The Sinister Touch (14 page)

“All is ready?” The voice was definitely Baldric’s. There was an unnatural formality about the words.

“It is ready. Soon the ceremony may begin,” responded Valonia in oddly serene tones. “We will start when the last of them arrives.”

“He will be here tonight,” Baldric told her. “He says it is time he revealed himself to us. The hour has arrived.”

“Excellent. We owe him much. His guidance has been invaluable. It has made all the difference. The Dark Power will be pleased.”

“It is especially fitting tonight. The ultimate sacrifice is finally ready. We have been a long time preparing.”

Baldric turned his cowled head toward Guinevere and Mason. The flame of the candle cast a long, evil light over his features for a brief moment. In that moment Guinevere was certain she saw madness on the face of another human being. She was assimilating the horror of it when both Valonia and Baldric turned away to fetch a large canvas out of the shadows near the staircase. She couldn’t see the painting, but it didn’t take much effort to guess that it was
Glare
. The painting was hauled over near the altar. It was obviously scheduled to be part of the ceremony.

The door at the top of the stairs opened again. Slowly a parade of three cowled figures came down the steps. They filed into the basement in eerie silence, guided by the candles on the stone table. The door closed with awful finality. The robed figures moved to stand in a small semicircle, and then they began to hum.

For some reason Guinevere thought the tuneless humming was the worst of all. It made no sense. It grated on the ears. It rasped against her nerves. And it never stopped. She wanted to scream. Instead she went back to work with the glass shard. At least the cowled figures were ignoring her and Mason for the time being. The black shadows hid her efforts. She was almost through the rope now. She didn’t want to think of how little good all the effort might do. The odds of her and Mason getting out of this room alive were depressingly slim. She wondered what Zac was thinking about her long absence. More importantly, what was he doing about it?

The humming continued for what seemed an endless length of time, and then the door at the top of the stairs opened once more. The noise of the humming rose several notches as another robed figure appeared above the small crowd in the basement. Slowly the other figure started down. Behind him another cowled figure closed the door and came down the steps.

Baldric’s voice rose above the humming. “Welcome, my lord,” he said gravely to the first man as he reached the bottom of the steps. Baldric didn’t pay any attention to the last figure, who took a place at the edge of the circle.

The new figure did not respond, but he inclined his head in regal acceptance of Baldric’s words.

“We would have you stand at the head of the altar, my lord.” Baldric lifted his arms, and the humming crowd parted to allow the honored figure to move toward the far end of the stone table.

Then Valonia stepped toward the heavy metal bowl and dipped a flaming candle into the center. With a flash of light and a sharp, crackling sound, flames leapt into existence in the bowl.

Guinevere felt her hands come free at that moment. A sob of relief almost escaped her. She touched Mason’s arm. He started and then moved his bound arms slightly so that she could reach his ropes.

Around the altar the ceremony began. The humming ceased as Baldric led his small audience in a chorus of strange phrases repeated in an even stranger language. It was obvious that the silent man who stood at the far end of the altar was a special participant. Guinevere remembered what Baldric and Valonia had said earlier about his arrival. This was someone they had never met in person and who was here tonight to reveal himself for the first time.

The dark proceedings continued. The responses of the cowled figures grew louder and a fierce, morbid excitement filled the air. Someone struck a harsh note on a brass gong. At one point
Glare
was lifted up onto the altar and slashed with ritualistic motions.

Guinevere didn’t want to think about what was going to be put on the altar after the painting had been dealt with. She was going to have to do something quickly. These people were working themselves up into a frenzy of some sort. Given the presence of the naked blade near the bowl of fire, she could just imagine what was scheduled to happen. The bonds around Mason’s wrists came free just as Valonia lifted the knife and passed it through the fire. Baldric started a new, more menacing litany. Guinevere’s hands closed around the hem of the black velvet curtain. Silently she guided Mason’s fingers to the fabric. When she tugged suggestively at the velvet a few times, he got the message.

Baldric lifted his arms high into the air and called out something totally incomprehensible. Then he whirled and pointed at Guinevere and Mason.

“We will begin with the woman. Bring her forth!”

Two cowled figures detached themselves from the circle and moved forward. Guinevere’s hands tightened around the hem of the drape. It would have to be now or never.

