The Fifth Golden Age of Science Fiction MEGAPACK ®: Lester del Rey. Lester Del Rey
for the doctor was the worst part of it. All the legends Henry knew ran through his mind. Alféar could have given her a stroke and then added some violent poison that would show up in an autopsy. He could be sitting wherever he was, chuckling because Henry hadn’t restricted his wish enough to be safe. Or any of a hundred things could happen. There was the first witch, who had thought she had Apalon under control, only to be turned to dust.
But the doctor took it calmly enough. “Stroke, all right,” he decided. “I warned her last year that she was putting on too much weight and getting high blood pressure. Too bad, Mr. Aimsworth, but there was nothing you could do. I’ll turn in a certificate. Want me to contact a mortician for you?”
Henry nodded, trying to appear properly grief-stricken. “I—I’d appreciate it.”
“Too late now,” the doctor said. “But I’ll be glad to send Mr. Glazier around in the morning.” He pulled the sheet up over Emma’s body, leaving it on the backroom couch to which they had carried it. “You’d better go to a hotel for the night. And I’ll give you something that will make you sleep.”
“I’d rather not,” Henry said quickly. “I mean, I’d feel better here. You know.…”
“Certainly, certainly.” The doctor nodded sympathetically, but as if it were an old story to him. He left the pills with instructions, said the proper things again, and finally went out.
* * * *
Shirley’s voice was sleepy and cross when she answered, but it grew alert as soon as he told her about Emma’s stroke. He was almost beginning to believe the simple version of the story himself.
“Poor Henry,” she murmured. Her voice sharpened again. “It was a stroke? The doctor was sure?”
“Positive,” he assured her, cursing himself for having let her guess some of the thoughts that had been on his mind. “The doctor said she’d had hypertension and such before.”
She considered it a second, and then a faint laugh sounded. “Then I guess there’s no use in crying over spilled milk, is there, Henry? If it had to happen, it just had to. And I mean, it’s like fate, almost!”
“It is fate!” he agreed happily. Then he dropped his voice. “And now I’m all alone here, baby lamb, and I had to call you up.…”
She caught on at once, as she always did. “You can’t stay there now! It’s so morbid. Henry, you come right over here!”
Demons, Henry thought as he drove the car through the quiet residential streets toward her apartment, had their uses. They were a much maligned breed. Probably the people who had summoned them before had been ignorant, stupid people; they’d messed up their chances and brought trouble on themselves by not finding out the facts and putting it all down to superstitious magic. The fellows were almost people—maybe even a little superior to humans. If a man would just try to understand them, they could help him, and with no danger at all.
“No strings attached,” he said to himself, and then chuckled softly. It fitted perfectly; now there were no strings attached to him. Emma was at peace, and he was free. He’d have to wait a few months to marry Shirley legally, of course. But already, she was as good as his wife. And if he played up the shock angle just enough, this could be a wonderful evening again.…
Shirley was unusually lovely when she met him at the door. Her soft golden hair made a halo for her face—a face that said she’d already anticipated his ideas, and had decided he was a man who needed sympathy and understanding for what had happened.
There was even time for the idea that he was free to be brought up, tentatively at first, and then eventually as a matter of course. And the plans expanded as he considered them. There was no need to worry about things now. The quiet marriage became a trip around the world as he confessed to having money that no one knew about. They could close the shop. He could leave town almost at once, and she could follow later. Nobody would know, and they wouldn’t have to wait to avoid any scandal. They could be married in two weeks!
Henry was just realizing the values of a friendly demon. With proper handling, a lot of purely friendly summoning, and a reasonable attitude, there was no reason why Alféar couldn’t provide him with every worldly comfort to share with Shirley.
He caught her to him again. “My own little wife! That’s what you are, lambkins! What’s a mere piece of paper? I already think of you as my wife. I feel you’re my wife. That’s what counts, isn’t it?”
“That’s all that counts,” she agreed with a warmth that set fire to his blood. Then she gasped. “Henry, darling, it’s getting light already! You’ll have to get back. What will the neighbors say if they see you coming from here now?”
He tore away reluctantly, swearing at the neighbors. But she was right, of course. He had to go back and take the sleeping medicine to be ready for the arrival of the mortician in the morning.
“It’s still early,” he protested, automatically trying to squeeze out a few more minutes. “Nobody’s up yet.”
“I’ll heat up the coffee, and then you’ll have to go,” Shirley said firmly, heading for the kitchen. “Plenty of people get up early around here. And besides, you need some sleep. Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and—”
From the kitchen came the beginning of a shriek. It changed to a horrible gasp, and died away in a failing moan. There was the sound of a body hitting the floor.
Alféar stood over Shirley’s body, rubbing one finger tenderly. His ears twitched uncertainly as he studied Henry’s horror-frozen face. “I told you,” he said. “I warned you some of us get conditioned to a habit the first time. And you thought of her as your wife and she said.…”
Abruptly, he vanished. Henry’s screams were the only sound in the apartment.
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