Evil Ways (26 page)

All of this was an illusion, of course, created by Eleanor Robb. Her predecessor, Jamie Carruthers, had favored sun-dappled glades with a brook bubbling in the background. The physical bodies of the Sisters sitting around the polished table were also illusions. They had brought their spiritual essences together in a place where they could speak, hear, and exchange information, blessings, and love. When they returned to their corporeal bodies, they would remember everything that transpired here.

"Sisters," Eleanor Robb said solemnly, "many of you know something of the sad news that brings us together, but perhaps few of you know all of it. It is my sad duty to report to you that eight of our number have been taken from us within the past few months, all apparently at the behest of a single mind. Further, three others are missing and must also be assumed to have gone on to the next life. Sister Rachel will read the names of the deceased, for whom we will offer prayers, both now, and daily, as long as each of us shall live."

The names were read, tears were shed, prayers offered, reminiscences shared. Then, after a time, Eleanor spoke again. "Our purpose must be not only to mourn the dead, but to protect those of us who remain. We must determine who is responsible for these evil acts, and why, and what countermeasures should be taken. Although our commitment to the White forbids us the use of our power to commit physical violence, except in the most extreme circumstances, these murders are also civil crimes, and it may be that they can be punished
by the civil authorities. But first, we must know who is doing this to us. Can any of you shed light on this mystery?"

Libby did not wish to seem importunate. Self-effacement was one of the Sisterhood's values. But when none of the others came forward, Libby stood, and waited to be recognized.

"Sister Elizabeth," Eleanor Robb said immediately, with a touch of relief in her voice. "I had hoped that you might be able to offer insight into the nature of these depredations."

"I can, Sister. And as the saying goes, 'It ain't pretty.'"

Morris was curious to see which particular hand basket the world was going to hell in today, so he turned on the TV and watched the local eleven o'clock news. When it was replaced by
The Tonight Show,
he decided to check on Libby. She'd said the nine o'clock confab (as Morris kept thinking of it) would be over in about two hours, but she had yet to stick her head through the connecting door to let him know that she was here in spirit, as well as in body.

He knocked at the door gently, then a little more loudly. "Libby?" Nothing.

Morris opened the door a foot or so. "Libby?" More nothing. Of course, if she was still taking part in the confab, that was to be expected, since the bed would contain only her lifeless form. But still…

"Libby, I'm coming in, so if you're not decent, now's your chance to cover it up."

Morris waited a few seconds, then pushed the door slowly open.

Libby Chastain's body, lifeless or otherwise, was not on the bed.

Morris listened for the sound of the shower running. Silence from the bathroom. He went and checked, anyway
—the bathroom door was open, the little room dark. He flicked on the light. No Libby.

It was highly unlikely that Libby would "return" from the confab, and just leave through the room's main door, but he looked around for a note, for anything that would give him a hint of where she'd gone.
Nada.

Then it occurred to him to check the door itself. It was triple-locked, and two of those locks could only be engaged from inside the room. He also saw that Libby's magical wards were still in place on and around the door.

A sudden thought chilled him, and he quickly went over to the window. They were on the ninth floor. If someone had managed to steal inside, and slip her limp body out the window…

Apparently Ramada Central had something similar in mind, give or take the magic part. The big window had no hinges or latches. It was designed to let in light and provide a view, no more.

It was then that Morris's subconscious decided to give his forebrain a wakeup call, and he realized there was a faint odor in the room that had nothing to do with Libby, or any perfume she might have brought with her.

Black magic has a scent all of its own.

Morris stood there in the middle of Libby's hotel room and did ten slow, very deep breaths, using his stomach muscles to push the air out hard. He did this to help quell the incipient panic that threatened to send him over the edge.

He went back to his own room and picked up the phone.

"Fenton."

"It's Morris. Forgive the melodrama, but they've got Libby."

Silence, for three slow heartbeats, then Fenton's voice: "Tell me. Take your time with it."

Morris related what he knew, then answered the questions that any intelligent cop would ask under these circumstances: was Morris sure he hadn't fallen asleep while Libby was "napping." Had Morris been drinking or, God forbid, using any kind of drug? Did Morris and Libby quarrel about anything before she disappeared? And so on. Morris didn't take offense, but he was glad when the litany was done. Then he asked Fenton, "Is your partner up and around again?"

"Yeah she is. She seems okay."

"Is she there?"

"In the next room, why?"

"Get her, please. I need to talk to her."

More silence. Then, "Hold on."

Less than a minute later, a female voice was saying in Morris's ear, "This is Agent Colleen O'Donnell."

