Evil Ways (23 page)

"This damn thing won't open up," she says.

"Why don't you see how it looks on you," Libby says, and gives a slight push of magic along with those words. "Then we can see about getting it open."

"Good idea." Gabrielle stands before the nearest of several mirrors in the room and brings the two ends of the chain up to the back of her neck. She fumbles with the catch that will join them.

"Here, let me give you a hand," Libby says. "I'm pretty good with these things."

She is as good as her word. In a few seconds, the chain is fastened.

As Gabrielle is admiring her reflection, she sees in the mirror that the Chastain woman is resting her fingers on Gabrielle's shoulders, and her lips appear to be moving.

"What are you doing? Are you talking to yourself?"

Libby hands tighten imperceptibly. "Sshhh. Be
still."

The annoyed expression drops from Gabrielle's face and she stands there, uncertain.

Libby continues speaking under her breath for a few moments longer, then reaches her hands up to gently cup the young woman's ears.
"Ephphatha. Ephphatha. Ephphatha."
It is ancient Aramaic, the same word said to have been used, long ago, by a troublesome Galilean preacher who once gave a deaf and blind man the greatest gift imaginable.

Gabrielle does not protest this intrusion upon her precious person, nor does she object when Libby rests her hands over the young woman's eyes, to say the same word, three more times.

The word means, "Be thou opened."

Libby steps back, then walks around to face Gabrielle Stafford again.

Gabrielle does not look angry, but perplexed. "What did you do? I feel… strange."

"We were talking about your fianc
é
, Miss Stafford, about Lewis. You were telling me how he wants you to try new things, experience new sensations."

Over the space of about ten seconds, the young woman's facial expression morphs from confusion, to surprise, to shock, then finally to what can only be described as shame.

"Oh, my God!" she says quietly, as if talking to herself. "What did I… what have I…?"

She moves on unsteady legs to the nearest chair, and collapses into it. Libby returns to her chair, as well.

"Go on," Libby says. "What were you about to say, about Lewis? About the things you've done, just because he told you to?"

Gabrielle's eyes dart back and forth wildly, seeing nothing, as her mind processes memories, emotions, suppositions, conclusions… but mostly memories.

"Sweet merciful mother of God!" Gabby breathes. "Lewis said I should, I had to… My God, I let three guys fuck me, all at the same time! While people
watched!!"

She puts her head in her hands, and sobs, as if from the cellar of her soul.

Libby takes no joy in Gabrielle's pain, but she is made joyous by what it represents
—
the spell that the black wizard cast over her is broken, before it could destroy her will entirely. The girl's parents had been right when they'd told Libby that Pardee had bewitched their daughter
—
they just did not realize how right they had been.

But there is more to be done, before Libby confronts Pardee himself.

"Your fianc
é
, is he out for the afternoon?" Libby already knows the answer to that question, but she wants Gabrielle to consider its implications.

"Yes… yes, he's out shopping for clothes, and that usually takes him hours. Lewis likes nice things." Then her voice changes. "Nice things that I'm paying for… oh, my God, so much money. I've given him so much…"

"Is it possible that some of the financial arrangements you've made with Lewis might be revoked, without Lewis's knowledge or consent?"

Gabrielle wipes a manicured hand over her tear-stained face. "Yes, yes I think so. A lot of it is in joint accounts, with both our names on them. Either signatory can withdraw funds, or even close the account, without the consent of the other." She sounds as if she is quoting from a financial document she read a long time ago.

"Do you think perhaps some phone calls might be in order?" Libby asks gently.

Gabrielle's full lips are now compressed into a thin, hard line. "Yes, I most certainly do." She looks at Libby. "I'm sorry I was rude to you before, Miss Chastain. I don't know what you did, but the fog is gone
from my brain for the first time in… months. Thank you. Thank you very much."

Libby inclines her head a little. "You're quite welcome. And as for what I did
—
it was nothing more than open your eyes, to let you see what's real."

"Well, I'm
really
glad you did it. Now, if
—"

"Don't you think it would be a good idea if I stayed a while longer?" There is a gentle push behind those words. "Just in case your mind starts to feel foggy again."

"Yes, yes you're right. You sure you don't mind?"

"Not at all. There's nowhere I have to be."

Except right here, when Mister Pardee comes home. It's time he and I had a chat.

Libby feels a little bad about using her magic to manipulate Gabrielle Stafford. But compared to what Pardee's black magic had done to her, Libby was giving her a mere gentle touch on the shoulder, and it should all be to her benefit, as it had shown to be already.

"Miss Chastain, will you
—"

"Why don't you call me Libby?" No push there, just an offer.

"I will, thanks, Libby. I'm Gabby." She thinks about how odd the phrase sounds. "You know, that's going to be kind of funny some day. But not today."

Gabby stands up. "Will you excuse me for a minute, Libby? I want to wash my face. Then I have phone calls to make. If you'd like anything to drink or eat, just push that button to your left. One of the staff will be happy to get whatever you need."

Libby isn't hungry or thirsty, and she always feels kind of awkward asking servants to do things for her. So she uses the few minutes Gabby is gone to ready some of her gear for the coming confrontation with Pardee. She has studied the wizard from a distance, and is confident that her power is greater than his
—
at least, at this stage in his development. But with black magicians, you never, ever take chances.

Libby makes sure her wand is at the top of the other objects in her bag.

In fact, Pardee does not make an appearance until almost 6:00pm.

He lets himself in with his own key, and he does not close the door behind him gently. Libby is sitting where she can face the entrance
to the living room, and has asked Gabby to sit on the sofa to her right.

