Quincey Morris, Supernatural Investigation: Evil Ways Part 20

"Good one. Although if he didn't show up with the other... well, h.e.l.lo, ladies!"

She looked up at Fenton. "One hit. Looks like a message board- part of a web page about witchcraft. Not bad, Dale."

As she started tapping the screen again, Fenton said, "A wizard's just a male witch, right?"

"Not exactly," Colleen said absently. "It's a different magical tradition, that draws its power-"

She stopped, then looked up at him. "Why are you asking me about stuff like that?"

Fenton shrugged. "You told me that you read a lot. Figured you might've read something about that subject. Looks like I was right, too. What was it you were saying about a different tradition?"

Colleen went back to the iPhone and shook her head. "Doesn't matter." A few seconds later, she said, "Okay, here we go. Looks like it's part of a long thread on the hazards of witchcraft, mostly about things and people to avoid. Somebody calling himself 'Gandalf23' had this to say: I know just what you mean, Susie B. Buddy of mine, Vince Israel, got involved with a wizard name of Pardee who's bad, man, I mean real 'f.u.c.kiin' bad. Dude's magic is the blackest of the black. But Vince wouldn't listen to me, thought he knew everything. Well, this Pardee got him involved in some s.h.i.+t, and now Vince is doing, like, twenty-five to life. They said he killed a little kid. I dunno whether he done it or not, but my point is, some people they're f.u.c.kin' poison, and you gotta treat 'em just like snakes in the jungle. I mean, like, cobras and stuff. You run into one, just turn and walk away. Otherwise, you're lettin' yourself in for a world of hurt.'

Colleen sighed, and put her phone down on the counter. "I translated the typos into English as I went along," she said to Fenton. "So this Vince Israel knows somebody named Pardee, and pretty well, by the sound of it."

"And if you believe the guy on the board, old Vince is in the slam. What's the date on that thread, anyway?"

Colleen checked. "Gandalf23 posted it on November third, two years ago."

"So, if Gandalf's telling the truth, Vince is most likely still in the system. Unless he got himself shanked in the yard over a gambling debt, or something."

"Good thing his name's not John Smith or Bill Jones," Colleen said. "Shouldn't be too many Vincent Israels behind the walls, I would think."

Fenton nodded toward the iPhone. "Can you get into the Bureau of Prisons database with that thing?"

"One way to find out."

A little while later, she put the phone down again. "No, I can't get access through this operating system. s.h.i.+t."

"Bet the Boston field office can," Fenton said.

Colleen thought about it. "Yeah, you're right. They probably can."

Fenton looked around the vast, silent warehouse. "Can you think of any good reasons why we need to hang around here?"

"Not even one," she said. "Come on, let's. .h.i.t the road."

The fifteen desk-chairs were formed in a rough circle, and twenty or so others, not in use, were pushed to the side to make room. Allie Mercer conducted all of her smaller cla.s.ses this way. When it came to teaching literature, she much preferred guided discussion over lecture, although for her introductory cla.s.ses, which tended to be larger, the "me-talk-you-listen-and-take-notes-because-it'll-be-on-the-test" approach was sometimes unavoidable.

"So, Goodman Brown grows into old age cynical and bitter," Allie said to the group, "and Hawthorne ends the story with 'his dying hour was gloom.' What's his point here? That ignorance is bliss? Would Brown be better off not knowing that all his neighbors, friends, even his beloved wife, Faith, are practicing black witchcraft in secret?"

"I don't think so, Dr. Mercer." That was from Becky Daniel, who, in Allie's view, was one of the few current English majors who had the potential of one day becoming a true intellectual. "I think what Hawthorne's getting at, is that knowledge comes with a price, and you just have to be willing to pay it. I mean, Goodman Brown sees his..."

That was when Allie Mercer's right hand began tingling in a way that she recognized and understood. A quick glance at her watch told her that the cla.s.s period had about ten minutes to go, but Allie knew she wouldn't be able to concentrate until she allowed her hand to do what had to be done.

