Chapter 22 – The Willowisp

Last time in the saga known only in Holland as BTL: Big fight! And now…”The Willowisp.”.

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“And if that great angel, threatening, should take a step from behind the stars and move in our direction, the hammering of our own hearts would kill us. Every angel terrifies.”
– Rainer Maria Rilke
Duino Elegies

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Earth – Ten days BA (Before Apocalypse).

H.P. Lovecraft once referred to New York City as a horrifying dead city, imperfectly embalmed and infested with queer animate things which have nothing to do with life. As Agent Ghost looked up at the towering buildings above and behind him, he had to agree, and he loved NYC. Then again, Lovecraft was his favorite author and had been right about a lot of things. When Ghost had first seen a shoggoth he couldn’t sleep for weeks.

Ghost made his way down the cluttered alley between two rotting apartment complexes in the heart of Manhattan. Agent Joscelyn was back at the hotel watching her favorite show, Touched By an Angel… the irony was stifling. Besides, where he was going it was better to go alone. The tall native of New York eyed the sprawled bums and pulled his trenchcoat collar tighter around him as the rain trickled down out of the night sky. Ghost turned a corner… let’s see… down a stairwell, across a subway track…the Willowisp was difficult to find unless you knew the right people, but Ghost knew the place and its inhabitants well.

Turning another corner which by all rights should have ended in a dead end, Ghost found himself at his destination, an opulent door set in a plain brick wall at the end of a stifling alley with an ornate wooden sign hanging above it that read, ” THE WILLOWISP”.

Pushing the door open, Ghost shook the rain off his coat and proceeded down the thin dark corridor. He began to hear music in the background, and finally came to a curtain from behind which a dim light issued. Beside the curtain was a welcome sign, which proclaimed the night’s entertainment. TONIGHT ONLY, read the sign in Gothic script, THE MUSIC OF DISTANCE.

Distance? Who they hell were they, Ghost frowned, as he pulled back the curtain and stepped into the establishment.

The Willowisp was a large but cozy pub, filled with smoke, dimly lit and quiet as private pubs went. Ghost looked around at the crowd, about a dozen people, mostly sitting alone, a few gathered together at tables talking in whispered tones. The clientele was of an odd sort, an old man in expansive robes sat at the bar chatting with a ring on his finger, while a little girl no more than seven sat alone in the corner, her skin glowing luminescent in the dark. Ghost was not surprised at who he saw. Except for the occasional tourist that accidentally happened upon the place (which happened rarely), the Willowisp was a nightclub for wizards, and the current haunt of the man Ghost had come to New York to see.

Ghost drifted into the club as a shower of sparks issued from a table near the door, and a quiet quarrel in Latin broke out. On the stage across the club, a young woman was seated at a piano, her voice drifting ethereally across the room, her fingers dancing across the ivory keys.

Then, Ghost spotted his purpose, a man with a cloak around his shoulders seated alone next to the stage. Making his way to the table, the agent pulled up a chair and sat opposite the man.

The man’s head was leaned back, his long black hair cascading down his back, his eyes closed as he was obviously savoring the music. Ghost looked at the man in anticipation for a moment, then opened his mouth to speak.

The man raised one index finger in warning at Ghost, not opening his eyes, and Ghost sighed and began to pat himself down for his cigarettes. Finding them, he pulled one out and began to search for his lighter.

The melodious song dwindled into its finale, and there was a smattering of applause and appreciative murmurs from the crowd as the man gave a satisfied sigh and lowered his head, opening his piercing black eyes at Ghost.

The secret agent grinned as he searched his pockets, tilting his head toward the stage. “Man, don’t you listen to any good music? How about some Stryper, White Snake, or even RATT…”

The black-haired man snorted, his craggy features splitting as he grinned back, his voice resonating deeply. “You obviously have no appreciation of music that so perfectly lends itself to the Art.” he said, then extended an index finger and cocked his thumb at Ghost’s cigarette, which sparked into a flame at the end. Ghost didn’t miss a beat, nodding thanks and puffing away.

The man shook his head at Ghost. “You’re still smoking those things, even after I showed you what your lungs look like?”

Ghost took an obviously joyous drag in response. “Hell, we’re all gonna be dead from the smog in eighty years, anyway.”

The man grinned. “You, maybe. I intend to go on living for at least another six centuries.”

Wanderlust appeared to be in his late forties, but was in fact six hundred years old, an archmage of considerable power and clout in the supernatural underground. Ghost never asked by what means Wander kept himself alive because he feared the answer, archmagic could be pretty ugly. Five years ago Ghost helped Wanderlust get rid of a nasty demonic infestation and since then he provided Ghost with information from time to time. But it was, of all things, the mage’s eyes that bothered him the most.

