No Humans Involved (13 page)

The Ehrich Weiss Society

AT FIVE-THIRT, I WAS BACK IN L.A. with Jeremy, walking to yet another office building, this one in a far better section of town. The directory was peopled with accounting firms, law offices and other professional sorts. The elevators coming down were jammed with fleeing workers, but going up we had one to ourselves. Hope pressed the button for the tenth-floor law office of Donovan, Murdoch and Rodriguez.

"Our contact is the head of the group," she said as the door closed. "May Donovan."

"A lawyer?" I said.

"These guys are professionals, in every sense of the word. We've got a couple of lawyers, a UnitedChurch minister, a psychiatrist, an
L.A. Times
journalist, a professor or two…All folks who take this kind of thing very seriously and can contribute to the cause in their own way. Like May. She does primarily commercial law, but she has a sideline helping clients fleeced by paranormal scams. Not a lot of money in it—mostly pro bono, I think—but she's very passionate about it. They all are."

The doors opened into a quiet lobby, the silence broken only by burbling water—a fountain set in the wall, water cascading over an artfully arranged rock pile. I could hear the faintest tinkle of Japanese music. The walls were done in muted shades of gray and yellow. The thick carpet absorbed all noise. Very Zen.

Though it was just past five, the office seemed empty except for a woman leaning over the receptionist counter, reaching down to peck at the keys and straining to see the distant monitor. She was tall and slender, maybe late forties, with short graying brown hair, a long patrician nose and stylish glasses. She glanced up.

"Caught me checking my stocks." Her voice was low and pleasant, with an accent I couldn't place. "Nasty habit. I know I should just wait out the bad days, but I can't help peeking." She put her hands on Hope's shoulders in a semiembrace. "Good to see you."

Hope performed the introductions.

May caught my hand in a warm, firm grasp. "Jaime Vegas. I read something about you being in town. A TV special, isn't it?"

"Yes. In Brentwood. Trying to raise the ghost of Marilyn Monroe." I rolled my eyes. "Cheesy as hell but entertaining… we hope."

"I'm sure it will be. I was at a show of yours in L.A. a few years back."

"Oh?" I managed a laugh. "Checking up on me?"

"No, actually I was taking my mother. My father had died a few months before and she was having a rough time of it. She'd never been a religious person, and I think that made it harder. She needed…" May pursed her lips, as if searching for the right word. "Reassurance. I knew from our dossier that your shows do that very well. Benign spiritualism. I was hoping that might help her, and it did."

"Oh."

"You look shocked." A mischievous glint lit her dark eyes as she laid a hand on my arm. "Rather like hearing about a temperance advocate visiting a saloon? Think of us more like MADD. We don't argue that people should turn away from the paranormal, only that it be used responsibly. For entertainment, yes. For setting a grieving mind at rest, yes. Where we become concerned is when it is misused."

She led us through the office, still talking.

"They say that if you scratch a cynic, you'll find a disappointed idealist underneath. That holds true for many of our members, myself included. Some of us have had bad experiences with paranormal scams. Others, like myself, are fascinated by the paranormal, and disappointed by our inability to find proof of its existence."

She opened a door and ushered us into a huge office. "As a child, I devoured stories of witches, vampires, werewolves, ghosts… I couldn't get enough. Then, in my teens, I began 'the quest' as so many do. Ghost hunting, paranormal groups, faith experimentation, I did it all. Nothing but disappointment. Or so I thought, until I realized I
had
gained something from it. Knowledge. Having been burned, I could see through the scams. Together with a few contacts I'd made along the way, I decided to put that experience to good use and the Ehrich Weiss Society was born." She glanced at us. "Do you know who Ehrich Weiss was?"

My mind went blank and I'm sure my face followed.

"Harry Houdini," Jeremy said.

May nodded. "Our choice of name reflects our philosophy. Harry Houdini was, in his time, both a debunker and a seeker. He uncovered many paranormal scams, and offered ten thousand dollars to any medium who could produce evidence of the afterlife under rigorous scientific conditions. Yet he gave his wife a prearranged message so that he could make contact from the afterlife. Exposing frauds while hoping for proof."