All right, let Becky finish what she's saying, then get them out of here. They never complain when I break cla.s.s early, anyway.

Becky was saying, "...that having no illusions is a hard thing to face, but we have to face it."

It was an interesting idea, and Allie regretted not being able to follow it up now. Todd Bailey, seated two places to Becky's left, said, "I'm not sure I-"

Allie held up a hand, interrupting him. "Todd, hold that thought, will you? And make a note to yourself about what you were going to say, so we can start at that point next time." To the whole group she said, "We're going to finish a little early today, guys. In fact, we just did."

As the surprised, but not displeased, students began to stand, Allie said, a little louder, "And don't forget to read Gordon d.i.c.kson's 'The Amulet' for Friday. That's next on the reading list, in case you forgot."

Allie was concerned that she'd be delayed further if some of them stuck around to talk to her about their term paper topics, but the students all shuffled out the door, and soon the cla.s.sroom was empty.

With her left hand, Allie reached for the legal pad containing her discussion notes for 'Young Goodman Brown' and flipped to a blank page. Only then did she reach into her skirt pocket for a pen. Her right hand was tingling insistently now, in a way that was almost painful.

She took the pen in her right hand and touched its point to the lined yellow paper. Instantly, Allie was writing. She was not surprised to see the handwriting on the page was not her own.

It took only a few seconds. Then her hand stopped, and the tingling began to subside, soon fading to nothing. Allie stared at the words written on her pad.

The Circle must form, this night at 9:00 EST. It involves a matter of grave importance, and your partic.i.p.ation is vital. May the G.o.ddess bless you.

Allie Mercer could feel her heart beating faster. Sister Eleanor, despite an unfortunate tendency toward archaic language when communicating en ma.s.se with the Sisterhood, did not use terms like "grave importance" lightly. Allie wished she didn't have to wait almost six hours to find out exactly what kind of s.h.i.+t had hit the fan.

Allie stood slowly, and began to gather together the books, notes, handouts, and other stuff that made up what she thought of as her "professor kit." The specific components of the kit varied from course to course, but the same basic stuff was needed every time.

A guest speaker was scheduled on campus tonight-writer, cultural critic, and sometime p.o.r.n actress Sharon Purcell, known also as "Shari s.e.xpert," was giving a talk ent.i.tled something like, "Two Drinks Away: Bis.e.xuality and the 'Straight' Woman." Allie had thought it sounded like fun, and planned to go.

But now, nothing was going to prevent her from being home tonight at 9:00pm, lying on her bed and waiting to form the Great Circle.

A knot of anxiety was beginning to form in Allie's stomach. She picked up her professor kit, and headed for the door. Ten minutes of meditation, in her office with the door closed, would help. But she knew that she wouldn't be able to really relax until she found out what the emergency was-and maybe not even then.

"I thought you didn't want to be seen with us, Hannah," Libby Chastain said. "Something abut 'too close to the bull's-eye,' if I remember correctly."

"I think we'll be all right this time, Libby," Hannah said, with a tiny smile. "Especially since the threat to you has been eliminated-at least, the immediate threat."

"Do tell," Morris said. He turned sideways and looked at Hannah closely.

"I imagine this guy," Hannah said, "like those who preceded him, was just a hireling. But from what you've told me about the others, this one was a cut-no, several cuts-above."

A waitress came over and asked if they wanted anything to eat. Hannah, still holding the menu she'd taken from Morris, said, "I don't know about these two, but I certainly do." She proceeded to order a meal that might make a lumberjack feel a tad overfull. Morris and Libby said they would stick with coffee, for now.

Once the waitress was safely out of earshot, Morris said, "This guy, the one who was several cuts above-I a.s.sume he was the one responsible for the bats."