They were an unusual gray, so pale they sometimes appeared almost colorless. In certain light, Ghost could swear there was a faint amber glow buried somewhere behind the pupils. Wanderlust rarely blinked when someone was speaking to him. He simply watched, patiently and intently, as though he were listening to something beneath the words. Ghost had occasionally caught him staring at people who weren’t there, his eyes tracking something invisible across a room.

“So what could be important enough to bring you to see me?” asked Wander, as the band onstage launched into a cacophony of time signatures and electric organs.

“I need some information regarding Wasser, the Angel of the Apocalypse,” Ghost replied.

Wanderlust steepled his slender fingers. “I was wondering when your little club would get around to noticing him.”

“We’ve been keeping abreast of his actions for quite some time actually,” Ghost clarified. “Ever since he manifested…. but recently he’s gone to ground and we lost him. I’ve been sent to find him and bring him to our facility at Mt. Marshall.”

Wanderlust gave an unpleasant laugh, his heavy cloak rustling around him. “That, my friend, is an extremely foolish idea.”

Ghost shrugged and tapped his cigarette butt against the ornate dragon ashtray fixed in the center of the table. “I didn’t ask you how smart it was, Methuselah,” he countered. “I just want to know if you know where he is.”

Wanderlust looked at Ghost for a moment, then answered. “Yes… I know where he is. The existence of such a powerful angelic presence on this plane is throwing the magical ley lines all to hell… any archmage worth his soul has been cursing Wasser’s manifestation from day one.”

“Where is he?” asked Ghost.

Wanderlust smiled, then sighed and leaned back in his chair. “If I tell you, I’ll never see you again.” He thought for a moment. “That’s almost worth the answer in itself… but if I tell you I want something in return.”

“As always,” Ghost shrugged. “What’s your price? We’ve got a seraphim at Mt. Marshall that I can get some blood from.”

Wanderlust shook his head. “Oh no. If you can actually pull this off with Wasser, I want one feather from his wings. That’s all.”

Ghost held out his hands. “No problem.”

Wanderlust nodded. “He’s in Chicago, recuperating from a battle. He currently lies beneath the old Cathedral of St. Paul. If you’re gonna try and get him, better do it now.”

Ghost narrowed his eyes. “Battle? Who was he fighting?”

Wanderlust grinned. “Now that answer would inconvenience some of my more powerful friends, so don’t even go there.”

The agent shrugged. “Fair enough. Can you at least tell me what Wasser is doing on this plane? An archangel doesn’t visit Earth every day unless it’s something pretty goddamn important.”

Wanderlust raised a wizardly eyebrow. “Worried about the Apocalypse, Agent Ghost?”

Ghost shook his head and calmly took a drag of his cigarette. “If that’s what it is, there’s nothing we can do about it, right?”

Wanderlust smiled and nodded. “Correct.” Then he shrugged. “Actually, I don’t know what Wasser’s purpose is. Probably going after his bastard sons. That’s something else you shouldn’t worry about… messing about with the Angel of the Apocalypse is suicidal enough.”

Ghost coughed. “Maybe.” He mashed his dwindling cigarette out in the ashtray. “I guess that’s all I needed to know… I know your time is precious,” he said, with a hint of sarcasm as he pulled back his seat.

“Just out of curiosity…” asked Wanderlust as Ghost rose to leave. “Just what do you think you’re going to do to Wasser when you find him? Arrest him?” Wander punctuated that last remark with a grin.

Ghost pulled back his coat to reveal the .45 pistol strapped in its shoulder-holster. “Yep. And if he doesn’t want to come, I have the authorization to exterminate him.”

The archmage looked amusedly at the gun. “With that? You’re dumber than I thought.”

Ghost let his coat fall back over the gun. “Yeah, if they were ordinary bullets I might be… but for some reason the bullets issued to us by the boss tend to be extremely effective against angels. I don’t ask why, I’m just happy they work.”

Wanderlust nodded. “Then good luck, I hope your death is a painless one.”

Ghost flipped Wanderlust the middle finger with a smile. “Thank you for the vote of confidence, you old skeleton. I got a plane to catch.” Giving a final nod, Ghost turned with a flourish and his trenchcoat settled around him like a shroud as he weaved back through the tables toward the door.

Wanderlust watched him go and tapped his long nails on the table. “And sometime…” he said to himself, “… sometime we need to sit down and have a little talk about your boss…”

Ghost disappeared out the door back into the humid New York night, and Wanderlust turned his full attention back to the band.

-Next….”Booty!”