“Freeze.”
Zac’s voice cut through the horrifying scene with the impact of a grenade, shattering the awful illusion. “I will shoot whoever moves. And then I will kill your honorable guest attendee. Is that very clear to each and every one present?”

Every cowled head in the room swung around to stare at Zac, who had thrown back his hood. He had his arm around the guest’s throat, and even in the flickering firelight it was quite possible to see the wicked looking Beretta in his other hand. For the span of a few seconds stunned silence prevailed. Zac took command, pointing the Beretta at Baldric. “Back against the wall. First you, Baldric, and then the others. Move.”

“This is impossible. You can do nothing. You’ll never get out of here alive.” But Baldric inched slowly backward.

Guinevere, her feet still tied, struggled frantically with her remaining bonds. Mason was doing the same.

“Zac,” Guinevere called in breathless relief, “I’m almost out of these ropes. Just a few more seconds.”

“As soon as you and Adair are free, get over here.”

“We’re on our way, Zac.” She tugged violently at the ropes.

“No! I will not allow this. You insult and mock the Dark Powers, and you shall not escape!” Valonia’s voice was a scream of rage.

“Wait, don’t do anything,” yelled a new voice. It was the man Zac was holding hostage. “Let them all go. He’ll kill me. He means it.”

“The Dark Powers will protect you if you have served them as faithfully as you claim!” Valonia yelled back. She lifted the knife in her hand.

“She’s right!” Baldric screamed. “Take him. Rush the fool. He cannot stand against all of you at once.
Take him
.”

There was a stumbling, awkward movement from the other figures, a couple of which had been trying to sidle toward the steps.

“I mean it,” Zac said with startling calm. “I will kill the first one who tries.”

It was Valonia who moved. Seizing the long, curved knife, she whirled toward Mason, who was still struggling with his ropes. In that moment the others seemed to gather their courage. There was a concerted rush, not toward Zac but toward the door. In the resulting confusion Zac was denied a clear shot at Valonia. But Baldric’s hand came out of the depths of his robe holding an automatic. Firelight flickered on the short barrel, and Zac caught sight of the gleaming metal. He fired. Baldric screamed and fell backward.

The man Zac was holding tried to dart away in the chaos. Zac used the heel of his hand on the man’s jaw, and the figure crumpled to the floor.

Even as she heard Baldric’s scream, Guinevere saw Mason twist away in an effort to protect himself, his face a mask of shock and fear. She couldn’t reach Valonia in time, and neither could Zac.

“Valonia, stop!” Guinevere pulled furiously on the heavy velvet drapes. They tumbled down in a cascade of thick, smothering fabric, blanketing Valonia, Guinevere, and Mason in a dusty shroud.

“Gwen!”

“In here, Zac.” Guinevere shoved at the heavy drapes, emerging at last just as Zac reached her. There was a steady, thudding sound on the stairs as the escaping ceremony attendees made for the only exit.

Zac threw Guinevere a quick glance as he hauled the drapes off Mason and Valonia. She looked all right, and so did Mason. Valonia lay on the cold floor, screaming curses. The knife was not in sight. It had apparently been knocked from her grasp by the falling weight of the drapes.

“Hurry,” Zac muttered as he cut Mason’s ropes. “For Pete’s sake, Gwen, get moving!”

“What’s that smell? Zac! Something’s on fire.”

“The drapes.”

Guinevere glanced around and saw the flames from the metal bowl licking hungrily at the edge of the fabric. Already they were throwing huge shadows across the room. In the fiery light she could see two still figures besides Valonia’s on the floor.

“Mason, you and Gwen see if you can get Valonia up the steps. If you can’t, don’t worry about her. I’ll see if these other two are in any shape for a little exercise. Hurry, damn it. We haven’t got much time.”

Guinevere and Mason grabbed Valonia. She didn’t fight them. She was too busy sobbing and cursing unseen powers who had clearly let her down severely.

“It’s all right,” Guinevere said to Mason. “I can handle her. Help Zac.”

“Right.” He turned away to give Zac a hand with Baldric and the other robed man.