At the back of her office, she unlocked a door and pushed it open. "And here is the inner sanctum. It's a little unsettling the first time, so I'll leave the door open while I get coffee. Two other members of our group are joining us. They should be here soon."

"UNSETTLING" WAS one word for it, particularly after the Zen peace-fulness of the rest of the suite. Like big-game hunters displaying mounted heads on the wall, this group displayed its trophies—paraphernalia from scams they'd busted. Beneath each was a newspaper clipping announcing the bust. I saw everything from tarot cards to a shrunken head, a wooden wand to an ornate sacrificial knife, an "ectoplasm" photo to a jar containing something I didn't want to speculate on.

"Are these real?" I asked.

"Depends on your definition of real." Hope glanced out the door, making sure May wasn't coming back. "Like that dried-up hand. The Hand of Glory. I've heard that some real witches and sorcerers use them, but that one's a fake. Fake in the sense that it's not really magical. Not fake in the sense that… well, it's a real hand."

I glanced at the shrunken head.

"Yep, that's real too," she said. "As for how I know that, let's just say I have it on impeccable authority."

"A vision?" Jeremy asked as he sat down.

She nodded. "Completely freaked me out the first time May brought me in here. I was sucked right into the Amazon and watched the former owner of the head lose it."

"That's your power, isn't it?" I said. "You see…"

"Death, destruction and all that fun stuff. Other half-demons get a special power without a demon's attraction to chaos. That attraction is
all
I get. Raw deal."

She said it lightly, but her expression wasn't nearly so flippant. I thought about that—walking into a place where someone died and not seeing a ghost, but flashing back to the death itself. Seeing it. Hearing it. Smelling it. Living it.

Maybe seeing ghosts wasn't so bad after all.

MAY INTRODUCED us to Rona Grant and Zack Flynn, and explained their backgrounds.

Rona Grant was a medical researcher, one of the founding members of the group. In the eighties, when she'd considered a career in psychiatry, her mentor had specialized in satanic cult memory retrieval. In other words, he'd take patients with a specific set of presenting factors and "regress" them, where they'd discover they'd been child victims of satanic ritual abuse. What Rona saw in those sessions had made her uncomfortable enough to do some research of her own, and she'd become one of the leading proponents of the "false-memory syndrome" theory, which says that our memories, far from being representations of fact, are a mix of fact and fantasy. The work of Rona and others proved that most of the memories of these satanic cult victims were, in fact, therapy-induced fantasies.

Zack Flynn was a newer member, not much older than Hope—the
L.A. Times
journalist she'd mentioned. His claim to fame had been a series of investigative reports, uncovering a pair of fortune tellers whose seemingly harmless business working the psychic fair circuit had masked a multimillion-dollar identity theft ring. His area of expertise didn't seem likely to help us, but seeing him sneak sidelong glances at Hope, after May made sure they sat together, I could tell Hope's mother's society friends weren't the only ones playing matchmaker.

May had already explained our cover story to the others—which was that, having seen many cases of "paranormal abuse" myself, I was considering a documentary on the subject. While my area was spiritualism, my backers wanted to include more sensational topics, like ritual abuse, animal sacrifice, even, perhaps, human sacrifice. What I was looking for, then, was local groups who either laid claim to such things or were rumored to engage in the practices.

"An excellent subject," May said. "And welcome exposure for our cause. As titillating as such topics are, it is too easy to vilify innocent people. Wiccans, for example, are some of the most peaceable people I know, yet they're reviled as witches. And don't even get me started on the misunderstandings about the church of Satan. Even reasonable people who hold no prejudice against Wiccans and other pagans would hide their cats and babies if a satanist moved in next door."

Rona said, "Which is not to say that there aren't people out there practicing animal sacrifice and such. It does happen. As for who you could talk to…"

The three brainstormed a short list of contacts. Most were not practitioners, but experts or former practitioners with groups known or believed to practice the "darker arts." As shortcuts went, this one was more safe than short—circumventing the dangerous underbelly of the pseudoparanormal world. That underbelly was where we'd have to eventually go, but there was no way to tell these people that—not with the cover story we'd given.

