“How does a thousand dollars a week sound?” said the bearded man, as if reading Jack’s mind.

“A thousand a week?” repeated Jack, stunned. His mouth was suddenly dry as the desert. “For doing what, Mr. Ambrose?”

Jack suspected drug dealing—though performing Mafia-style executions ran a close second. A hundred other possibilities, most of them illegal, stampeded through his mind, while he waited for the bearded man’s answer. Seeking to escape his family business, he had stumbled onto something equally threatening. None of his guesses prepared him for what Ambrose said next.

“The forces of darkness and everlasting night are rising in our city. Civilization is terribly threatened. Humanity needs a champion to battle them. You’re that man, Jack.”

The old man paused, a faint smile crossing his lips. “No reason for you to use the Ambrose alias. I prefer my real name. Call me Merlin.”

“Merlin?” asked Jack, still reeling over the bearded man’s initial remarks. “Like the famous magician of King Arthur’s court?”

The bearded man laughed. “Like him? You misunderstand, Jack. I am him. I am the legendary Merlin the Magician.”

2

“Uh, sure,” said Jack, standing. Beads of sweat trickled down his back. The old man was crazy. The sooner Jack got out of the office, the better. “Sure you are. If you don’t mind, it’s time for me to leave. I just remembered that I’m late for another appointment.”

Jack headed for the door. Behind him, he heard the lunatic who thought of himself as Merlin chuckle. “Come back and sit down, Jack,” the man said quietly.

In the middle of a step, Jack froze. His brain shouted “Continue!” but his body refused to obey. Horrified, Jack found himself pivoting about, turning away from the door. Moving stiffly, like an automaton, he swung around and marched back to his chair. Unable to do a thing, he found himself back in the seat, facing the bearded man.