A few seconds later, smoke licking at their heels in choking, billowing clouds, Guinevere, Mason, and Zac made it safely up the steps and into the kitchen with their prisoners. Even as they raced out the back door the flames found the wooden steps.

By the time Zac had pounded on Abby Kettering’s door and gotten her to call the fire department and the police, the Sandwick house was engulfed in flames.

In the violent glare of the burning house Mason Adair stared in stunned amazement at the face of the man who had been the honored guest at the ugly ceremony. It was his cousin, Dane Fitzpatrick.

Chapter Ten

The postmortem was held the following afternoon at one of Pioneer Square’s sidewalk taverns. Two glasses of white wine, one beer, and one tequila were ordered. Guinevere, Zac, Carla, and Mason faced each other around the table. Mason still looked dazed.

“I still can’t believe Dane flipped out like that,” Mason said for about the hundredth time. “I mean, I never really liked the guy, but I didn’t know he was nutty.”

Zac wrapped his large hand around the tiny tequila glass. “People tend to flip out and get very nutty when big money is at stake.”

“But how did you realize Dane was behind the whole thing?” Mason demanded.

“Partly the timing and partly the fact that there was too much money floating around. It was just too damn much of a coincidence that someone was shelling out fifty-five grand in cash for the old Sandwick place right around the time private investigators were asking questions about it and you. Add to that the fact that Dane knew where you were at least six months ago but didn’t bother to contact you until this week.” Zac paused for another swallow of his drink. “The way I figure it, he couldn’t believe his lucky stars when you and your father quarreled and you got yourself stricken from the will. All of a sudden Fitzpatrick was your father’s heir, potentially several times richer than he ever dreamed he’d be.”

“But,” said Guinevere, “that money was going to come to him only if your father died before you and he reconciled. Dane had to live with the knowledge that there was always the possibility that you and your father would repair the breech. It must have made him very nervous.”

Zac nodded. “And then one day your father said he was going to try to find you. Dane knew disaster had struck. He decided the only thing he could do was find you himself and see that you suffered an unfortunate accident. He very graciously told your father that he would handle the details of hiring a private detective agency and putting them on your trail. Which he did. You weren’t hard to find.”

Mason shrugged. “I wasn’t trying to hide. I just hadn’t contacted Dad or the family.”

“Fitzpatrick located you about six or seven months ago. In the course of their investigations the agency Dane had hired found out about the Sandwick house and the group you were associating with when you were holding your parties there. They probably pursued that route a while just to see if you were still involved. It would have been mentioned in the report to Fitzpatrick. Later they came up with an address for you. They probably also gave your cousin the incidental information on Barry Hodges, alias Baldric.”

Mason sipped his beer thoughtfully. “They turned all the information over to my cousin, who didn’t bother to tell my father.”

“Exactly,” Zac said. “Then he started wondering what sort of accident you might be inclined to suffer out here on the wild and wooly West Coast. Everyone back East knows we’re only partially civilized here. The idea of having you perish during some grim occult ceremony appealed to him. For one thing your death couldn’t be traced back to him. You had been a member of the group at one time, and as far as anyone might know, you still were. After all, it was a very secret organization. Furthermore, if you were to die because of being associated with a group like that, it would prove to your father that you really had gone off the deep end. It would strengthen Fitzpatrick’s position as sole heir.”

“But how did he know that the new members of the group were for real?” Carla asked quickly. “There are a lot of strange societies with odd rituals. Most of them harmless. How could Fitzpatrick have found out that Baldric and Valonia really believed in their idiotic rituals and might go in for something like human sacrifice?”

“He didn’t at first. He was simply checking out various possibilities. With the information the investigators dug up for him, he was able to contact Barry Hodges, or Baldric as he calls himself. The cops told me that he and Valonia, or Valerie Martin, which is her real name, were living in a downtown flophouse at the time. After they started taking cash from your cousin, they moved out and covered their tracks.”

“So Dane offered them money and they went for it?” Mason asked.

