Micah."
"Shut up," the imp snapped. "Haven't you learned by now one of his ilk is never anything but bad news?"
Micah just stared at him. "I'll take whatever help I can get." He turned back to Johnnie. "Who are you, stranger? If you do not mind my asking."
Johnnie took another sip of his vodka, then stood up and moved to the table. At the last minute, he decided not to use his real surname, and on impulse reverted to the name he had given up shortly after turning nine. Extending his hand, he said, "Johnnie Goodnight."
"That name sounds familiar," the bartender said thoughtfully. "Dunno why." Johnnie did not bother to jar his memory.
The imp sitting with Micah sneered. "What do you care about our plight, Mr. Goodnight?"
"I like puzzles," Johnnie replied. "I am very good at solving them."
Surprisingly, Micah laughed. "That's as honest a reason as I've ever heard. If you want to amuse yourself by solving my problem, by all means have a seat. Can I buy you another drink?"
"That would be most generous, thank you," Johnnie replied. He sat down and made himself comfortable, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms over his chest. "Start at the beginning and tell me everything. Leave no detail out, no matter how inconsequential it may seem."
The bartender came then with their fresh drinks, and Johnnie thanked him, handing over a generous tip because the man served excellent vodka, ice-cold even before it was put on the rocks, and served in crystal. He took a sip, then repeated to Micah, "So tell me everything."
Micah nodded, and took a long swallow of his beer, then started to tell his story. "Two months ago a man came by, inquiring after this old family heirloom. It's a wooden cane, painted black, with a silver head carved with runes. According to family legend, it can travel across planes."
"I see," Johnnie said, seeing very well indeed. ‘Across planes' meant the cane could travel to every shadowy corner of the supernatural world—earth, hell, dreams, and so forth. Normally, items did not travel with a person; not even clothing. Rare was the object which could travel all the planes. "I take it the secret to making the cane was lost?"
"Yes," Micah replied. "That is how it came into my family's possession. It's always been our task to figure out the riddle of the cane's making."
"Tell me about the man who wants it."
Micah eyed him, cautious but also amused. "Beggin' your pardon, sir, but he had an awful lot in common with you."
Johnnie smiled in amusement and quoted, "As long as there are rich people in the world, they will be desirous of distinguishing themselves from the poor."
Micah flushed. "I didn't mean—"
"No offense was taken, I assure you," Johnnie said. "So a wealthy abnormal, well-dressed and arrogant. Human?"
"A witch," Micah clarified. "I'm fairly certain he's up to some sort of darker magic, and thinks the cane will help, but I don't know for certain."
"He would not be the first witch to try and cross planes," Johnnie said. "You refused to give him the cane, and so he resorted to other methods."
"Yes," Micah replied, and drank more of his beer. "Every day he came back and tried to get it—money, pretty promises, and finally threats. I kept refusing. Then, three weeks ago, my wife never showed up for work. All I found when I rushed home was a note informing me that until I handed over the cane, I would never see her again—except her apparition comes to me every night, and simply sits in her chair, from ten to two. Every night, for those four hours, I sit there and try my damndest to learn something, anything, but …" He did not bother to finish the sentence.
He did not need to finish it. Apparitions were ‘ghosts' of the living, most often appearing under times of duress. Some of the more dramatic stories involved apparitions appearing when the person had been buried alive, or was otherwise so trapped. They could also be forced to appear, in situations like Micah's, to wear
"Shut up," the imp snapped. "Haven't you learned by now one of his ilk is never anything but bad news?"
Micah just stared at him. "I'll take whatever help I can get." He turned back to Johnnie. "Who are you, stranger? If you do not mind my asking."
Johnnie took another sip of his vodka, then stood up and moved to the table. At the last minute, he decided not to use his real surname, and on impulse reverted to the name he had given up shortly after turning nine. Extending his hand, he said, "Johnnie Goodnight."
"That name sounds familiar," the bartender said thoughtfully. "Dunno why." Johnnie did not bother to jar his memory.
The imp sitting with Micah sneered. "What do you care about our plight, Mr. Goodnight?"
"I like puzzles," Johnnie replied. "I am very good at solving them."
Surprisingly, Micah laughed. "That's as honest a reason as I've ever heard. If you want to amuse yourself by solving my problem, by all means have a seat. Can I buy you another drink?"
"That would be most generous, thank you," Johnnie replied. He sat down and made himself comfortable, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms over his chest. "Start at the beginning and tell me everything. Leave no detail out, no matter how inconsequential it may seem."
The bartender came then with their fresh drinks, and Johnnie thanked him, handing over a generous tip because the man served excellent vodka, ice-cold even before it was put on the rocks, and served in crystal. He took a sip, then repeated to Micah, "So tell me everything."
Micah nodded, and took a long swallow of his beer, then started to tell his story. "Two months ago a man came by, inquiring after this old family heirloom. It's a wooden cane, painted black, with a silver head carved with runes. According to family legend, it can travel across planes."
"I see," Johnnie said, seeing very well indeed. ‘Across planes' meant the cane could travel to every shadowy corner of the supernatural world—earth, hell, dreams, and so forth. Normally, items did not travel with a person; not even clothing. Rare was the object which could travel all the planes. "I take it the secret to making the cane was lost?"
"Yes," Micah replied. "That is how it came into my family's possession. It's always been our task to figure out the riddle of the cane's making."
"Tell me about the man who wants it."
Micah eyed him, cautious but also amused. "Beggin' your pardon, sir, but he had an awful lot in common with you."
Johnnie smiled in amusement and quoted, "As long as there are rich people in the world, they will be desirous of distinguishing themselves from the poor."
Micah flushed. "I didn't mean—"
"No offense was taken, I assure you," Johnnie said. "So a wealthy abnormal, well-dressed and arrogant. Human?"
"A witch," Micah clarified. "I'm fairly certain he's up to some sort of darker magic, and thinks the cane will help, but I don't know for certain."
"He would not be the first witch to try and cross planes," Johnnie said. "You refused to give him the cane, and so he resorted to other methods."
"Yes," Micah replied, and drank more of his beer. "Every day he came back and tried to get it—money, pretty promises, and finally threats. I kept refusing. Then, three weeks ago, my wife never showed up for work. All I found when I rushed home was a note informing me that until I handed over the cane, I would never see her again—except her apparition comes to me every night, and simply sits in her chair, from ten to two. Every night, for those four hours, I sit there and try my damndest to learn something, anything, but …" He did not bother to finish the sentence.
He did not need to finish it. Apparitions were ‘ghosts' of the living, most often appearing under times of duress. Some of the more dramatic stories involved apparitions appearing when the person had been buried alive, or was otherwise so trapped. They could also be forced to appear, in situations like Micah's, to wear
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