.
“Fascinating!” said Raven.
“Come on, Eddie.”
“In a minute,” he said, staring at the blades.
“It’s just a fan, Eddie.”
He shook his head.
“I don’t think so . . .” said Raven.