“Even leaders of insane occult societies need cash. Stone altars and private, soundproof basements don’t come cheap,” Zac reminded him. “As soon as Fitzpatrick contacted them, he knew he could manipulate them. He took precautions, of course. He was always just a voice on the phone who claimed to be an even more powerful witch or warlock or whatever than either Baldric or Valonia. When he told them the money was being provided by the Dark Powers, they were happy enough to believe him. After your friends split, Baldric and Valonia had picked up new members for their little club. Barry Hodges told Fitzpatrick that they were illegally using the Sandwick house for their ceremonies and were afraid of being caught and kicked out. Once he’d heard about the house and the basement, Fitzpatrick knew it would be perfect for what he had in mind. It was worth fifty-five grand in cash. He saw the purchase as an investment in his own future, so he bought the place for them. But he didn’t want Baldric and Valonia living there until after his goal was accomplished. They might have drawn too much attention to themselves and ruined everything. So Fitzpatrick made it a condition that Baldric and Valonia and their cute little group had to remain as anonymous and mysterious as possible. After six months of taking his money they were ready to go along with Fitzpatrick when he suggested that the way to become as rich and powerful as he was—”

“Was to have a human sacrifice,” Carla concluded with a shudder.

“Something like that,” Zac agreed. “If it hadn’t worked, Fitzpatrick would have arranged some other kind of accident for Mason.”

“But why did he attend the ceremony last night?” Mason asked. “Why not stay safely on the East Coast?”

“As far as your family is concerned, he was on the East Coast, supposedly vacationing briefly at his country home.” Zac gave Mason a level glance. “He came to the ceremony because he wanted to make absolutely certain that the whole plan had worked. He wanted you dead, and he didn’t want any slipups or surprises. Murderers tend to be obsessively thorough about the job. They might make a hundred other mistakes in the course of the crime, but they don’t want to screw up the act of murder itself. He never intended to reveal himself after the ceremony, of course. He was simply going to disappear, leaving his little gang to figure out how to get rid of the body and what to do next. They were stupid enough, so they probably would have been caught eventually. But they couldn’t point the finger at him. The cops would assume that the mysterious ‘voice’ that had told them to perform the sacrifice was just another manifestation of their craziness. But Fitzpatrick had told Baldric and Valonia that he would reveal himself after the ceremony. He had promised them that afterward they would be part of the Inner Circle or some such nonsense.”

“Why did they grab Gwen?” Carla demanded, glancing worriedly at her sister.

“Because she was getting too involved in the things that were happening to Mason. And she actually saw Baldric that night Mason walked in on him in the studio. Baldric had gone there to deface another painting. He saw it as part of the ritual of preparation for the sacrifice. Baldric’s one talent seems to be a certain ability with locks. Mason surprised him. Baldric panicked and slugged him. Then he looked out through the studio window and saw Gwen staring at him from her kitchen window. He and Valonia tried to warn her off—”

“The broken mirror!” Guinevere stared at Zac.

He nodded once, very grimly. “Exactly. The broken mirror. But she was a witness and appeared to be close to Mason. So in the end Baldric and Valonia convinced themselves that she had to be part of the sacrifice. I don’t think Fitzpatrick knew until he showed up in the Sandwick basement last night that she was on the agenda, along with Mason. Baldric and I tangled because I surprised him while he was trying to hide
Glare
.”

“Why did Dane bother to look me up at all this past week?” Mason asked curiously.

Zac shrugged. “It was a stupid move on his part and was probably connected with the obsession that made him want to be present at the ceremony. Something to do with the hunter playing with his prey. It’s hard to explain, but I’ve seen people do it on more than one occasion.” Zac paused and then said very quietly, “I’ve done it myself.”

“Last night when you realized we’d been kidnapped, what made you head first for the Sandwick place?” Mason asked.

“It was the logical point at which to start. If there had been no sign of you there, I would have called in the cops and anyone else I could think of because, frankly, there was no other place to start looking.” Zac finished the tequila in one long, heartfelt gulp. “It shouldn’t be tough for the cops to find the ones who got away last night. Baldric and Valonia will talk their heads off.”

“While my cousin hires the best lawyer money can buy. Probably someone from the family firm,” Mason finished wryly.

“That reminds me,” Carla said slowly. “The first stories have already appeared in this morning’s paper. So far I’ve kept Mason under wraps. The press hasn’t located him yet, but it won’t be long. The same goes for Gwen. I think we should hold a little war council to decide how we’re going to handle this. There’s no way to keep it quiet.”

