Note: a slightly different version of this story first appeared in The Great Tome of Magicians, Necromancers, and Mystics (Great Tomes Series, Book 6). Since then, I’ve used it as a reader magnet for people who joined my Mailerlite list, so it seemed only fair to share it here as well.
Because of email limitations, I’ve split the story into two parts. If you still can’t see the whole thing, click on the “View entire message link” or similar, read in the app, or read the post on the Substack site.
Las Vegas was unusually hot even though January had barely begun, but Medea was untroubled by the temperature or the dryness. She was on the verge of catching up with Jason again, and once she had finished with him, she could go anywhere she wanted—at least until that dog reincarnated again. If she was lucky, she might even have a couple decades before she had to take up the hunt once more.
Of course, finding Jason quickly depended upon the accuracy of the omens, and today they were oddly unhelpful. She found herself standing on Luxor Drive staring into an eye of Horus. Behind the eye were swimming pools she couldn’t see, and behind those, the back side of Luxor Hotel’s pyramid towered above the neat row of palm trees that lined the side of the street on which she was standing.
Every sign had pointed her to this general area, but she should have sensed Jason by now, and she couldn’t catch even a hint of him.
She closed her eyes and silently prayed to Hecate, more out of habit than out of any real hope that her prayer would be answered. The old gods no longer had power in the mortal world, even though Medea’s ancient link with Hecate functioned well enough to fuel the sorceress’s spells.
Perhaps even that magic well was now drying up. It had been apparent for centuries that spell casting was becoming more and more difficult on this plane. Practitioners like Medea, those powerful enough to reach other planes and revitalize themselves, could still manage, but every year maintaining her strength got a little harder and required a little more of what the mortals referred to as down time.
Medea opened her eyes. The eye of Horus stared back at her, mocking her with the promise of protection and power it had not been able to fulfill in two thousand years—even if it were the real thing, rather than a pale imitation in front of a fake pyramid.
She wondered for a moment why Las Vegas, with hotels echoing ancient Rome and Egypt, had nothing that evoked ancient Greece. Perhaps that was for the best, since she had known little but pain in Greece—thanks to Jason.
Medea sensed magic behind her and turned around quickly. Jason had never had the gift in any of his reincarnations, so what she was sensing couldn’t come from him. Still, since the signs had led her here, perhaps the unidentified sorcery would give her the clues she needed to find her unfaithful ex-husband.
Superficially, the nondescript white building she had seen only a few moments ago was still there. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it sat just to the right of a Luxor parking lot, so she guessed it must be connected to the hotel in some way. From where she was standing, she could see two small doors, each with a health hazard sign divided into red, yellow, blue and white triangles. They were spaced some distance apart, one to her left and the other to her right.
Then she realized what had changed—there was now a third door between the other two. Partially hidden by a tree, it still stood out because of its midnight black color.
Medea glanced cautiously at the passersby, none of whom seemed to be reacting to the door’s appearance. Their obliviousness suggested that the door might be intended for her and visible to her alone. If so, it was a rather blatant invitation—or a trap.
Walking slowly across the street, Medea examined the underlying magic as well as she could. If the door were intended only for her, no one would have gone to the trouble of actually making a physical door in the wall, particularly since they would have had to waste energy sealing it up later. No, it was clear from the nature of the magic that this was an interplanar door. Such artifacts took a fair amount of power and a tremendous amount of skill to do properly, all of which suggested a very potent spell caster was responsible. Medea hadn’t detected anyone like that when she had first arrived in Las Vegas, but whoever it was could have been concealing himself, herself—or itself—behind powerful magic.
That raised the question of why this mystery caster was now willing, perhaps even eager, to break secrecy.
By now she was across the street, standing in front of the door. As far as she could tell, it was indeed visible only to her, so she had to hope no passerby would wonder why she was staring so intently at a seemingly blank wall. Like most of those gifted with true magic, the last thing she wanted was to draw the attention of prying eyes. The less likely ordinary mortals were to suspect that magic was real, the better she liked it.
She always dressed in a way that camouflaged her physical appearance to make her less conspicuous. Of course, she wore modern clothes rather than ancient Greek ones. She had tied up her long, midnight black hair and covered it with a wide-brimmed sun hat which also kept her face partially in shadow. She wasn’t quite Helen of Troy, but conscious of her own beauty, she wore large sunglasses to further obscure her model-perfect face and hide the golden glint in her eyes. She covered her shapely body with a loose-fitting, beige sundress. Unless someone looked at her closely, she would appear to be an ordinary tourist with perhaps a little less fashion sense than the average woman. Even someone who knew that the descendants of old gods still walked the earth might not give her a second glance.
As an additional precaution, she cast a low-energy invisibility spell around herself, just enough to make reasonably sure no mundane human would notice her without giving away how much power she had to someone sensitive to magic.
