“Am I missing something here, Peter?” Melissa asked with a doubtful frown.
“Olivia’s back to being a ghost again,” I explained with a sigh. “She can’t manifest as a real person anymore.”
“Oh.” She mulled that over for a few seconds. “Does she have the journal with her?” Faint shadows danced around her hands on the steering wheel.
“No! Simon says, do not try to take the journal from anyone! Understood?”
“Understood.” The shadows faded away but she looked thoughtful. “So where is it?”
“Let’s not worry about that until we meet up with everyone, okay?” She nodded, pursing her lips like she did when she didn’t get her way. “Why is she still resisting me so much?” I asked Daraxandriel nervously. “Susie didn’t give me this much trouble.”
“The incubus becomes more skilled with the ring the longer he possesses it,” she surmised. “Others he enthralls will be still more difficult to dissuade.”
“Great,” I sighed, letting my head fall back against the headrest. “Just one more thing to worry about. We need to hurry and get to Mrs. Kendricks’ before anything else goes wrong,” I told Melissa. “Without breaking any traffic laws,” I added, just to be sure.
“I’ll have to slow down, then,” she frowned. I glanced at the speedometer and shook my head.
“Never mind,” I said resignedly. “Just get us there in one piece.”
We turned onto Hyacinth Lane a few minutes later and stopped in front of Mrs. Kendricks’ house. There was no sign of her BMW but I presumed she parked it in her garage. My Mustang was nowhere in sight, which was a mixed blessing as far as I was concerned, but a black SUV sat by the curb a short distance away.
“Does anyone recognize that?” I asked uneasily. Three heads shook in unison. It looked like the one Agent Prescott was driving when I first met him, except it didn’t have Louisiana plates. Besides, there was no way he could have gotten back so quickly from wherever he was. “Maybe it belongs to someone in the coven. Come on.”
We trooped up the walkway to the front door and I eschewed the doorbell in favor of just walking in. “We’re here!” I called. “Did you find –?”
My voice trailed off as I took stock of the people gathered in the kitchen. Mrs. Kendricks stood with her arms crossed, wearing a guarded expression, while Susie and Amy sat at the counter looking bored. All three of them faced another woman with short blonde hair and a gray tailored pantsuit. She looked vaguely familiar from the back but it wasn’t until she turned around that I realized who she was. My heart dropped into my stomach with a thud.
“How nice to see you again, Peter,” FBI Special Agent Fay Morgan said with a wry smile that didn’t reach her sky blue eyes. “I didn’t realize we were having a come-as-you-are party. I seem to be a bit overdressed for the occasion.”
“I can explain!” I said hastily, wondering whether the glamour had finally worn off or Morgan was too powerful a witch to be fooled by it. I considered ducking behind Melissa but I wasn’t quite willing to throw away what little dignity I had left.
“I delighted to hear that,” she said coolly, “because I have a lot of questions that need to be answered.”
“What about?” I asked hesitantly. Mrs. Kendricks looked grim and resigned at the same time, which didn’t bode well.
“About a man named William Bellowes,” Morgan said. “Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”
11
Many people believe that there’s such a thing as Absolute Truth, some immutable set of axioms that will never be wrong, like 1 + 1 = 2. The truth is, however, that truth is very flexible and can be made to fit just about any situation and circumstance. It’s like that old parable about three blind men trying to describe an elephant. The first man touches its trunk and says it’s like a snake, the second man touches its leg and says it’s like a tree, and the last man touches its ears and says it’s like a blanket. They’re all telling the truth, as far as they know it, but the reality is very different.
Courts of law have to deal with this sort of nonsense all the time. Witnesses are absolutely terrible at remembering details and their statements often contradict one another, and that’s when they’re being honest. The alleged criminal is of course lying through his teeth, which just muddies the water even more. The problem is, juries prefer eyewitness testimony over physical evidence, and lawyers get paid a lot of money to sway them one way or the other by presenting “the truth” in just the right way.
The end result is that no one really knows what’s going on. Instead, they just latch onto the explanation that best aligns with their preconceived notions and assumptions and call it a day. 1 + 1 = 2 and that’s all there is to it, unless you walk one mile and then turn around and walk another mile and end up right back where you started, in which case 1 + 1 = 0.
