Sabrina’s Wish

by Clyde Andrews

Table of Contents
Part 1 appears
in this issue.

Part 2 of 3

* * *

L.J.P. was beside himself. The reason for the attack was obvious: the Priest wanted revenge on the one that caused him so much grief. But what puzzled L.J.P. was the rather disturbing fact that the Priest had found them so easily. In fact, if L.J.P. didn’t know any better, he’d swear that this was a set-up. Not by Sabrina’s doing. She had absolutely no idea about the world of magicians. L.J.P. hadn’t even told her he was a magician. No, L.J.P. suspected that someone else was involved. Someone that knew where he was going, and more importantly, when he was going to arrive there.

“The limo driver!” L.J.P. screamed.

L.J.P. ran as fast as his old arthritic body could take him back to the limousine. He could see it in the parking bay where they had left it. Which meant one of two things; the driver was unaware of L.J.P.’s suspicions, or he was aware and had left the car. L.J.P. hoped it was the former.

As luck would have it though, the driver was gone. L.J.P. knew it would have been too much to expect anyway, and he cursed himself for being so stupid.

He decided to inspect the vehicle for any clues. In a rather frantic search all he could find was a business card under the driver’s seat. “What do we have here?” he said as he examined the card, flicking it with his fingers.

It read: “Madam Trusaard — psychic and exorcist. Consultations half price when you bring this card.” There was an address on the back with a phone number. The location of this Madam Trusaard was surprisingly close. L.J.P. was curious why a limousine driver would want a psychic, let alone one that also performed exorcisms. Did this all have something to do with the Priest returning? And why did they want Sabrina?

L.J.P. hopped into the driver’s seat and checked in the glove box for the keys. None could be found. He smiled, produced his chalk and used his ‘animate inanimate objects’ formula on the car. L.J.P. then asked nicely for it to start itself. It did so without fuss and was actually pleased to be of service. L.J.P. thanked it. Service cars were always the nicest.

He gave the car directions, having decided there and then to pay this Madam Trusaard a visit. As L.J.P. thought about it, he really had nothing else to go on anyway. He hoped she did indeed have some answers.

* * *

The psychic’s house was rather quaint, L.J.P. admitted as he rapped on the door.

“Hold on. Hold on. I’m coming,” a voice said from the other side of the door, sounding impatient and unimpressed.

There was a rattle, then a sliding noise as the dead bolt was withdrawn. Slowly the door opened. Standing there, L.J.P. assumed, was Madam Trusaard: elderly and as blind as a bat.

“Allow me to introduce...”

“I know who you are, white magician,” she coughed. “Come in. Sit down. I have much to tell you.”

L.J.P. was shocked. This was some turnaround. He was the one that was usually in the know, leaving others baffled in his wake. This time, however, he had to admit it: he was in the dark. He was indeed curious, for this lady was certainly not a magician — she did not give off a magician’s aura for a start — which begged the question: how was she doing this?

“How do you know who I am, my dear?”

“I’m a psychic, ain’t I?” she smiled, revealing teeth that had certainly seen better days. “Besides, I had a rather friendly fellow come to me a couple of days ago. He said that he had a problem.”

L.J.P. was intrigued. He sat at the nearest available chair. Before he knew it a steaming cup of tea was placed in his hand, although, for the life of him he could not remember the old lady making it, let alone getting one.

“Who was this man?”

“He was the driver of that limousine you hired...”

L.J.P. cut her off. He really was uncomfortable not knowing about the situation. “How did he know I was going to hire him?”

“He didn’t. His problem ran deeper. You’re not the centre of the universe you know... Think the whole world revolves around you just because you know a thing or two about magic? Bahh! Magic is but a small part of the mysteries of the cosmos. White magicians, they think they know it all.”

“That’s what I keep telling all those dark magicians I defeat, my dear,” L.J.P. chuckled.

“No, dark magicians don’t know anything but how to abuse their power. There’s a difference,” she snapped, obviously having little patience for small talk. “Now, this driver, nice chap, but having a little trouble with a dark magician. His daughter is a magician, and this dark magician...”

“Let me guess, a man that calls himself the Priest?”

“Don’t interrupt,” she snapped. “That’s the second time. Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

L.J.P. blushed, then sipped his tea. It was nice: Darjeeling, his favourite.

“Now where was I? Oh, yes the driver with the magician for a daughter. You are correct L.J.P.: the fellow that calls himself the Priest did corrupt her. This driver, Frederick Swanson — yes, that was his name. He wanted to know how to get his daughter back... He came to me naturally. I am in the yellow pages, after all,” she said with a faint but crooked smile. She continued: “He was promised his daughter’s safety if and only if he reported any magicians that hired him for his services. Apparently lots of men hire limousines these days just to impress their girlfriends. Love, bahh, who needs it?”

L.J.P. just kept to his tea. He realised that she would tell him everything he needed to know soon enough.

“So, put two and two together, and you have our friend Frederick letting the Priest know about you.”

Finally L.J.P., unable to contain himself any longer, said: “But how did he know about me being a magician? I mean, I didn’t even let Sabrina know that fact, my dear lady.”