Lewis Pardee, sporting a full head of thick, black hair, is carrying several bags and boxes with the names of expensive men's stores on them, but this exercise in retail therapy does not appear to have made him happy. In fact, as he enters the living room, he looks distinctly pissed off. Then he sees Libby Chastain and slows his progress, his face slowly changing from angry to wary.

His eyes are on Libby from the moment he enters the room. She can feel his witch sense probing her, testing, looking for weaknesses. Pardee tosses his purchases carelessly on a nearby chair, staring at Libby with intense interest and no small amount of hatred.

"I should have known," he says, "when I found that my credit cards had been cancelled
—
every fucking one of them. I should have known."

From the sofa, Gabby says, angrily, "Lewis, we need to
—"

"Shut up!"

"I will
not
shut up, you bastard, and you will
not
talk to me like that way, any more. I've always hated it, and I've stopped putting up with it, effective
right now."

Pardee stares at Gabby as if seeing her for the first time, then turns and looks at Libby again."Well, now," he says. His quiet voice is a chilling contrast to the tone he has just used with his fiancée. "We
have
been busy, haven't we?" Then he forces a semblance of a smile onto his face and starts toward the chair where Libby sits.

"I suppose proper hospitality calls for introductions, even under difficult circumstances," he says in an almost normal voice, extending his hand as he approaches Libby. "I'm Lewis Pardee, but then I guess you know that. And you are… "

"Stop right there!" Libby says, and there is more than a little
push
in the words. She moves her hands a little, so Pardee can see the wand she holds in her right.

Pardee stops dead in his tracks.

"I'll not shake your hand, wizard, and my name doesn't matter," Libby says firmly. "You know all you need to know about me." In magic, black or white, names are power. No way is she giving this creature her True Name.

Pardee feigns disappointment. "Tsk, tsk," he says. "I would have assumed the Sisterhood taught better manners."

"They teach more important things than that, Lewis Randall Pardee." Let him know that she has his True Name, even as he had not learned hers.

Libby rises from her chair, the wand ready in her hand. She walks slowly toward the sofa and eases behind it, so that she stands over the still seated Gabby Stanford.

"Lewis Randall Pardee," she intones, "I charge you to leave this woman in peace, and never to return to her, in any form, physical or spiritual. I charge you to have no contact with her by any medium whatsoever, whether those of man or magic. I further charge you to do her no harm of any kind, now, or at any other time."

Libby steels herself. If it is going to hit the fan, it will do so now. "And finally, I charge you to leave this place, and never to return, in any form. In furtherance of these commands, I place my geas upon you now." Libby points her wand at Pardee like a pistol, and says something in a language Gabby has never heard before, but which the wizard knows all too well.

He tries to fight her. Without moving a visible muscle, he sends his Will and his Power against Libby's geas, but despite an effort that brings sweat to his forehead, he cannot dislodge it.

Neither form of magic, white or black, is more powerful than the other. When the two come into conflict, the outcome is determined by the magical strength and skill of the practitioners. A white witch may not use her magic to destroy a black one (although the reverse is not true)
—
but that does not mean that a black witch
—
or wizard
—
may not be rendered temporarily impotent by the superior strength of a white magic practitioner.

Once Pardee realizes that he will not prevail, he looks closely at Libby Chastain, as if planning to paint her portrait from memory. Finally he says, in that quiet, deadly voice, "I think it likely that we shall meet again. And I think it
very
likely that the outcome shall be different on that occasion, much to your sorrow."

Libby says nothing. She merely stands there, her Power and her Will serving as both her sword and her shield.

Pardee turns on his heel and leaves the room, and then the condominium. Libby keeps magical track of him until he is out of the building. He never returns.

As he drove back to the hotel they had checked into earlier, Morris said over his shoulder to Hannah, "Your buddy Frank seems like the kind of guy I wouldn't mind having at my back. Pity he's so burned out."

"Yes, he's been through a lot." Hannah was sitting sideways in the back seat, so that she could check the traffic behind them for a tail. "With some people, that breaks them down, over time." After a moment's pause, she went on. "Others, it just hardens."

"You agree with Nietzsche, then?" Libby said from the front seat.
"That which does not kill us makes us stronger."

"Yes I do." Morris and Libby each noticed an odd note in Hannah's voice, but neither commented on it. "I most certainly do."

A little later, Libby said to Morris, "Well, we've got some information, and a name. I'll be passing all that on to the Sisterhood tonight, but what are
we
going to do with it?"

"Fenton's got access to the FBI's information network, and through them, the whole federal government," Morris said. "We'll give him the name 'Pardee,' see if he can run it down. If it's anywhere on record, he'll find it."

Morris was thinking about their departure, a few minutes earlier, from Frank's bar. All three had wanted to express their thanks for his help and hospitality. Morris and Libby had each shaken the man's hand. Hannah had been last. But instead of shaking with Frank, she had turned her hand palm down, made a fist, and extended it slowly toward him. After a moment's hesitation, and a quick glance in Morris and Libby's direction, Frank had leaned forward and lightly pressed his own fist against Hannah's. "This is who we are," he'd said quietly. Hannah had nodded. "This is who we are."

At the next red light, Morris said to Hannah, "You know, if Frank is who I think he is, calling his joint the Ouroboros Bar and Grill may not exactly be the best way to hide."

"I don't think he's hiding, Quincey," Hannah said. Her voice sounded normal again now.

"What's he doing, then?"

"Waiting."