Mrs. Kendricks’ kitchen wasn’t large enough to hold all eight of us, so we gathered outside in the back yard. Agent Morgan sat in one of the patio chairs like a corporate chairman about to rake her subordinates over the coals, while the rest of us faced her in a ragged arc. Mrs. Kendricks and I sat in the center, with Daraxandriel and Melissa on my side and Susie and Amy on hers.
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, fighting the urge to tug at my borrowed clothes. Stacy’s t-shirt and athletic pants fit me well enough, but her cotton sports panties were not designed with the male anatomy in mind. Daraxandriel’s sundress hung a bit loose on her but Susie’s was at least three sizes too big and Amy looked like she was wrapped in a blanket, although her dress would probably fit perfectly if she shifted into her adult form. Olivia hovered by my right shoulder, reminding me that she was the only one still naked every time I glanced that way.
Morgan sat there with her legs crossed at the knees, tapping her forefinger against her pursed lips as she perused us. I knew she was trying to make us nervous by dragging out the silence, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t working. She, on the other hand, looked perfectly composed and comfortable, despite the fact that she was wearing a blazer and pants in the afternoon heat. The silver bracelet bearing her Philosopher’s Stone just peeked out from the end of her sleeve.
I cleared my throat and Morgan lifted an eyebrow. “Maybe we should get this over with,” I suggested carefully. “We have an incubus to catch.”
“Yes, Ariel mentioned something about that.” Morgan sounded supremely unimpressed by our problem. “I’ll take care of it once we’re done here. We have a much more serious issue to deal with first.” She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, looking straight at Mrs. Kendricks. “What do you know about William Bellowes?”
Mrs. Kendricks stiffened, clenching her fists in her lap. “He was a renowned demon hunter,” she said.
“Was?” Morgan echoed. She sat back in her chair. “So you think he’s dead?”
“You said he was missing when you were last here,” Mrs. Kendricks reminded her. “The fact that you’re back here asking us about him implies that he’s dead.”
“We haven’t found a body.”
“That’s not unusual for demon hunters. There often isn’t anything left to find.”
Morgan’s lips twitched. “An occupational hazard,” she agreed. “But Dr. Bellowes was no ordinary hunter. His record was exemplary. No one else on the Council came close.”
“The Council?” I asked doubtfully.
“The Council of Nine,” Morgan explained curtly, irritated at the interruption. “My counterparts in England. Dr. Bellowes was their longest-serving member.”
“What’s your point, Agent Morgan?” Mrs. Kendricks asked.
“My point is that an ordinary demon wouldn’t have given him any trouble whatsoever.” Her eyes flicked to Daraxandriel, who wrung her tail in her hands but said nothing. “If he was killed, it had to be at the hands of a demon lord.”
“And since we’ve had a parade of demon lords through Hellburn recently, you think he was killed here.”
“It’s a reasonable assumption,” Morg
an observed smoothly. “You’d want the most experienced hunter to deal with the most dangerous threats.”
“Bellaxragor, Sadraximbril, Uxbranidorn, Orixnador, Metraxion, and Nyx.” Mrs. Kendricks counted them off on her fingers. “Peter fought every single one of them. I fought four of them and Ryan, one of your agents, was there with me each time. I don’t recall seeing an old British warlock helping us. Did you, Peter?”
Her question caught me by surprise. “Uh, no,” I stammered. At least I didn’t have to lie about that. Dr. Bellowes died long before Bellaxragor appeared behind the library. I still wasn’t sure why Mrs. Kendricks didn’t want Agent Morgan to know what really happened.
“How do you know Dr. Bellowes was old?” Morgan asked, her eyes narrowing.
Mrs. Kendricks made a scoffing sound. “There aren’t that many demon incursions, the last couple of months notwithstanding. It takes decades to become an expert hunter.”
