Magic Lantern

Glancing back, Annja saw that Igor had a gun in his own hand instead of the camera now. He stood holding the revolver like he knew what to do. Unfortunately, so did the three Asians. Two of them opened fire while the third hung on to their hostage.

Annja pressed herself flat against a building.

The bullets drove Igor back into cover. He rose up just long enough to fire two rounds. Both bullets went wild, and one of them came dangerously close to Annja.

In the next moment, a car roared into the alley behind Igor. The bright lights pinned him for a moment as he threw up a hand in front of his eyes. He stepped aside, but the driver opened the door and hit the bodyguard hard enough to bounce him off a brick wall. Igor rolled and dropped as the car roared by.

The driver brought the car to a rocking halt only a few feet from the three men. They opened the doors on the passenger’s side and started to get in with their captive.

Annja sprang for the driver, shoved a hand into the car and caught the man by the jacket front. She yanked hard and the man’s head cracked against the window’s edge. The driver’s eyes rolled up and showed white just before he slumped across the steering wheel. His foot pressed against the accelerator and the car sped forward before the others could climb in.

Reaching into the otherwhere that contained her sword, Annja drew the blade into the physical world. Moonlight glinted along the three-foot-plus polished steel blade. The hilt was plain, unadorned, wrapped in leather strips, and it felt completely at home in Annja’s hand. The sword had been forged for Joan of Arc and only the one destined to take up Joan’s crusade could wield it.

Annja shot forward as the car passed, and she knew she was moving too fast for the men to track. To them it would have looked like she’d appeared out of nowhere. She drove a double-fisted blow into the face of the man on the right. Propelled by the great strength she had when she wielded the sword, the man sailed backward and thudded against crates of trash. Rotted vegetables and refuse tumbled over him. Rats scattered and ran.

Whirling, Annja lashed out with the sword as the man holding the money took aim at her. Beyond him, the out-of-control car rammed into a streetlight, shuddered and died with an explosive release of steam. Her blade caught the man’s pistol as he lifted it, and drove it from his grip. She took two quick side steps forward, then raised her right leg and drove her foot into his face.

He went down in a loose jumble of flesh and blood, unconscious before he hit the ground.

Still holding his hostage, the third robber fired again and again.

Annja ducked and went low. She shoved her left leg out and swept the legs of the man and his hostage from the ground. As they fell backward, the man kept firing, wildly spraying the stone walls on either side of the alley. Trapped between the buildings, the sharp reports rolled like thunder.

She swung the sword at the gun and knocked the weapon from the man’s grip. He tried to get up, made it to his knees, but she met him with the sword hilt between his eyes. The impact snapped his head back and he sank.

Satisfied that the immediate danger was over, Annja released the sword and the weapon vanished. She walked over to the young woman and helped her to her feet.

“You’re all right.” Annja cradled the woman in her arms. “You’re going to be fine.” When her father reached them, she released the woman into his custody and went back to check on Igor.

The big man was just coming around, groaning and still trying to get his breath back.

“C’mon. Let’s get you up and get out of here.” Annja pulled him to his feet.

Igor held an arm across his ribs and stared at the men lying in the alley. Cooks and waitstaff were already taking them into custody.

“What happened?”

Annja shrugged. “The driver’s brakes must have gone out. He hit them and knocked them down.”

“The girl’s not hurt?”

“We got lucky.” That was an easier story than telling the truth to the police. “Let’s go. I really don’t want to spend the whole night in a police station being questioned.”

“Shouldn’t we stay?”

Annja looked at him.

Igor grinned sheepishly. “I mean, I did try to save the girl. Maybe a little publicity will help the business, you know.”

“Right. And that way Doug Morrell will know you got taken out by a couple thugs. Think he’s going to want to keep you around protecting me from Mr. Hyde?”

“On second thought, I’ve never been a glory hound.”

“Right.”

“But we can’t leave just this minute.” Igor looked at the side of the alley. “I have to find my pistol. I must have dropped it. Can you help give us a look?”

2

Professor Edmund Beswick stood on the curb in front of Carlini’s Magic Bullet Club when Annja arrived by cab. He was a few years older than Annja, in his mid-thirties, and was about the same height. His black hair brushed the tips of his ears and he wore a neatly trimmed goatee. His olive complexion hinted at some Indian or Middle Eastern ancestry and lent him an Old World elegance. The dark blue tux and top hat made him look like he’d stepped from the pages of a Charles Dickens novel.

He opened the cab door for Annja and thrust pound notes at the driver.

“I can get that.” Annja had her pocketbook at the ready.

“Nonsense. This evening is my treat. I insist.” Edmund offered her his gloved hand.

Annja took it, then held on to his arm. She wore a simple black dress, but it was one of her favorites and she knew she wore it well. Still, she couldn’t help feeling underdressed.

“I wasn’t expecting anything so formal.”

Edmund grinned. “You look marvelous, and you’ll find that not everyone inside is dressed as pompously as I am.” He waved a dismissive hand. “I tend toward the exotic when I’m given my head. I do hope you’ll forgive me my eccentricities this evening, but this is a special occasion.”

“You look dashing.”

“Thank you. You are most kind.”

Annja surveyed the front of Carlini’s Magic Bullet Club. The first floor of the small building was covered in wooden gingerbread that made it look positively ancient. Red velvet curtains covered the large plate-glass windows. Torchlight created golden pools against the material and shadows moved inside. A red carpet under a small canopy led to the front door, which looked like it would open to a dungeon.

“Now, that looks foreboding.”

Edmund’s smile was so big and innocent, Annja was certain she could see the twelve-year-old he had been. “Doesn’t it just?” he replied.

“And I notice there’s no doorknob.”

“So it’s mysterious, too.” His dark brown eyes twinkled. “Carlini’s is a very special place. No one gets in here who isn’t invited.” He waved a hand and suddenly there was a single red rose in it. He offered it to Annja.

Smiling, she took the rose in her free hand and smelled it. The fragrance was subtle and sweet. “You’re a magician?”

“Alas, you thought I was merely a literature professor?” Edmund feigned a look of pain.

“From what I’ve heard, you’re an authority on English literature. I saw you in an interview on the History Channel and was impressed. When I got this assignment, I knew I wanted you as a guest speaker.”

“I’d wondered about that. Your program doesn’t draw immediate confidence from a cursory look.”

“No.” Annja knew that was true, and it was one of the things she had to accept about the opportunities Chasing History’s Monsters afforded her. “I like to go below the surface of a story.”

“That was true of most of your segments that I saw.”