"Did Fenton tell you why I called?"

"He said Libby Chastain's missing from her room."

"Yeah she is, and there's a faint whiff of black magic in the air."

"Mister Morris, maybe you should confine yourself
—"

"I know you're in the Sisterhood, Agent O'Donnell."

It got so quiet, Morris wondered if he'd lost the connection. "Hello?"

"Did Libby tell you?"

"No, I realized it the first time we met, in L.A. I have something of a nose for magic, both white and black."

"Yes. Yes, it would appear that you do."

"Listen, I realize that Fenton doesn't know. I didn't tell him
—I figured that was between you and him. I'll do whatever you want to help preserve your cover, but—"

"Fuck that, there are more important things to think about. In fact, I guess I'll tell him after we're done here. It's time, anyway."

In the background, Morris heard Fenton's voice say, "Tell me what?"

Morris heard mumbling for a little while, so he assumed that a hand was over the phone at the other end. Then the mumbling stopped.

"Agent O'Donnell?"

"Maybe, all things considered, you might as well call me Colleen."

"All right, Colleen, I'm Quincey. So, can I assume you were at the confab tonight?

"The what?"

"Sorry that's my name for it. Where the Sisters leave their bodies and convene someplace."

"Yes, I was there."

"Did you uh, 'see' Libby there?"

"Yes I did. In fact, she was very helpful in bringing us up to date with the facts and suppositions
—hers, yours, and the FBI's."

"Did you all leave together, if that's the right term?"

"Yes, we did. No one leaves until the Circle is dissolved. Then we all go back… where we came from."

"Forgive my ignorance of the way these things work, Colleen. But is it possible for Libby's 'spirit' to end up someplace other than back in her body?"

"Absolutely not. The spirit instinctively seeks its home, which is the body. There are various theories about what might happen if a Sister's body were destroyed, say, by an explosion, while her spirit was
elsewhere. But that has never happened in the Sisterhood's recorded history, which goes back a long way. And it doesn't sound like that's happened here, anyway."

"No, I reckon not, but we still don't know that the fuck
did
happen."

"Well, given what you've described, I think I know the what, if not the who, or the why."

"I'll take anything you got."

"It seems obvious that a black magician or witch entered Libby's room through magic, grabbed her unoccupied physical form, and left with it."

"What the hell would happen to Libby's spirit, then?"

"Once the circle was broken, as I told you, the spirit returns to the body. Libby's spirit would go to wherever her body was, and rejoin it."

"So Libby's going to wake up somewhere, and find herself in very deep trouble."

"Yes. That's probably true. Whoever managed to pull this off has both a lot of Will and a great deal of Power, Mister Morris."

"Quincey."

"Quincey, sorry. I'm going to get in touch with El
—uh, the head of our Circle, and appraise her of what's happened. After we've talked, I'll get back in touch with you. I assume Dale has your number?"

"Who? Oh, you mean Fenton. Yeah, he has it."

"Keep your phone close by, will you?"

"Sure. And I'll be happy to talk to your mysterious El, or you, or Fenton, or Glenda the Good Witch of the East. But I doubt any of that's going to change my plans."

"Um, would you care to share those with me?"

"Sure." The expression on Morris's face would have been instantly recognizable to anyone familiar with his gunfighter ancestors.

"I'm pretty sure Libby Chastain's in Iowa," he said. "And I aim to go and get her."

Libby Chastain came fully back into her body with the knowledge that, while she'd been away, something had gone very wrong.

Her hands were secured above her head with some kind of metal fetters, and there was something stretched across her mouth that would make coherent speech impossible. She tried, very cautiously to move her legs, and found they also were secured. She lay there (wherever
there
was) without moving or opening her eyes. Libby wanted to find out as much as she could about her situation before letting anyone know that she was one whole entity again.

But she learned that her pretence was all for naught when she heard a familiar voice say, "Don't try to play possum with me, you worthless piece of shit. I could sense your life force as soon as it returned to that sagging bag of flesh you call a body." The voice belonged to Lewis Pardee.

Libby opened her eyes to see that she was lying on a bed, obviously not the one she had been occupying in Cleveland. This room was considerably more luxuriously appointed, not to mention quite a bit larger. But Libby didn't waste time and attention on the surroundings
—not when Pardee was sitting in a chair next to her bed, grinning.

"As you've no doubt figured out, I have removed you from the safety of your hotel room, to someplace which you will find to be considerably less safe. Your pitiable defenses wouldn't have stopped me if I had wished to enter by the door, but it amused me to pass through the outside wall, and take you back with me the same way. Your boyfriend Morris never heard a thing. I could simply have killed him, but I like imagining the expression on his face when he finally goes looking for you."