“Fair enough.” Morgan tapped her lips again as she scanned each of our faces. Her gaze rested the longest on Daraxandriel. “Dr. Bellowes disappeared last May. He told his acquaintances he was going on a short trip but that he’d be back in a few days. He was never seen again.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“No, but that wasn’t unusual, I gather.”
“And the authorities couldn’t trace his movements?”
“No, but the authorities don’t know about his special nature. He could easily have disguised himself with a glamour and traveled under an assumed name.”
“The Council of Nine wouldn’t be fooled by that, would they?”
“The Council has no official standing in England. They’re just a group of very powerful witches and warlocks who keep an eye on supernatural activities there. They can’t subpoena phone records or airline reservations.”
“But you can,” Mrs. Kendricks noted.
Morgan smiled briefly. “Yes, but Dr. Bellowes is a British subject who, to all appearances, disappeared in England. The FBI has no jurisdiction in this case and even if the Council somehow convinced Scotland Yard and Interpol to bring us in, it’s unlikely my team would be involved in the investigation.”
“So why are you involved at all, then?”
“I have friends on the Council. They asked for my help.” Agent Morgan and Mrs. Kendricks gazed steadily at each other, neither one of them willing to surrender any ground.
“Was Dr. Bellowes your friend?” I asked uneasily. “Is that why you’re trying to find him?” Is that why Mrs. Kendricks doesn’t want to admit we killed him?
“No,” Morgan said, shaking her head, and I felt a small surge of relief. “I only met him once, many years ago. If he really is dead, though, we need to know what happened. Someone – or something – strong enough to kill him is a threat to everyone. If it turns out that he’s not dead, then we may have an even bigger problem on our hands.”
I shot a nervous glance at Mrs. Kendricks to check her reaction to that but she was made of sterner stuff than I was. She kept her attention focused on Agent Morgan.
“You were in England for three weeks,” she said. “Did you find out anything at all?”
Morgan’s brow creased, as if she just realized that Mrs. Kendricks was asking the questions now. “Dr. Bellowes placed some very strong wards around his home before he left. It took us several days to break them.”
“And?”
“And we found nothing unusual inside, except for one room.” We all leaned forward and the corner of her mouth quirked up. She was definitely toying with us now. “Its wards were like nothing any of us had seen before, very complex and very deadly.”
“Deadly?”
“Yes.” Morgan pressed her hand against her chest, as if she was having a bout of heartburn. “It ruined one of my favorite blouses.”
It took me a moment to get her meaning. “It killed you?” I gasped.
“Only briefly.” For a moment, the Philosopher’s Stone on her wrist gleamed in the sunlight. “Once we got in, we discovered something ... unexpected.”
“His body?” Melissa gasped, wide-eyed.
Amy snorted. “They wouldn’t still be wondering if he was dead, then, would they?”
“Oh, right.” Melissa subsided, looking embarrassed.
“You discovered that Dr. Bellowes wasn’t the man everyone thought he was,” Mrs. Kendricks said flatly. Morgan raised a questioning eyebrow. “A warlock might protect his secrets with a ward to keep trespassers out, but no one who follows the Goddess would use a killing trap.”
“True enough,” Morgan nodded. “The room was a demonic workshop of sorts, with a summoning circle etched into the floor and enough supplies and paraphernalia to wreak havoc on a small army of demons.”
“Or one or two demon lords,” Mrs. Kendricks added sardonically.
“Oh my God!” Melissa exclaimed. “He was doing black magic?”
Morgan shook her head with a frown. “Not in the traditional sense. He did hunt demons and he was very good at it, but the contents of that room and the lengths he went to to keep them hidden,” she tapped her sternum meaningfully, “suggest that his methods were ... unorthodox. His notebooks spoke of capturing demons to extend his life and increase his power in exchange for human souls.”
“You don’t sound like you believe that,” Mrs. Kendricks observed.
“It’s hard to imagine how he could keep something like that secret for so long.”
Mrs. Kendricks tapped her fingers on her leg as she thought. “Was there anything unusual about the supposed victims of the demon attacks he dealt with?” she asked finally. “Anyone who didn’t fit in with the others or had no reason to be there?”
“What makes you ask that?”