Madam Trusaard sighed, then looked up to the heavens. “Your name gives you away. Good God, man, who else uses initials but you magicians?”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Frederick was simply told to report anyone booking the limo with initials. When he told the Priest that L.J.P. was a passenger — well, the rest you know.”

“It all seems too convenient to me, though,” L.J.P. frowned, rubbing his goatee. He hadn’t told her his ‘name’. She really was a psychic. L.J.P. was not only intrigued, he was surprised as well.

“Not at all... the Priest needed new recruits for a Coven, he was only scouting around using any way he could think of.”

“I see. So tell me...”

This time she interrupted him. “In answer to your next question: he has a coven hideout at an abandoned warehouse, south of here. Near the docklands,” she smiled. “I’ll give you directions.”

“How do you?... I mean — my dear lady, you are impressive. And I must admit it takes a heck of a lot to impress me.”

“Glad to be of service. That’ll be a hundred dollars.”

L.J.P.’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. Once more he was stunned and he nearly dropped his cup of tea as a result. “I beg your pardon. What did you say, my dear?”

“You heard — Oh, and that’s with the fifty percent discount. I know you have my card.”

L.J.P. sighed, drained his cup and reluctantly handed over the money. Even though she had been invaluable in helping him, he could not help but have the feeling that he had just been robbed somehow.

“There is just one more thing,” L.J.P. said. “What does this Priest want with, Sabrina?”

“I’ll leave it up to you to discover that. I can’t tell you everything. Besides, I know you are just itching to sort that Priest fellow out.”

L.J.P. nodded, and funnily enough found himself agreeing with her. “You are a rather special woman, Madam Trusaard. And I have to say, it has been a pleasure. Thank you.”

As he left she called to him: “Keep my card, you’ll need it. I shall be seeing you again some day.”

* * *

L.J.P. drove the limousine to the address Madam Trusaard had scribbled on the back of her business card. He remembered that even watching her do that was amazing: her writing was written with a beautiful script that looped and flowed: quite amazing considering she was blind — well, blind as in the conventional sense of the word. L.J.P. suspected that she saw far more than any mortal or magician could ever see. She was certainly something of a mystery. He made a mental note to see her again soon, although he feared for his wallet. Paying her a visit meant just that, and at one hundred dollars a time he’d have to pay attention.

He arrived at the address within ten minutes. Which wasn’t difficult to find. He knew this area well. He passed the specialty florist’s shop he often bought essentials from and approached the warehouse in question. L.J.P. remembered reading in the local paper that these warehouses had been scheduled for redevelopment. They were going to turn them into apartments one day.

“Not before too soon either,” L.J.P. mumbled to himself as he parked the limousine right in front of it.

He did not bother hiding the vehicle. It was ostentatious enough that he had pulled up in it, and really hiding it now was pointless as far as L.J.P. was concerned. Anyway, he was here to give the Priest a sermon he’d never forget.

He scribbled a formula on the warehouse door with chalk, quickly unlocking it. As he pushed open the door, he decided to worry later about how he was going to tackle the Priest and what the dark magician might throw at him.

What he saw when he burst through into the main warehouse did not surprise him. Sure enough, there was the Priest standing at a make-shift altar. Around the altar there were three others: one was the limousine driver; the other two he did not recognise but knew they were magicians.

As he scanned the room he also noticed two girls behind the ones at the altar. One was presumably the limousine driver’s daughter, the other was Sabrina — she was possessed — and behind them, L.J.P. also noticed that there were about half a dozen boys, dressed up like choir boys.

“I’ve come to return a limousine,” L.J.P. said with a cheeky grin. “I know it belongs to someone here.”

The Priest turned to him. “Ah, I see that you found us. Rather quicker than I would have liked. You seem to be quite the resourceful one, don’t you, L.J.P.?”

“Why thank you. I’ve also decided to give you a choice, dear fellow.”

“Oh, what choice would that be?” the Priest laughed. The others then laughed with him, including Sabrina. L.J.P. frowned; he felt disgusted by what this Priest had done.

“I won’t come over there and teach you a lesson you’ll never forget so long as you give me Sabrina, Frederick Swanson, and of course his lovely daughter — oh, and those poor innocent boys too, dear fellow. Understand me?”

The Priest nodded. “I understand you perfectly well, L.J.P. But you should have destroyed me when you had the chance. You see, I am not going to be fooled by your tricks this time, and neither is my Coven. Now, do your worst, because, quite frankly, dear L.J.P. I am not going to give up my brethren now. Not after all the work I put into it.”

“Work? Work? What work, dear fellow? How can abducting people, using blackmail, and forcing people to do things against their will be considered work?” L.J.P. said, drawing a formula on the palm of his hand with a marker he retrieved from his pocket.

“Everything I do serves a purpose.”

“What purpose do you have in mind for my Sabrina? Tell me, for I will want to know before I silence your foul, evil mouth,” L.J.P. said, replacing the marker and producing his chalk from his jacket pocket.

“She will be the mother of my son!”

“What?”

“My great and all-knowing lord has told me that she, this Sabrina, is the perfect vessel in which to plant my seed. My magical seed that will grow and fester inside her. She is the carcass that will nurture my demon, the lord’s demon, for it will be one and the same...”

Proceed to part 3...