More stories here in the LIBRARYprevious chapters are HERE and HERE
I smile as the stack of pancakes was put down in front of me all steaming with buttery goodness. The elderly woman smiles and shuffled away. Like a certain lighthouse in England, Ma & Pa’s Pancake Plaza was a nexium point, one of the few places that was constant throughout the multiverse though the one in this reality was the best by far. I scroll through pages on my tablet searching for relatives of Daniel Drumm. I could easily conjure a Sphere of Scrying to find out the answer. Honestly I could use magic to solve all the world’s problems but then I’d be no better than the Nazi’s, my job is to protect. But Dormammu’s and his jibe about him doing my job…I should earn my keep as Sorcerer Supreme.
As I shove a wad of pancake in my mouth I think I find what I’m looking for: Jericho Drumm. Older brother of Daniel, emigrated to the US from Haiti to learn medicine studying at several reputable hospitals, last known address…Louisiana.
“Did Jericho see me kill his brother?”
I look around realising that I’m speaking out loud. I notice a flashing news headline and click on it; it’s going to be about 10 Things You Never Knew About Obadiah Stane or some other rubbish. Ever since J Jonah Jameson’s death by Spider-Man, the quality of journalism at the Bugle has plummeted; and though the man was an opinionated antagonist loudmouth he did run a tight fact orientated news ship.
“ROBERY AT NATURAL MUSEUM”
Headline article and they can’t even spell robbery? I should resurrect him just to save the population from poor spelling and content…and its whim thoughts like that that lead to trouble because then it becomes ‘Well why don’t I just resurrect that man’s wife to ease his pain?’ and lo and behold zombie plague! People like Daniel Drumm and now his brother Jericho don’t seem to fathom consequences like that. Which is why they practice the Dark Ar…the Bowl of Asena?
What is the Natural History Museum doing with a mystical artefact? Probably Mordo because they have no idea of its magical significance and they. “Put it on display like a bust on a plinth. Idiots!”
“You okay?” asks Pa, a small gruff man who really isn’t a people person, standing near my table with a large roiling pin in hand. “Lot of talking for just one man…on his own.”
I close my tablet and wipe my mouth. “I do apologise. I often get vocal reading the Bugle.”
He nods watching me carefully. I place five $20’s on the table, bow slightly and leave quickly. Though I have stared demons down, faced doppelganger versions of myself and seen otherworldly horrors there is something about Pa of Ma & Pa’s Pancake Plaza that unnerves me. Probably as he’s a man who without magic has seen and done things that no human should. I ponder catching a cab but the museum is a short walk away.
I have always liked New York. It’s not home but it is a pleasant enough place to inhabit from time to time though the smell I can do without. Hong Kong at night would probably be the best smelling city I’ve been followed by Porto in Portugal. Once my time as Sorcerer Supreme is done, and providing I am not dead, I would like to write a book on cities that I’ve been…which would also entail me updating my passport since I primarily teleport.
“Wallet! Phone! Keys!” I’m slammed into an alley by three thugs. This is also another reason that New York isn’t home; muggings.
“All I have is my computer,” I tell the man holding the knife to my throat. “And I can’t let you have that.”
“Let? Let! M&^%$#! I’m taking it!” He snarls through his meth affected teeth.
“You should be careful, I hear Spider-Man haunts this alley,” I tell him. He nervously looks up, they all do. I feel bad for what I’m about to do but puppies need discipline. I push him back and take a Wing Chun pose.
“You a m&^%$#! ninja?”
The other two draw out a bicycle chain and another knife as they close in on me.
“No, I am defending myself. It has been a while since I have used the skills I learnt at the monastery but they should be ample in dealing with you three. To make it sporting I shall make it interesting. I shall use but one hand and if any of you manage to bruise me, I will transport you to a paradise for a well-deserved reward. Do we have an accord?”
“Kill this bald &*^% take his stuff!”
When I learnt magic from the Ancient One in Tibet there was also an emphasis on martial arts. Focusing the mind and the body to work as one; which is a vital tool for harnessing mystical energies. They taught mainly Wing Chun but I also picked up some Aikido, Tai-Chi, Hwa Rang Do, and some Krav Maga which I attempt to attend classes once a fortnight. This trio of unfortunates whom are gripped by a demon far worse than anything from the pit fight wildly puts my bold claim of one handedness squarely in their favour but I did set the rules.
“If you worked together, you’d accomplish more,” I tell them but they don’t listen and now it’s cutting into my time. I lash out and crack one right on the Adam’s Apple taking him out in a spluttering fit. The bicycle chain flies at my eyes, I parry and let it snake around my arm making think he’s caught me. My foot to his groin changes his mind. All that is left one terrified junkie.
“Back off man!”
“Do you surrender?”
“I’ll cut you!” He swings the knife violently. I shake my head and click my fingers turning the knife into a bubble wand. He’s confused and bewildered by the alleyway filling with soap bubbles.
“How’d you do that?” He asks genuinely dumbstruck by my simple transformation spell.
“Thirty years of study,” I tell him as I wave my hands. “Winds of Watoom take this trio of ice, make them safe and secure in a place called Paradise!”
And like that they vanish in blue sparkles along with the bubbles. If all has gone accordingly they will appear in the lobby of the Paradise Drug and Recovery Clinic in Delray Florida for ninety days of treatment. Hopefully it helps them back to being human again. Reminds me to transfer funds to the clinic to pay for their treatment along with the others I have sent there.
__
As expected the museum is closed while police and officials put on a show for the media. I simply walk in under the cover of an invisibility spell so I can see for myself. It is a lovely old building filled with many treasures for times gone by. Again a place I would like to spend some spare time but there is very little down time for the Sorcerer Supreme. When one problem is solved another rears its head.
I find the room where all the police are and it’s more crime scene that robbery. People in white suits are attempting to cut down a figure from the roof.
“Jack Russell,” I say which makes an officer turn around.
“You say something?” he asks his colleague who shrugs off the comment.
Jack is…well was judging by the way his body is hanging and the pool of blood below he’ll be referred to in past tense, a werewolf. A furry savage every time the moon became full. Over the years he had swings towards heroism but his hunger kept him firmly on the side of evil. I notice in the blood of congealed blood a perfect untouched circle of floor where some has been collected.
“The Bowl of Asena.”
“If you got something to say, Mike, say it!” The cop blurts out. I must stop saying things aloud. No matter, I must consult the Book of Cagliostro.
__
I arrive home to find the ancient tome hovering in the air to a new page. It shows a lithe black man covered in blood with the shadow of a wolf behind him. At his feet hundreds of dead.
“He seeks to summon the Wolf God!”
I look up at my star chart and tonight the moon shall be at its fullest. I must prepare.
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