"Oh, yes," Hannah said. "He called them from, I would imagine, miles around. Then he used another spell to change them into something more dangerous. I don't know if you got a close look at any of the little darlings-"

"A little closer than we'd like," Libby said. "In fact, a lot closer."

"Some of them fell to fighting among themselves, before this wizard could get everything organized and send them against the motel. A few fell to earth, after receiving mortal damage from one or more of the others. One came near me, and I had a chance to look it over." Hannah made a face. "Nasty things."

"And you were where, exactly?" Morris asked.

"In the hills, but about half a mile away from the bat man. I watched what he was doing through a pair of night gla.s.ses I had with me. Once I got a look at how powerful he was, I decided to stay put for a while. People like that-" Hannah stopped herself. "Creatures like that have very sharp senses, most of the time. It's difficult to get close without their knowing, and dangerous to try."

"You said 'most of the time,' Hannah." Libby had left the sarcasm behind now. "What's the exception?"

"When they're in the midst of working magic, of course. I realize that you're on the opposite side of things from these... monsters, Libby. But when you're concentrating on a spell, you're not exactly paying real close attention to your environment, are you?"

Libby nodded slowly. "That's true," she said. "I never really thought about it that way before, but you're right."

"So you stayed put, until when?" Morris asked her.

The waitress brought part of Hannah's immense meal, and a fresh pot of coffee for Morris and Libby. Hannah said, "I hope you'll both excuse me," and started in.

After putting away a couple of mouthfuls of pancakes and sausage, Hannah said, "I stayed where I was, until I saw the spell that he was working on the bats. Lots and lots of bats, Quincey, which takes lots of energy." Hannah ate some toast. "And which leaves little energy to spare for other things, like paying attention to what's going on around you."

Morris and Libby nodded agreement, then let her eat undisturbed for a while, since she was clearly very hungry. After a while, Hannah washed down a mouthful of egg with her coffee and said, as if she had not been silent for five minutes, "That's why most military snipers work in pairs: the shooter and a spotter, who also provides security. Putting a round exactly where you want it, from fourteen hundred meters out, takes a lot of concentration, so the sniper has someone to watch his back."

"Unlike the guy last night," Morris said.

"Exactly. Once he started his working. I made my way slowly through the trees to his position. No point in taking chances, after all-just because he was busy didn't make him deaf. It took me a little while to get there, I'm afraid. Long enough for those bats of his to do some damage."

"Quincey and I weren't badly hurt," Libby said, "but a couple at the other end of the unit, senior citizens, I gather, were killed. I guess they just couldn't move fast enough to take shelter in time."

Hannah silently bowed her head over her food, like a monk saying grace. She stayed that way for a while, and Libby actually began to wonder if she was crying. But when Hannah raised her head, her face was unmarked by tears, and her angel's voice sounded normal when she said, solemnly, "I honor the death of the innocent. Always."

"Finish the story, why don't you," Morris said. "I have a feeling you were just getting to the good part."

"Not much more to tell, really. He was so focused on directing and controlling the bats, he didn't even notice me. So, I came up behind him and blew his head off with a shotgun." She might have been discussing the weather in a place she rarely visited.

Morris and Libby looked at each other. So attuned were they to each other by now, words were often unnecessary. Morris's expression said, I'm sorry you had to hear that, while the slight movements of Libby's mouth, head and shoulders told him, just as clearly, Well, that's what we hired her for.

"Was this guy carrying anything to identify him?" Libby asked.

"Nope. Nothing on his person, except magical stuff. I suppose I could have cut off one hand and brought it along for a fingerprint ID, but the police might have asked some embarra.s.sing questions."

Morris wondered whether Hannah was joking, but decided she'd better not ask.

"I'm not second-guessing your work, Hannah," he said. "Clearly, this guy was n.o.body to take chances with. But it's a pity you couldn't take him alive. I would have liked to talk to him."

Hannah produced one of her nightmare smiles. "Not to worry," she said cheerfully. "I said 'Hi' for you."

