Notes: Still determined to finish this, even after ... however long it's been. Let's see if I can write it to its conclusion this time.

Chapter Eight

Jim, Arte, and Ray were careful to make sure they weren't being followed before they dropped Coley, Lafe, and Snakes off at a fancy, high security hotel. Then, sighing, Arte leaned back in the seat. "Oh, I hope we aren't making a mistake."

"I hope not too, Arte," Jim said.

"And now it's on to Majestic Studios to try to convince Mitch Cantrell to give up one of the decoy chickens?" Ray grimaced.

"We need to have one with us when we go back to Oak Bridge, just in case the Count is still there," Jim said. "Although as an alternate plan, I suppose we could just try to break into the prop room on our own. I could always try to pass myself off as Mitch if we're caught."

"You know, this whole decoy chicken idea is dangerous," Ray worried. "What if Count Manzeppi tries to immediately test it under the full moon? That would blow everything!"

"It's the only chance we've got," Jim said. "We can't risk taking the real chicken."

"I know, I know," Ray sighed, "but I still don't like it."

"I can't say I'm terribly thrilled about it either, Mr. Norman, but it looks like it's necessary," Arte said.

"So it's off to Majestic Studios," Jim said.

Arte turned the corner. "And Heaven help us all," he intoned.

Snakes hadn't been very talkative on the ride to the hotel, and now that they were registered under false names and up in their suite, he was just sitting on the edge of one of the beds and staring down at the floor. Coley and Lafe stood by, watching him in concern.

"What do you even say in a situation like this?" Coley grunted under his breath. "Maybe we should just leave him alone."

"Hey, I got pretty good at figuring out when to leave people alone because of your temper," Lafe said. "Being left alone is not what Snakes needs right now."

Coley sighed. "Then maybe you should take a crack at talking to him."

"I think we've said just about all there is to say," Lafe replied. "I never said anything about talking more. I just said we shouldn't leave him alone." He walked past Coley and on into the room, where he sat down on the other bed. "Hey, Snakes. If you want to talk, we're here. If you don't, that's fine. We're still here."

Snakes slowly looked up. "Thanks," he said quietly. "I'm not sure what I want. Not having to spend the night alone is pretty foreign to me. Until the past few months, I've always had to spend my time alone and lick my own wounds. Like, if you've ever seen The Phantom of the Opera, that song they play at the end, Learn to be Lonely, that was pretty much me."

"Well, it's not anymore," Coley said gruffly, stepping farther into the room. "You've got us."

"I wish I'd had you years ago," Snakes lamented, "but I'm glad I have you now."

Lafe smiled. "And you always will from now on," he insisted.

". . . Hey, speaking of still having things, you didn't put that thing in the vault," Snakes remembered.

Coley shot Lafe a Look. "You've still got it?!"

Caught, Lafe slowly took the chicken out of his pocket again. "Yeah . . . but I had a logical reason for it," he insisted. "I wasn't sure we should really let it out of our sight. I mean, we don't know we can trust the guy at the desk! What if Manzeppi really does find us, somehow?"

Coley growled. "This is going to be trouble. I know it."

"We can always take it down," Lafe said. "I'll do it right now if you say that's the best course of action, Coley."

Coley looked exasperated. "Only I can't say that, because I have no idea. We could be in danger either way."

Snakes groaned, leaning on the bed's headboard with one elbow. "I've been in danger too much tonight already. Let's just pick what would be the safest for us. And that would be sealing that thing away, far away!" He got up, reaching to snatch the chicken out of Lafe's hands.

Lafe jerked back from him. "Just calm down, Snakes!" he exclaimed. "I'll put it in the vault. See? I'm getting up to go downstairs." He stood, heading for the door.

Snakes gave him a wary look. "You're sure now."

"I'm sure!" Lafe insisted.

Coley, who still trusted Lafe in spite of his fascination with the chicken, just nodded and waved a hand at him. "Go on then. Take care of it."