“So much for trying to prevent gossip and scandal,” Guinevere said with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Mason.”

Carla lifted her chin, the light of excitement in her eyes. “Don’t worry about it. The way I have it figured, we can work the whole mess to the advantage of Mason’s career. I’ve already contacted that reporter from the
Review-Times
who wanted to talk to Mason about his art. I’ve promised him the inside scoop on this sacrifice story. He’s thrilled. Art and music always get pushed to the second or third section of the paper. They’re almost never considered front-page material. This is his chance at the big time. He’s never gotten to do a front-page story before. Don’t worry about the publicity. In this day and age any publicity is good publicity, if it’s handled correctly. By the time I get finished handling this, Mason’s going to be the hottest artist in the state. Maybe on the whole West Coast. We can generate all kinds of excitement.”

Guinevere, Zac, and Mason stared at her. Finally Guinevere asked hesitantly, “Carla, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Positive.” She jumped to her feet and reached for Mason’s arm. “Come on, Mason. We need to go practice exactly what you’re going to say to the reporter.”

Mason grinned, obviously willing to let her take the lead. “What about Gwen?”

“Oh, I think we can keep Gwen out of this,” Carla said easily. “You’re the main story. Gwen will just show up as a small footnote if we handle this right.”

“Mason,” Guinevere said urgently as the other two prepared to depart, “did you . . . did you call your father?”

His grin faded. “This morning. I had to tell him about Dane first. I didn’t want him finding out secondhand.”

“How did it go? The conversation with your father, I mean,” she pressed.

Mason’s mouth curved faintly. “Let’s just say I’m flying back East in a week or so to renew my acquaintance with my family. We’ll take it from there.”

“Take them one of your paintings,” Zac suggested mildly.

“I’ll do that. Oh, and by the way, I don’t want you to think I’m not going to pay my tab. I owe Free Enterprise Security, Inc., my life. I haven’t got a lot of cash on hand yet, but I’ve got a couple of paintings you might like. Theresa tells me that in the current market they’re probably worth fifteen hundred apiece. Will that cover the bill?”

“More than cover it,” Zac said with a grin. “I’ll hang them in my office. I need a better view.”

Zac and Guinevere watched the other two walk arm in arm down the street. For a long time silence hovered over the table. Then Zac pushed aside his empty glass.

“Ready to go home?”

“Yes.”

Neither said anything else during the short walk up the street to Guinevere’s apartment. But when Zac opened the door, he said quietly, “You know, I’ve kind of gotten used to this place.”

“Have you?” Guinevere walked into her brightly colored living room and tossed down her shoulder bag. “I’ve kind of gotten used to having you around.” She smiled tremulously and turned away to gaze out the window at the street below. A mother and two toddlers were waiting for the bus. Zac came to stand behind Guinevere, one hand on her shoulder. He looked down at the small family.

“Cute kids.” His voice was perfectly neutral.

Guinevere took a deep breath. It was time to ask. “Zac, have you been trying to tell me something lately?”

He frowned. “About what?”

“About children.” She stood very still. “I need to know, Zac. Are you . . . have you decided you want a family? Is that why you’ve been worrying about biological clocks and babies?”

“What I want,” Zac said quietly, “is you.”

She let out a long sigh and leaned her neat head back against his shoulder. “But the baby talk . . .”

“I started worrying that you might be thinking about having kids. Every other woman I’ve run into lately seems to be getting anxious. But you never said anything. I tried to get you to talk about it. I was afraid you’d decide you want them and that I wasn’t the right man to be the father.” His fingers tightened around her shoulder. “I couldn’t stand it if you went out looking for another man to be the father.”

“You don’t have to worry about that, Zac,” she said simply. “Never worry about that.”

“Because you don’t want kids?”

“I don’t have any particular desire for children. Not now. But if I ever do want them . . .” She turned into his arms and lifted her face. “Your genes are the ones I’d go after. I promise.”

He relaxed, holding her close. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“What about you, Zac?”

“I’ve told you. What I want is you.”

“You don’t feel any pressing need to become a father?”

He shook his head, smiling faintly. “No. But if I ever do, your genes are the ones I’ll go after.”