"He's not my boyfriend," Libby tried to say, but the gag, or whatever it was across her mouth prevented her from uttering anything beyond an inchoate moan.

"I've been contemplating all sorts of delights to visit upon you between now and Wednesday night," Pardee said. "Using my superior magical power to bounce you off the walls and ceiling for an hour or so would be amusing. So would a bit of rape. Oh, I wouldn't touch you
—I like the women I fuck, even the unwilling ones, a lot younger and considerably better looking. The years haven't exactly been kind to you, have they, Libby? You don't mind if I call you Libby, do you? After all, we're old friends, aren't we? How is dear Gabby these days, I wonder? Do the two of you ever get together over cups of tea and reminisce about how you were able to gain the advantage of me when I wasn't expecting trouble?
Do you?"

The last two words were almost a scream. Libby realized that what had been a fairly minor exercise for her, almost forgotten by now, had been for Pardee a defeat of ego-shattering significance. She wondered how much of his outrage came from having been bested by a woman, in front of another one, whom he'd had in his thrall.

"You know, I thought about paying little Gabby a painful, humiliating visit, to show both of you cunts just how little power your pathetic geas has over me now. But I didn't want you to become aware of my superiority until a time of my choosing. Which has now come round at last."

Pardee's grin was so wide it threatened to split his face in two. "Now, where was I before you got me distracted. Oh, yes, rape. Well, although the prospect of ravaging your pussy doesn't appeal to me, I could probably find a few dozen men who aren't quite so picky. Or I could call up a few demons and allow them to amuse themselves with
you for a day or so. I don't know if you've ever been fucked by a demon, Libby, but I understand they are insatiable, just insatiable. And ever
so
well hung."

He stared at her face, as if expecting some kind of reaction. Tears, perhaps, or an attempt to beg for mercy through whatever was across her mouth. But she just looked at him.

Pardee shrugged, his good mood in no way diminished by Libby's refusal to be baited.

"But I thought, no
—such petty brutality is unworthy of one such as me. After all, I am the wizard who is going to usher in a whole new era for this world of ours, in a few days' time. I really should behave in a way consistent with what will soon be my elevated station. And you have no idea, Libby dear, just how far I am going to be elevated, once the new order takes power. Many will die, it's true, and many more will suffer. But a select few, such as my humble self, will be richly rewarded."

Libby stared at him impassively, but she was thinking,
Sweet Goddess, he's crazy as a bedbug. I don't know what this big plan is that he's blathering about, but even if he fails, he can cause a great deal of harm in the process.

"Well, there's no sense bragging in front of such an unappreciative audience," Pardee said cheerfully. "You'll find out what it's all about soon enough, during the final moments of your life.

"But here are a few tidbits to tide you over: my employer is going to get what he wants on Walpurgis Night, but also rather more than he has bargained for. And you will have the honor of playing a key role in the ceremony. For at the crucial moment, I am going to cut you open, the same way one butchers any species of pig, and then I'm going to rip out your major bodily organs, one by one. I'll show them to you, if you like, and I guarantee that my superior magic will keep you conscious and aware until the very end, awake and screaming. Oh, yes, I'll remove your gag for that. I want to hear every syllable."

Pardee stood up in a single fluid motion that reminded Libby of a cat she had once owned. "In the meantime, you won't be working any of your so-called magic. The fetters that bind you to this bed have my spell on them. You're not going anywhere, until I decide it's time for
your final journey. And you'll have lots of time to think about… things."

Pardee walked to the door, then stopped and turned back. "I'll have some glucose put into you intravenously later. We can't have you departing this vale of tears prematurely. Nothing to eat or drink, of course
—that gag stays on until very near the end. Oh, and if you feel the urge to piss, or take a shit, at any time, dear Libby, feel free. You're the one who's going to have to lie in it, after all."

Then he was gone, the heavy wooden door clicking solidly shut behind him.

"I don't mind talking to you on the phone," Morris said, "but I'm a little surprised that you're not visiting though astral projection."

"I would, if it were necessary, Mister Morris," Eleanor Robb said. "But I don't see the need at the moment, and I'm already quite exhausted from attending that meeting of the Circle earlier this evening. It takes a great deal of psychic energy to go out of one's body, you know."

"I didn't, but I'm not surprised. All right, I assume you're calling because you've heard from Colleen O'Donnell."

"That's right, I have. She tells me that Libby is… missing, under suspicious circumstances."