"I'm going right now," Lafe promised. He slipped out into the hall.

Once there, he hesitated. Everything was so perfect. He'd kept the chicken away from the Count and now it was in his hands. He would absolutely do what he promised and lock it up, but . . . would it really hurt to test it out one little time? Tonight was the actual full moon. Even though it would look just about the same for the next night or two, maybe this was the only night when it would actually work. He might not ever have another chance.

Surely, surely it wouldn't be wrong to just use it on a couple of small things he had with him. . . .

With that dangerous decision solidified, he turned and headed for the stairs leading up to the roof.

Majestic Studios was largely closed for the night by the time Jim, Arte, and Ray arrived. But the guard was still at the gate and waved them in without question, to all of their relief.

"Well, you still have your golden touch, I see," Arte remarked.

Jim just deadpanned. "The guards were given instructions to let us in any time we came," he said.

"True," Arte conceded. "So what do you think we should do, Jim? Go plead our cause to Mitch Cantrell or just try to get one of the decoy chickens on our own?"

"I'm wondering what would take the least amount of time," Jim said. "We can't afford to be long. We need to catch the Count while he's still at Oak Bridge. In fact . . ." He hesitated in concern. "Knowing how he is, I'm wondering if he's already planning what to do if the chicken isn't there. He never puts all his eggs in one basket."

Worry flickered in Arte's eyes. "And just what do you think the good Count might do, Jim?"

"He would start considering all the other possibilities of where it could be," Jim said, "and sooner or later it might occur to him that one of us might have taken it with us despite the risk of him finding it on us."

"Yes, yes, and then what?" Arte asked, making a Go on gesture as they walked towards the prop building. "Even if he got that far, he wouldn't know where to go from there."

"He might also suspect that someone would come to get one of the decoy chickens from here," Jim said. "We might be waylaid any minute."

Ray didn't look pleased by that suggestion at all. "I hope not," he groaned.

"Bah! We can handle that," Arte snorted. "Meanwhile, shouldn't Snakes and the others be safe where they are?"

"I hope so, Arte, but with Count Manzeppi after them, I'm just not sure," Jim frowned.

"How could he possibly find them in a city this size?" Arte scoffed. "Do you know how many hotels there are in this neighborhood alone?!"

"I'm thinking about something else." Jim glanced up at the sky. "Tonight's the full moon."

"A fact I'm sure neither one of us has forgotten in all this time," Arte said.

"Well, what if Lafe can't resist trying to turn something into gold?" Jim persisted. "Where do you think he might go to test the chicken out?"

"You think he'd do that?!" Ray exclaimed. "Even if Coley said no?!"

"Maybe Coley wouldn't know," Jim said.

Now Arte was starting to get worried too. Lafe's excitement over the chicken's powers was not something easily forgotten. "He might go out on the balcony, perhaps?" he said. "Unless they possibly picked a hotel room without one."

"I'm pretty sure Rodman would do exactly that to avoid the possibility of anyone scaling the balcony to get at them," Jim said. "I didn't see a lot of balconies at the hotel we left them at."

"So Lafe might go on the roof instead," Arte realized. "He wouldn't want to be seen."

"I think so, Arte," Jim said. "And what if Count Manzeppi hires an airplane or a helicopter to fly over the city looking for anyone using a roof?"

"Jumping Jehosephat, he just might do that!" Arte cried. "What are we going to do, Jim?!"

"Let's call Rodman right now," Jim replied. "Maybe if Lafe hasn't done anything yet, he can be stopped. And if he's already trying, maybe he can be brought back inside before he's seen. If not . . ." Jim let that thought trail off.

Ray was already taking out his phone and dialing.

"Hello?" Coley answered almost immediately.

"Coley, what's going on there?" Ray asked. "Is everything alright?"

"About as alright as it can be, I guess," Coley said. "Tolliver's calming down and Lafe went to lock the chicken in the vault."

Ray gripped the phone tighter. "He didn't do that as soon as you got there?!"