Morris looked over at Libby and saw that she was staring into her coffee cup, a deep frown of concentration creasing her face.

"Something wrong, Libby?" he asked.

Without raising her head, Libby held up an index finger, asking for a little more time before answering. When she did look up, Morris saw a sparkle in her eyes that hadn't been there since this sorry business started.

"I'm an idiot, Quincey, a f.u.c.king dyed-in-the-wool lame-brained idiot."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Libby," Morris said.

"Oh, don't worry, you're a f.u.c.king idiot too," she said, and smiled. "We both should have figured this out two hours ago."

"Okay, we're idiots," Morris said, evenly. "Duly stipulated. Now what is it that's so d.a.m.n easy, we should have figured it out already?"

"What's-his-name, Hardwick, was involved in the child abductions and murders, right?"

"Well, one of them," Morris said. "But the FBI is working on the a.s.sumption that they're all connected, and they're probably right. It can't be just coincidence."

"Agreed. And the wizard that Hannah dealt with last night was trying to kill me."

Morris nodded. "I can't think of any other explanation that fits. I can't imagine he did it just to get at the two old folks down the way from us."

"Me, neither," Libby said. "So here's the gazillion-dollar question, Tex: who killed Hardwick?"

Morris sat there, gently tapping his fingertips against the side of his cup. Finally he said, "You're right, Libby. We are idiots."

"Not that it's any of my business," Hannah said between mouthfuls, "but what the h.e.l.l are you two having conniptions about?"

"Hardwick was killed by black magic," Morris said. "I heard that he was found turned completely inside out."

"And you believe third-hand information like that?" Hannah said.

"Actually, I do, but it doesn't even matter-"

"Because," Libby said, "I sensed powerful black magic at Hardwick's house last night, which is the night he was killed. I told Quincey that stuff was too strong to be coming from Hardwick himself. And the man controlling those bats was a black wizard of considerable power and skill, had to've been. That's no easy job he took on, and, from all indications, he performed it flawlessly."

"Until I ventilated his skull for him," Hannah said.

"Yes, and if I haven't thanked you for that," Libby said, "thank you, Hannah, for almost certainly saving our lives last night." There was no mockery in her voice this time.

"All part of the service," Hannah said. "But how do you know for sure that whoever offed Hardwick was also Mister Batman?"

"Come on, Hannah," Morris said. "This is Kent, Ohio, not New York or London. How many people with that kind of power do you expect to find in a burgh this size, anyway? No, it had to have been the same guy, both times."

"Which means these cases are connected," Libby said. "It's the only explanation that makes any sense. The people involved in this campaign to murder children for their organs, they're the same b.a.s.t.a.r.ds trying to kill me, for whatever reason."

After that, it was quiet at their table-until Libby got an odd expression on her face and began flexing the fingers of her right hand. Then she pulled an unused paper napkin closer and said, "Do either of you have a pen?"

The message was the same one that was simultaneously being received by Allie Mercer and a number of other women. Once it was complete, and Libby's hand had returned to her full control, she shared the contents with her companions, and briefly explained what they meant.

"So, you're going to be doing it again, that astral transference you used to talk to me in L.A.," Morris said.

"Pretty much, except my destination won't be anywhere on this plane. We'll be meeting in, it's hard to explain... somewhere else."

"Save a lot of money on hotels that way," Hannah said, without smiling.

Later, after most of the plates were cleared away, Morris said, "Well, I'm sure enough glad not to've ended up as bat food last night, but that means we're still up s.h.i.+t creek, Libby. Hardwick was the only lead we had. Once he was taken out of the picture, the guy who killed him became our only lead, even though we didn't know it at the time. And once Hannah did her number on him-the number of our leads went down to zero. We've got diddly-squat, now."

Libby seemed about to say something, when Hannah said, "Know what? I may be able to help you with that."

She produced her cell phone, a sleek, black-covered instrument, not unlike Hannah herself, and said, "Let me just make a couple of calls."