"'Suspicious' is something of an understatement, Sister."

"Perhaps you should just call me Ellie."

"All right, Ellie, I will. Did Colleen give you the specifics?"

"She did. Do I understand that all of Libby's wards were still in place when you checked her room?"

"Yes, ma'am, they sure were. Whoever it was, they didn't get in through the door."

"That's rather troubling. I say that, because
—"

"Because it means that whoever took Libby is one magical bad motherfucker."

"Admirably put, Mister Morris. Crudely, but admirably."

"Call me Quincey, since we're being informal, and all."

"Very well. You see, a discorporation/reincorporation spell is difficult to perform, and to do so while carrying another person is… well, there are few among the Sisterhood who could pull it off successfully."

"And few outside the Sisterhood?"

"Let's just say it would be a formidable undertaking for any practitioner of the Art, whether white or black."

"Is it within the capabilities of a fella named Pardee, do you think?"

There was a tired-sounding sigh in Morris's ear. "Quite possibly. The Sisterhood has not had any direct contact with this man since Libby's encounter some years back, but we do keep an eye on the other side's 'rising stars,' as it were."

"More like 'falling stars,' isn't it?"

"All depends on one's point of view, I imagine, but I get your meaning," Ellie said. "We don't know a great deal about this Pardee, but reports are that he has been gaining a great deal of magical power, source unknown, over the last few years. It is not unreasonable to posit that he would now have the ability to carry out Libby's abduction, under the conditions you've described."

"The question is,
why?
All the other recent attacks on the Sisterhood, that we know about, have been murder attempts, whether successful or not."

"That's true. It's difficult to say with any degree of certainty what Pardee has in mind, assuming he's the one responsible
—although, I suppose…"

"You suppose what?" Morris asked.

"I don't want to upset you, Quincey. But it's possible that his defeat at Libby's hands years ago may have festered into a desire to take her life in a… more prolonged and painful fashion."

"Yeah," Morris said tightly. "That had kinda occurred to me, too. But why
now?
If he's been some kind of a magical heavyweight for a while, why make a move on Libby now?"

"I wish I had an answer for you, Quincey, I really do."

"Shit." Morris massaged the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "I assume Colleen has also told you about the Walpurgis Night business."

"She did. Libby was incorrect, by the way. The Sisterhood was not unaware of the confluence of Walpurgis Night with the full moon this year. Some of us were keeping our eyes open, but we weren't really worried about anything very serious transpiring."

"Libby said the last time this happened was 1939. Seems to me that something pretty damn serious transpired back then."

"I think the start of World War Two that year was probably something of a coincidence."

"You just said 'think,' 'probably,' and 'something.' That's three qualifiers in one sentence, Ellie."

There was silence on the line for several seconds. Finally, Eleanor Robb said, "You're quite right. I was hedging. In truth, I
am
somewhat concerned. But the world is not on the brink of war today, as it was in Thirty-Nine. I think the Left-Hand Path's capabilities for mischief are fairly limited, the Goddess be thanked."

"Colleen also told you that Libby and I picked up a rumor in Cleveland that something big is planned for the revels this year, right?"

"Yes, but that could just be big talk to draw a large attendance to the one in, where was it, Iowa?"

"Idaho. Walter Grobius's estate in Idaho."

"Well, Walpurgis Night is mostly just a big party night for the people of the black. It's one of two nights a year they can crawl out of the shadows and feel
—"

"What did you say?"

"I said, the eve of the Feast of St. Walpurgia and Halloween are the two nights of the year
—"

"No, something about shadows."

"It was just a metaphor, Quincey. I was trying to
—"

"Quiet! Just give me a second, will you?

Whether insulted or not, Eleanor Robb kept silent. Morris heard again the voice of his friend, John Wesley Hester:
"Some blokes in Baghdad found out recently that the Book of Shadows is missing."
Then he heard John saying,
"You know what kind of stuff's supposed to be in that bloody thing. Imagine an adept of the Left-Hand Path with that book, along with all the magical power gained from those nasty kiddie sacrifices you've been talking about."

Then he heard his own voice, in Frank's bar in Cleveland, talking about Walpurgis Night taking place during the time of the full moon:
"It's like a perfect storm of the occult."

Into the phone, Morris said, "Forgive my rudeness just now, Ellie, but something popped into my head, and I wanted to get a look at it before it disappeared again."

"And did you?"

"Yeah, I did. Listen, Ellie
—if you're not sitting down right now, maybe you should."

"Why's that, Quincey?"

"Because
I'm
about to upset
you."