Inside Straight

“Mom,” Fortune said quickly, “I’m, really, really sorry about that. But it couldn’t be helped. It was the lion. She breathes fire, and Lohengrin frightened her—”

“The lion.” Ice cold. This was not good. “I see. I hear, also, that that amulet, that thing, is in your head. I should have thrown it away years ago!”

“Mom.” He took a deep breath. Suddenly it all seemed very clear to him. “Really, this is a great opportunity.”

“You have a thing in your head.”

“You don’t have to tell me that.”

“How can you be sure that it’s not controlling your brain?”

“What, Isra?”

“If that is its name.”

“Isra’s not an ‘it.’ She’s a woman. An Egyptian woman. And I’d know.”

“How?”

“I’d know,” Fortune repeated firmly. “It’s not as if we don’t have discussions with each other. Arguments, even. It’s not like she’s turned me into some kind of robot or something.”

“John—” Peregrine said, anguish in her voice.

“Listen, Mom, I’m not a kid anymore. I’m grown up. You can’t treat me like a kid, surround me with bodyguards, watch over me twenty-four hours a day.” Again, Lohengrin’s words came unbidden into his mind. “I’ve got to find my own destiny.”

“It’s not your destiny, John. It’s what that creature in your head wants.”

“That’s not true.”

“How do you know? How can you know that?”

“Because,” Fortune said quietly. “I wanted it, too, before I put the amulet on. I’ve always wanted it. I don’t want to work on TV shows, fetching donuts, doing errands. I want to be someone who can do important things. Who can make a difference in the world. Like my father. Like you. You were my age when you fought the Astronomer.”

“That was different.”

“How?” Fortune asked.

“I was in control. I knew what I was doing. You—you’re younger than I was. And maybe that’s my fault. Maybe I did protect you too much. Sheltered you. But you’re my son. I couldn’t stand by and let something awful happen to you. And this…this Isra. We just don’t know what it’s doing to you. Can’t you see that? We have to at least get it checked out. I can be there by seven in the morning. I’ve messengered a credit card and some ID. Just stay put until I get there. We’ll charter a plane and have you at the Jokertown Clinic before we know it. Dr. Finn will be able to help. I know he will.”

Suddenly all of Fortune’s certainty was gone. He couldn’t forget the fear he’d felt when the amulet had burrowed into his body. The feeling of someone else locking him up in his own head, controlling him. It was creepy, and it was frightening.

And Isra would be with him, always. For the rest of my life.

“I don’t know,” he said hollowly.

“I do,” Peregrine said. “Sit tight. I’ll be with you before you know it. You’re my son, and I love you.”

“All right,” John Fortune he said. “I’ll wait.”

~ ~ ~

It was an interminable wait.

The messenger showed up not too long after Fortune hung up the phone with a package containing fresh clothing, a black Amex card, and a wad of cash. It would be hours before Peregrine could make it up from Hollywood.

Suddenly John couldn’t stand to be confined to the room any longer. He had to get out and do something. Anything.

He wandered down to the casino. There were no clocks there, no night and day. Just color, action, lights, and noise, mindless and buzzing. He got a cup of quarters, fed some into a slot machine and pulled the handle. He watched the wheels buzz around. He got an ankh, a sphinx, a bar, a mummy. He fed in more quarters.

Isra asked him.

Fortune dug out more quarters from his plastic cup, fed them into the slot, and pulled the handle. “I’ve been wondering where you were.”

.>

“Thanks. That’s real decent of you.” Two mummys. He won a buck. He fished the quarters out of the mouth of the return slot and fed them into the machine again.

know this is hard for you. But think of my people.>

“I didn’t ask for this, you know.” The person at the next machine looked at him, and Fortune realized that he was speaking out loud. He didn’t care.

Isra said.

Fortune shrugged angrily. “Sure. Why not?”

The person at the next machine got up and left.

Isra told him. <’As Allah wills.’ But I no longer believe in Allah. I lost my faith when I lost my son Fuad. I once had children. Fuad was my oldest. I bore him when I was sixteen. He died a week before his twentieth birthday, crushed in an accident at the docks. He was my oldest, of eight, and lived the longest. He was the last one I lost. Gone. They are all gone.>

Fortune paused in his mechanical feeding of the machine. “Oh, God. I’m sorry.”

“No,” he whispered.

But Isra knew his mind, and knew that he was really saying yes.