"No." Coley sounded concerned. "What's going on, Ray? Has something changed?"

"Oh, I don't know," Ray sighed. "We started wondering what the Count might do if he starts thinking about the chicken not being at Oak Bridge. He might try looking for anyone using the chicken tonight!"

". . . And you think Lafe might do that," Coley suddenly realized.

"Well, we all know he wanted to," Ray said. "Maybe left alone with it, he wouldn't see any harm in turning one or two things to gold."

Coley swore. "You can be sure I'm going to find out," he vowed.

"Don't leave Snakes alone in the room while you look for Lafe," Arte broke into the conversation.

"Don't worry, I won't," Coley said. "We'll get to the bottom of this, Gordon."

"Call back as soon as you know something," Ray implored.

"You bet I will," Coley replied, hanging up.

Arte sighed. "Well, that's all we can do on that end for now," he said.

Jim nodded. "Here's the prop building," he announced. "Let's go in and get a chicken just in case I'm wrong."

"And I'm sure we're all praying you are," Arte said.

Coley was not in a good mood as he hung up the phone. Uneasy, Snakes got off the bed and went over to him. "What was that about?" he asked.

"We need to find Lafe," Coley said. "He's been gone a long time just to lock the chicken away."

"I was thinking that too," Snakes admitted. "But do you really think he'd go doing something stupid after all this?"

"He might not think it would be stupid," Coley said. "He might think it's perfectly logical."

"Okay." Snakes was all business now and waiting at the door into their room. "So what do you wanna do?"

"I'm going up on the roof," Coley said. "You check down at the front desk in case we're wrong."

"Right." Snakes pulled his hat low over his eyes and headed into the hall and towards the elevator.

Swearing to himself, Coley went the opposite direction towards the stairs going up.

The horrible scream and the unearthly crash sent Coley flying up the rest of the stairs and onto the roof. He turned sheet-white at the sight of a golden Lafe lying on the roof—surprised, shocked, and of course dead. The chicken was next to him.

Suddenly Coley was dizzy, sick. This was unreal. All the fanciful stories Manzeppi had told them had to be fake. There was no such thing as a philosopher's stone. There was no chicken that could turn anything and everything to gold under the full moon.

There were no people that could be instantaneously killed in such a gruesome manner.

"Lafe . . ." He collapsed to his knees, desperate, searching for some indication that this was an abhorrent trick, that this had always been a statue and not . . .

"My, my. It seems your friend got greedy and chose the chicken over you after all. And look what it got him."

Coley looked up with a jerk as Manzeppi stepped through another door onto the roof. He was calm, cool, collected, and completely unsurprised.

Coley got to his feet, pointing his gun at the other man. "This isn't Lafe," he snarled. "You won't get me to believe it. What did you do with him, Count?!" His eyes narrowed. "Don't think I won't shoot."

Manzeppi sighed, tiredly. "Oh, I'm certain you will, Mr. Rodman. But really, how much convincing do you require? Mr. West and Mr. Gordon believed, when they saw my poor former apprentice Gerda stretched out in just such a manner."

"Yeah? Well, you're going to have to do more than put a statue here to get me to believe," Coley retorted. "I'd have to actually see him changing to gold."

"Unfortunately, it's a little late for that," Manzeppi replied. "It only works once."

"There has to be a way to unwork it too," Coley declared.

Manzeppi did not confirm or deny it. "What is it that's really troubling you, Mr. Rodman?" he purred. "Is it that you're being forced to concede that a living, breathing human can be turned in the blink of an eye to solid, pure gold? Or is it the thought that your oldest and perhaps your dearest friend betrayed you in the end and chose to pursue his short-lived happiness down the road to perdition?"

Coley flinched. "Lafe didn't betray me," he insisted. "This is a trick. You're trying to get me to turn the chicken over to you!"

"Well, you certainly have no use for it," Manzeppi said. "Surely you're not going to either keep it for yourself or turn it over to Mr. West and Mr. Gordon?"