We took the names, chatted for a bit, then thanked them. May gave us her phone numbers and offered to help in any way she could. As May and Rona led Jeremy and me out, I glanced back at Hope. She was laughing at something Zack said, and waved us on. In the lobby, May and Rona headed down to the underground lot while Jeremy and I went out the front door.

"Should we wait for Hope?" I said.

"We'll start walking. I expect she'll be along soon."

"Guess she's not seeing Karl Marsten anymore, huh?"

He glanced at me, brows knitting. "Oh, you mean…" He nodded. "As for Karl, I'm not certain she ever was involved with him. Whatever their relationship, they're still in contact. In staying behind to chat with that young man, I think she has something other than romance in mind. Did you notice when they were giving us the list? He clearly wanted to add something, but was uncertain."

"Missed that completely. I was busy jotting down names and groaning over the thought of doing all these interviews."

He chuckled. "I don't blame you."

"So you think the group's hiding something? Something they didn't want Zack telling us?"

Jeremy shook his head. "My guess is it's a wild—"

"Jaime?"

I turned to see Rona hurrying up behind us. Jeremy arched a brow my way, as if to say that Zack might not be the only one who hadn't spoken up inside.

"Sorry," Rona said as she caught up, her large form shaking as she wheezed from the exertion. "I wanted to give you my card. May can be difficult to contact at times—especially on court days."

She handed us each a business card.

"Please don't hesitate to contact me if you have questions or if you just want a sounding board. The paranormal can be a confusing area to navigate, and a guide is always useful."

"I'm sure that's true," Jeremy said. "Thank you."

When she left, Jeremy watched her go, then steered me into a coffee shop. "Let's take a seat in the window and watch for Hope."

HOPE PASSED the coffee shop window a few minutes later, as Jeremy was still waiting in line. I waved her in. Jeremy called her over to get her order, then joined us with take-out coffees. We headed outside.

"Did Flynn tell you whatever he was holding back in the meeting?" Jeremy asked.

"You picked that up too? You should be a reporter. Yes, Zack has a source he wanted to pass on, a shady one—and probably an unreliable one."

"Which is why he was reluctant to mention it in front of the others."

She nodded. "May is trying to give us respectable contacts. This guy is anything but. His name is Eric Botnick. Straddles the line between serious practitioner and wannabe. He runs an occult shop and heads a group that calls itself the Disciples of Asmodai. Not affiliated with any known faith practice. Into some… questionable stuff."

"How questionable?" I asked.

"Mainly sexual. Definitely not to be confused with Wiccan or tantric sex magic. This is hard-core S and M. Emphasis on submission and dominance. Group sex with bondage, flagellation and bloodletting. It's supposed to release magical energies."

"Uh-huh."

"Exactly. The whole thing sounds like an excuse to indulge in some hard-core fetishes. But Zack says Botnick is very serious about the magic angle, even if his group members may be there to scratch other itches."

"Any link to children?" I asked.

"As far as Zack knows, the Disciples are all consenting adults. While they haven't found any cause for concern, the group keeps a close eye on them. Zack says May has it in for Botnick."

"She thinks he's into something darker than consensual bondage?"

"Zack seems to think May just doesn't like
that
part, but May's never struck me as the closed-minded sort. Live and let live, I think she'd say… unless she suspected not all the women in the group were as consenting as Botnick claims. Then she'd be all over it."

"Ah."

"Now, with the cover story you gave, it's this Disciples of Asmodai group that Zack thinks might interest us. But what I think you'll find more interesting is something else about Botnick. One of Zack's informants in this underground told him that Botnick's been promising his group that something big is on the horizon. He's been hinting at a major breakthrough. Something about powerful magic. True magic."

I chocked on my coffee. Jeremy patted my back.

"Sorry," Hope said. "I should have prefaced that by saying it sounds like a better lead than it probably is. According to Zack, Botnick has serious credibility issues. The guy's been promising his followers this 'true magic' for months. Zack thinks it's just a ploy to keep disgruntled disciples from leaving the flock. He hasn't even mentioned it to May and the others—he had an embarrassing experience last year when he gave May a hot tip about Botnick that went nowhere and she was not pleased."