Why was she wasting so much time on this? She had never needed anyone else’s help to find Jason in the past. Why would she need it now? It was unlikely a stranger would have anything else she wanted. It was more likely whoever was on the other side of the door was hostile to her or at least wanted to use her for some purpose other than her own.
Despite all those good reasons for turning her back on the invitation and continuing her search for Jason, Medea hesitated. Single-minded as she was most of the time, this strange intrusion into her day had piqued her curiosity. Having walked the earth for more than three thousand years, she had seen many things, but having other people open interplanar doors specifically for her was a new experience.
She pressed her hand against the door, which felt oddly solid, but cold as a tomb. Then it creaked slowly open. Since it wasn’t really physical and had no hinges, the creaking seemed to her unnecessarily theatrical, even sinister. If whoever had created the door actually wanted her to walk through, this was an odd way of getting her to do it.
She could see nothing through the open doorway except blackness—once again, not a very appealing invitation. She couldn’t sense anything malevolent in that blackness, but she couldn’t sense anything else, either. Stepping over the threshold would be stepping into a void. Erebus itself could hardly have been any blanker.
Intriguing as the situation was, Medea decided the risk of satisfying her curiosity would be too high and turned away from the door.
“Medea,” whispered a voice from somewhere beyond the threshold. Despite her best efforts at control, her heart beat faster. No one should know who she was or be able to locate her. No one without powerful magic, anyway.
“If you have business with me, show yourself, and let’s get on with it!” snapped Medea. She felt more and more as if someone was just playing games with her, though why anyone would squander so much magic doing so she couldn’t imagine.
“The light,” the voice whispered. “I cannot bear the light. You will have to come to me.”
“I cannot bear that much darkness,” said Medea. “I am a granddaughter of Helios, the sun god, and such gloom fills me with fear.”
The voice laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “You may be descended from Helios, but you are also a priestess of Hecate. You are no stranger to the darkness.”
Medea now knew that whoever was whispering to her had done some homework. She also knew whoever it was couldn’t stand sunlight—unless that was a lie intended to throw her off balance.
“Tell me what it is you want with me,” said Medea. “Then I’ll decide whether I want to join you in the dark or not.”
“My master has a business proposition for you, but I cannot give you the details here, where another mage might conceivably overhear.”
“I’m sorry, but I doubt your master has anything I would want, and I don’t intend to risk putting myself under someone else’s power to find out.”
Medea turned to go, but a cold wind blew out from the door, chilling her to the bone despite the Las Vegas heat, and the voice whispered, “He has the caduceus of Hermes.”
“Ridiculous!” snapped Medea, turning back toward the doorway. “The caduceus is still on the Olympian plane, and your master couldn’t get there any more than the old gods could leave it.”
“He does have it.”
The whisper was becoming tiresome by now, but she had no choice but to keep listening.
“However,” the voice continued, “I dare not tell you any more. If you wish to hear the rest, you must step through the door.”
Medea hadn’t taken someone else’s orders in millenniums, and she was not about to start with an annoying anonymous voice.
“Then I guess I’ll just never know the rest,” she said. Much to her surprise, the open door slammed in her face, though it did not disappear.
She told herself to just walk away. What the voice’s master was offering wasn’t possible, and the whole arrangement was probably a trap.
Or was it? Aside from the reference to the caduceus, most of the attempts to get her through the door had been inept at best. If it was a trap, it was a very ill-devised one.
She took a few minutes to cast the best protective spells she had over herself. Then she knocked on the door, silently cursing herself for her own gullibility.
The door swung open with another fake hinge creak, and Medea stepped through.
She removed her sunglasses and used magic to enable herself to see in the dark, but there really wasn’t anything to see at first. The door seemed to open into the void. Then she became aware of walls, a floor, and a ceiling, all blacker than any night sky. Someone had gone to considerable trouble to create a fake feeling of infinite darkness. As far as she was concerned, the result was more laughable than frightening.
The hallway was long, but eventually she reached a small room with rough, gray stone walls and a small window through which a little pale moonlight entered. Aside from the fact that there were no bars on the window, the room looked well suited to be a prison cell in some forgotten dungeon.
In the center of the room was what looked like a handmade table and two chairs. A shadowy figure was seated in one, but he rose as soon as she entered.
She could see him clearly with her night vision. He was a study in contrasts, dressed all in black but with skin paler than the moonlight. His face looked young, but his “vibe,” as contemporary mortals put it, gave a sense of much greater antiquity. His eyes looked at her in a way that suggested his night vision was as good as hers.
Medea could hardly believe what she was seeing. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“What do you mean, my lady?” he asked, bowing to her as he did so. Medea thanked the gods that at least he wasn’t going to whisper his way through the whole conversation.