"To Hell with it," Coley snarled. "You've pushed me too far, Manzeppi. That's never smart. Because you know what I'm going to do?" He pointed his gun at the toy, so covertly dangerous while disguised as something harmless. "I'm not going to let anybody get it."

Manzeppi laughing should have been a clue that something would go amiss. And ordinarily Coley would have paid attention. But he was right—he had been pushed too far. He was too angry to think about it. He fired.

The bullet touched the chicken, bounced off, and hit the roof as a gold object.

Manzeppi clapped his gloved hands. "There, Mr. Rodman!" he said. "Now what do you say about this priceless bit of poultry?"

Coley took a step back, his eyes wide and his stomach churning. He swore under his breath. "It really does it," he gasped. "But then . . . Lafe . . ."

Manzeppi took Coley's horror as an opportunity to step forward. "Lafe made a very poor choice, I'm afraid."

Coley recovered, stepping in front of the chicken. "As long as the moon's out, you're not free to take it back," he said.

"You're quite right. But neither are you, my friend." Manzeppi smiled. "We are at an impasse."

For a long moment they stood, facing each other, each waiting for the moon to disappear behind the clouds in order to have a chance to grab the deadly device. When at length it finally happened, Manzeppi was a split-second faster. He took up the bird, depositing it in his hat as he hurried towards the open door through which he had come. "It's always good to be on the safe side," he explained.

Undaunted, Coley gave chase. But when he arrived at the doorway and peered through, there was nothing and no one.

"Count!" he snapped. "I know you didn't get away that fast. Where'd you go?"

He received no answer.

After going through the building and finding no trace of the wayward magician, Coley trudged back to the roof. He kicked the golden bullet aside as he sank to his knees, staring at what had become of his second-in-command.

"Lafe . . ." He reached out, touching the cold shoulder. "Was he right? Did your greed finally win out in the end?" He cursed. "You never betrayed me before; I can't believe you did now. Maybe you were trying to get the thing away from Manzeppi. Was that it?"

He took off his hat, slapping it against his knee. "Maybe Manzeppi did this to you. Maybe he saw to it that you stepped out here with that thing right when the moon was out. When I catch up to him again, he'll pay."

The door to the roof opened again and Snakes was standing there, out of breath and worried. "Coley, Lafe wasn't . . ." But the sight before him sent him into horrified silence. "What the . . . ?! . . . Lafe?!"

"That's what Manzeppi would have me believe." Coley's voice was strained, barely holding back his anger and his feelings of betrayal.

Snakes slowly advanced, heart pounding, dizzy, not wanting to believe the impossible sight. "But . . . this can't be true," he objected. "It can't. . . ."

"I don't even know any more," Coley said. "I tried to shoot the chicken and the bullet turned to gold. If it could do that, then . . ."

Snakes swore in sickened horror. "I . . . Coley, I'm so sorry. . . . We wouldn't have been here if it wasn't for me. . . ."

"No," Coley replied. "The Count pushed us here, step by step. He's been calling the shots all this time. He had you tortured. He had Lafe . . . killed. . . . And I'm not going to stand for it any longer. I'm not going to wait and see what he'll do next! Maybe he has black magic. Maybe he has the philosopher's stone. Maybe he has a murderous robot at his beck and call. But none of that's got anything on me! He's going to regret the day he ever made an enemy out of Coley Rodman." And with that he turned and stormed into the hotel, gun still bared.

Snakes slumped back, watching him go. Coley was one of the most logical and level-headed of their group, but he had snapped. Snakes couldn't even blame him, not after all this.

He looked back down at the . . . thing at his feet. Could he ever believe that was Lafe? Was it possible it could be?

"What's going on around here?!" he cried in despair. "Is anything ever going to start making sense again?!"

His voice echoed on the night sky. He was lost. He was alone.

And so was Coley, marching off to do who knew what.

Cursing again, Snakes turned and ran back inside without another word.