“Demons rarely care who they hurt, they just go after whoever’s close or convenient. If Dr. Bellowes needed innocent souls to feed his captive demons, he’d have to find one somewhere and make it look like he or she was caught up in the incident, but that wouldn’t always be easy to do.”
Mrs. Kendricks didn’t look at Susie but I did, remembering that awful day back in May. Susie, for her part, sat slumped in her chair with her legs tucked under her and her eyes closed. She seemed to be asleep and I wondered if she was still recovering from all the teleporting she did this morning.
“Interesting,” Morgan murmured.
“What is?”
“Evelyn – one of my friends on the Council – mentioned a disturbing trend she noticed over the years, that demons seemed to be going out of their way to kill young women. She thought perhaps it was part of a deliberate campaign eliminate potential witches but now I wonder if it was something a bit more sinister.”
“That Dr. Bellowes was the one killing them?” Morgan inclined her head somberly. “Did he know about Evelyn’s concern?”
“It was discussed among the Council. I gather most of the members dismissed it as coincidence, since no other region reported the same trend.”
“So it only happened in England, where Dr. Bellowes did most of his hunting?”
“Yes, as far as Evelyn could ascertain.” Morgan didn’t look happy about admitting that.
“If Dr. Bellowes was responsible for taking those lives, he’d have to be very circumspect after Evelyn made her findings known. Perhaps he decided to continue his activities away from the Council’s purview.”
“And he picked Hellburn, Texas, for his new base of operations?” Morgan asked with a humorless smile.
“We’ve had more than our fair share of demon lords,” Mrs. Kendricks reminded her.
“Except he wasn’t involved in any of those battles, you said so yourself,” she countered. “Bellaxragor didn’t show up until weeks after he disappeared. There was no reason for him to come here back in May.” Mrs. Kendricks remained silent and Morgan cocked her head. “I’m not being entirely candid with you, of course. I already know exactly why he came to Hellburn.”
Oh, shit, I thought anxiously. Has she been playing with us all
this time, trying to bait us into admitting that we knew Dr. Bellowes? Did he leave evidence behind in his house, something like Mrs. Kendricks’ phone number? If Agent Morgan tries to arrest her, I’ll have to confess that I was the one who killed him. Maybe she’ll believe that I had no choice, that he was going to kill Susie if I didn’t do something. Sweat beaded on my forehead but my mouth was suddenly dry and I had trouble swallowing as Morgan’s gaze moved from Mrs. Kendricks to me.
Then she looked at Daraxandriel. “And you know why as well, Dara,” she said. “You and Dr. Bellowes were well-acquainted, I believe.”
Daraxandriel’s glowing eyes switched from Morgan to me and back. “Aye,” she admitted, “save that he styled himself Parathraxas when first we met.”
“From the time of Queen Elizabeth the First, if I’m not mistaken,” Morgan noted casually. “The earliest journal we found dates back to 1602. A journal, I should add, that looks very much like that book Amy is reading.”
Amy didn’t bother looking up. “This one has all the good stuff,” she said, turning the page.
“I’m looking forward to reading it,” Morgan said wryly. “I only had a chance to skim through a few of the others, but I did notice a familiar name come up over and over. Dr. Bellowes – or Parathraxas, if you prefer – was obsessed with one particular demon who caused him some difficulty in the early part of his career. Isn’t that right, Dara?”
Daraxandriel sniffed disdainfully. “He was a duplicitous whoreson who sought to cheat me of my rightful prize.”
“So if he happened to discover that said demon was alive and well and living in Hellburn, Texas, he might be inclined to drop in and greet an old friend.” Morgan leaned forward. “Did you kill him, Dara?”
“I am not a demon lord,” Daraxandriel reminded her. “I lack the means to defeat one such as he.”
They stared unblinkingly at each other while the tension ratcheted up higher and higher. Then Morgan nodded and sat back. “You’re right, a succubus could never hope to defeat a warlock as experienced as Dr. Bellowes. You likely could have,” she inclined her head towards Melissa, who sat bolt upright in her chair, looking alarmed, “but you weren’t a witch back in May, were you?” Melissa shook her head in vehement denial.
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