“Everything here, yourself included, looks like borrowed props from a horror movie.”
“Apologies, my lady,” he replied, giving her a somewhat toothy smile. “In life I was a director of horror movies. I’m afraid my theatrical flair shows a little in my choices. However, I spoke the truth earlier. My master has the caduceus and is willing to trade.”
“And what does your master wish in return for such a treasure?” asked Medea.
“Please sit down, my lady,” said the director, pulling out a chair for her. At least he had manners.
Once she was seated, he said, “You, of course, need no introduction, but allow me to introduce myself. I am Franklin Reynolds. Back in the 1940s, I was a director of some repute. Perhaps you saw some of my films.”
Medea eyed him coldly. “I’ve never understood the mortal taste for horror movies. Life is quite horrifying enough, is it not?”
“Just so,” said Reynolds with a quick nod. Medea had the feeling he would have agreed with anything she said. “To business, then. There are a great many things that so accomplished a sorceress as yourself knows how to do, particularly someone who has mastered the darkness and the light, who holds the legacies of Hecate and of Helios.”
“When one has lived as long as I, one develops the ability to sense empty flattery,” said Medea, tapping her fingernails on the table. “I’ve also been in more than my share of business meetings. Those that begin with flattery seldom end well—for the flatterer.”
Reynolds nodded again. “I meant no disrespect, my lady. Straight to business then. My master is aware of your long life—”
“Lest you waste your time, I don’t have the secret of youth,” said Medea, deciding she’d test his knowledge. “My longevity is the consequence of what mortals today would call good genes. My father and mother were both children of two immortals, though they themselves chose to live in the mortal world. It’s not amazing I lived so long. The amazing part is that I wasn’t born a goddess.”
“You are certainly as beautiful as one,” said Reynolds with another toothy smile. Before she could interrupt again, he said, “You are also as astute as the best of them. You are testing me, no? Or perhaps testing my master. You want to see if we know you restored the youth of Jason’s father, Aeson.”
Medea’s estimation of Reynolds—and perhaps his master—went up a couple notches. They had done pretty extensive research.
“In fact, if I remember the story correctly, you chopped him up into pieces, boiled him, and then restored his life and youth by a combination of spells and herbs.”
“And does your master wish me to chop him up?” asked Medea in a fake pleasant tone.
“We know the chopping was not a necessary part of the ritual,” said Reynolds. “You added that as a way of tricking the daughters of Pelias into chopping him up to get him out of Jason’s way.”
“Your master wishes youth, then?” asked Medea.
“Others could probably provide that. My master seeks resurrection as well.”
Medea couldn’t help looking puzzled. “Your master is—”
“As I am,” he finished for her. “A vampire. In life he was a sorcerer who sought the secret of eternal life. His experiments…went wrong, and he obtained undeath instead.”
Medea gestured to their surroundings. “Who’s providing the magic then? A sorcerer would need a living body to perform spells in this world.”
“Normally yes,” Reynolds conceded, “but because my master was a sorcerer to begin with and is still technically in his own body, however much transformed it is, he has gotten the situation to work, however awkwardly.”
Medea wouldn’t admit it, but that was an understatement. Crude as the approach had been, the magic around them was sophisticated.
“I haven’t brought anyone back to life in centuries,” said Medea. “I’m not even sure the spell would work on this plane anymore.”
“Ah,” said Reynolds with yet another toothy smile. “That’s the beauty of it. You and my master can both travel between planes. Perform the spell wherever you like.”
“I see you have the logistics covered,” said Medea. “However, that isn’t the only potential problem. Resurrecting a human is one thing. Breathing life back into a vampire is an entirely different undertaking. I might well destroy him instead of returning him to mortal life. Even if I did succeed, does your master want to be mortal? Isn’t that the very thing he was trying to avoid at the start?”
“With your rejuvenation spell, my master would be able to renew himself periodically. That would have the same result as immortality, would it not? As for the risk, my master would have you experiment on another of our kind first and perform the ritual on him only if it works on someone else.”
“And in exchange you offer me the caduceus you couldn’t possibly have?”
“We offer you the caduceus we do have,” said Reynolds, shocking her by producing it with a wave of his hand. It did indeed look like the caduceus, which she had seen long ago. It had a golden glow, and two animated snakes twined around it. Not only that, but the magical power radiating from it was unmistakable.
“I’ll need to see that to verify its authenticity,” said Medea, reaching toward it. Reynolds made it disappear with another wave of his hand.
“I’m sorry, but I’m sure you understand my master’s reluctance to just hand over an artifact like that to someone who is already a powerful sorceress in her own right. Before I can let you lay a hand on the caduceus, you’ll have to swear by the River Styx to do what my master asks should the artifact prove genuine.”
