was the only one down there.
The man smoothed a hand across his lightly oiled hair, glancing around him without a great deal of interest. He looked vaguely familiar. Evan took a quick inventory—tuxedo, black tie, white shirt, wing-tip shoes. All in all, he looked like the best-dressed man of 1952.
“Mr. Delwin?” The fifties refugee raised an eyebrow. He had a pronounced English drawl that made him sound even more familiar, although Evan still couldn’t place him.
“Do I know you?” He kept his back against the wall. Any minute now, the man might turn into a Komodo dragon or something, given that this was his nightmare dungeon.
“Not exactly.” The man stepped through the door, pulling a ladder-back chair behind him. Impressive—particularly since the door remained closed as he did it.
The man sat down. “We’ve never met. But I’ve been aware of your work.”
Evan stared at him blankly. “My work?”
“Your books,” the man explained. “Your work with psychic fraud. I must say, I’m somewhat surprised that you turned to that particular profession when you come from such a distinguished line of magicians. Magic not good enough for you?”
Evan felt slightly dizzy. Even for one of his nightmares, this was moving into weird territory. “Magic was my father’s thing, not mine.”
“Yes, he was magnificent at it, too.” The man pulled a cigarette holder with a lit cigarette out of his breast pocket, taking a long drag. “Dell the Great. Why didn’t he use his real name?” He blew a stream of smoke into the darkness.
Evan grimaced. “The Great Delwin always sounded like somebody who did kiddie parties.”
“Which he most definitely was not.” The man fastened his cool gray gaze on Evan again. “His death was a tragic loss.”
That was true enough. Particularly a loss for Evan. He leaned back against the wall, trying to get a good look at the man’s face. “Who are you, anyway?”
“You may call me Addison.” Addison smiled at him, flipping a bit of ash on the floor.
“Terrific, Addison. Why exactly are you here? And when do you turn into something horrible?”
An explosion of fluttering wings brought Evan’s head up. He could hear the flock of bats descending from the darkness above him, gibbering, beating the air into turbulence with their leathery wings. Instinctively, he raised his hands over his head to fend them off.
“Reach to your left.” Addison sounded slightly bored.
Evan’s hand fumbled to his left and closed upon a wooden rod, which turned out to be a broomstick with broom attached. He swung it over his head in a series of wide circles, hearing the satisfying thunk of the broom connecting with writhing bat bodies. The bats disappeared in a flurry of outraged squeaks.
“In answer to your earlier questions, I shall remain myself throughout our conversation, and I’m here so that we can become better acquainted.” Addison’s chair had transformed itself into padded leather. He leaned back, gesturing to his side where another leather recliner had mysteriously appeared.
Evan approached the chairs somewhat warily, but Addison didn’t seem to be on the verge of transforming into anything else. He sank into the leather easy chair, hearing the slight hiss of escaping air beneath him.
“Either I’m getting a lot better at dreaming or something really strange is going on,” he murmured.
“The latter, of course. This is the only time and place in which I can converse with you—when you’re in a trance state. I’ve cleared a slight space in your dreamscape, but I don’t imagine I can keep it clear for long, given your active subconscious.”
Evan wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment, but he was betting on not. “All right, what do you want to know, exactly?”
“Two things.” Addison extended one finger. “First, some basic information about your family, and second,” he extended a second finger, “a progress report on your latest
The man smoothed a hand across his lightly oiled hair, glancing around him without a great deal of interest. He looked vaguely familiar. Evan took a quick inventory—tuxedo, black tie, white shirt, wing-tip shoes. All in all, he looked like the best-dressed man of 1952.
“Mr. Delwin?” The fifties refugee raised an eyebrow. He had a pronounced English drawl that made him sound even more familiar, although Evan still couldn’t place him.
“Do I know you?” He kept his back against the wall. Any minute now, the man might turn into a Komodo dragon or something, given that this was his nightmare dungeon.
“Not exactly.” The man stepped through the door, pulling a ladder-back chair behind him. Impressive—particularly since the door remained closed as he did it.
The man sat down. “We’ve never met. But I’ve been aware of your work.”
Evan stared at him blankly. “My work?”
“Your books,” the man explained. “Your work with psychic fraud. I must say, I’m somewhat surprised that you turned to that particular profession when you come from such a distinguished line of magicians. Magic not good enough for you?”
Evan felt slightly dizzy. Even for one of his nightmares, this was moving into weird territory. “Magic was my father’s thing, not mine.”
“Yes, he was magnificent at it, too.” The man pulled a cigarette holder with a lit cigarette out of his breast pocket, taking a long drag. “Dell the Great. Why didn’t he use his real name?” He blew a stream of smoke into the darkness.
Evan grimaced. “The Great Delwin always sounded like somebody who did kiddie parties.”
“Which he most definitely was not.” The man fastened his cool gray gaze on Evan again. “His death was a tragic loss.”
That was true enough. Particularly a loss for Evan. He leaned back against the wall, trying to get a good look at the man’s face. “Who are you, anyway?”
“You may call me Addison.” Addison smiled at him, flipping a bit of ash on the floor.
“Terrific, Addison. Why exactly are you here? And when do you turn into something horrible?”
An explosion of fluttering wings brought Evan’s head up. He could hear the flock of bats descending from the darkness above him, gibbering, beating the air into turbulence with their leathery wings. Instinctively, he raised his hands over his head to fend them off.
“Reach to your left.” Addison sounded slightly bored.
Evan’s hand fumbled to his left and closed upon a wooden rod, which turned out to be a broomstick with broom attached. He swung it over his head in a series of wide circles, hearing the satisfying thunk of the broom connecting with writhing bat bodies. The bats disappeared in a flurry of outraged squeaks.
“In answer to your earlier questions, I shall remain myself throughout our conversation, and I’m here so that we can become better acquainted.” Addison’s chair had transformed itself into padded leather. He leaned back, gesturing to his side where another leather recliner had mysteriously appeared.
Evan approached the chairs somewhat warily, but Addison didn’t seem to be on the verge of transforming into anything else. He sank into the leather easy chair, hearing the slight hiss of escaping air beneath him.
“Either I’m getting a lot better at dreaming or something really strange is going on,” he murmured.
“The latter, of course. This is the only time and place in which I can converse with you—when you’re in a trance state. I’ve cleared a slight space in your dreamscape, but I don’t imagine I can keep it clear for long, given your active subconscious.”
Evan wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment, but he was betting on not. “All right, what do you want to know, exactly?”
“Two things.” Addison extended one finger. “First, some basic information about your family, and second,” he extended a second finger, “a progress report on your latest
Similar Books