Reynolds—or perhaps his master—was a good negotiator. Medea decided to see how good.
“What makes you think I need the caduceus? I’m already arguably one of the most powerful spell casters left in the world, perhaps the most powerful. From that standpoint, the caduceus is overkill.”
Reynolds raised an eyebrow. “If you would prefer money, my master is quite rich.”
“As am I,” countered Medea. “Living as long as I have, I have discreetly amassed enough wealth to do whatever I want. I could buy the hotel I was standing near when your door opened. For that matter, I could buy every hotel in Las Vegas and not make much of a dent in my assets. More money is the last thing I need.”
“Let us return to the caduceus, then. Recall that it reflects the abilities of its former owner, Hermes. One of his functions was as guide of the dead to the underworld.”
“Hecate’s teachings have given me more control over the dead than I could ever need.”
“Really?” asked Reynolds. “Has she given you the power to keep a soul from reincarnating? Because the caduceus could do that.”
For the first time in a long time, Medea was speechless, so Reynolds continued. “You could break the reincarnation cycle for Jason, banishing him from this world forever. Then you know what you could do? Whatever you liked! You would no longer need to keep finding and killing him in each new life.
“Medea, you could live your life, enjoy your money, work your magic, do whatever you like. Jason would become just a fading memory, as he should be.”
Reynolds leaned back in his chair, clearly waiting for a response, but Medea didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t been surprised for centuries—but today Reynolds had managed to catch her off-balance.
“How did your master obtain the caduceus?” she asked finally, watching Reynolds carefully to see if she could find any obvious tells.
“My master’s methods are his own,” replied Reynolds in a neutral tone. “He has no intention of sharing them.”
“And who is your master?”
Reynolds paused for a moment, then said, “You have heard of the Collector?”
Medea had heard of him—and didn’t like what she’d heard.
“Your master is…erratic at best. He thinks not in terms of honor, but only of advantage. I have no interest in doing business with him.”
The sorceress rose quickly from her chair. Reynolds was up equally fast.
“You’re making a big mistake,” he said. The tone wasn’t threatening, but it was hard not to read the words as a threat—especially when the chamber no longer had a doorway.
“Return me to Las Vegas,” said Medea. “Now,” she added when Reynolds did not immediately respond.
“My master will meet with you in person,” said Reynolds finally. “Hear him out before you decide.”
“Return me to Las Vegas, and I will consider whether or not I wish to have any dealings with the Collector.” Medea didn’t add that she would never deal with the Collector unless Vegas froze solid, and she wouldn’t be stepping through any other mysterious doorways any time soon. The very fact that he had accidentally transformed himself into a vampire in the first place did not inspire confidence, and she had heard rumors of his unsavory activities. If the rumors were only half true, she couldn’t imagine becoming entangled in his web.
Maybe he did have the caduceus, and maybe he didn’t. If it was really in his possession, and he bargained it to her, it was possible he’d try to steal it back once he had from her the spells he wanted. Considering the rumored size of his operation, she was better off without that kind of drama in her life.
“I’m afraid that will not be satisfactory,” said Reynolds. “My master insists—”
“He’s not in any position to insist,” replied Medea, readying herself to open her own portal if she needed to. “If he is foolish enough to use force against me, he’ll quickly discover the folly of such a course.”
To her surprise, Reynolds smiled—and not in a menacing way.
“I need to show you something,” he said, starting to gesture.
He might not have been preparing a hostile spell, but in an environment Medea didn’t control, she couldn’t afford to take chances. She hit him with a blast of sunlight strong enough to burn any vampire to ashes in seconds.
Reynolds covered his eyes and staggered backwards, but he didn’t burst into flames or even smoke a little. In fact, aside from temporary blindness, he seemed completely unharmed.
A sun-proof vampire? How could even the Collector have created such a thing?
Conducting a quick magical examination, Medea cursed herself for taking appearance for reality. Reynolds looked the part, but he was no vampire. He breathed, his heart beat, he had a body temperature.
“Who are you?” she asked, readying a spell more lethal to humans.
“Truce! Truce!” yelled Reynolds. “I mean you no harm!”
“Who are you?” Medea repeated. “I will not ask again. Nor will I tolerate deception.”
“I’m going to remove the illusion,” said Reynolds. “Please don’t interpret the magic as a hostile move.” Medea nodded, and in seconds Reynolds became a much less pale but somewhat older man. His face was not too wrinkled, but his hair had mostly silvered. Instead of the all-black vampire costume, he wore a conservative navy-blue suit. He looked ordinary, yet he was clearly a skilled caster, and the world was not exactly filled with those anymore.
“Who are you?” she asked again. “I can tell this is your real appearance, but I have never seen you before.”
“No, not in this life,” the stranger said. “Look more deeply.”