Kettering straightened and moved toward her. "Aunt Alice, what is it?"
A gargling sound burst from her mouth, and Aunt Alice pitched forward. Her face smacked the bare floorboards of the attic with a solid finality.
Charity hurried to Kettering's side and they both knelt over the old woman.
Slowly Aunt Alice's muscles relaxed their final rictus. Her eyes slid out of focus.
She died as they watched.
Chapter 32
The afternoon sun shone brightly on Southern California. The temperature in West Valley was in the comfortable high seventies. But inside Brian Kettering's little apartment a memory of the chill of Milwaukee remained with Kettering and Charity Moline.
She sat at the table with a cup of coffee in front of her as he paced the room. He carried the red stone figure as he paced, turning it over and over in his hands as though he were trying to find a secret compartment.
"I've got to take this with me up into the mountains where I can use it on Zoara Sol."
"You're convinced that she's the one?" Charity said.
"It has to be her. The only other possibility is Gabrielle Wister. She just doesn't figure. She's too ... ordinary."
"Do you expect your Doomstalker to have horns and breathe fire or something? "
"I know there will be something different. Something to set her apart. Zoara Sol does tricks with the mind. She can create an illusion and make you believe it. She can make you do things. I know."
"What things?" Charity asked.
"Never mind. She fits, that's all. She's the right age, and has no history, as far as I can determine. She's the one, all right. Zoara Sol is the Doomstalker."
"If you're right about her, Brian, are you strong enough to go against her and all that power? You remember Al Diaz. And your wife."
"And my father and mother, and my sister. And Aunt Alice. Oh, yes, I remember."
"Do you really think she did your aunt too? The Milwaukee doctor said it was cardiac arrest. Her heart wasn't strong."
"You saw. the look on her face," Kettering said. "She saw something."
Charity sipped at her coffee. "I'm worried, Kettering. I don't want anything to happen to you."
He showed her the Anubis. "Don't forget, we have this."
"But do we know how to use it?"
"We're going to find out."
"You know somebody?"
"I do," he said.
***
Valley State College did not offer a degree in archeology, but it did have on the faculty a man recognized as one of the top in his field. Dr. Valerian Landrud could have had a chair in any one of a dozen prestigious universities. He had, in fact, been offered such at salaries far exceeding what he drew at Valley State. However, he preferred his position here as a sort of campus monument and consultant emeritus on things historical. He was free to make his own hours, nobody bothered him about rules, and he enjoyed a free interchange with students and faculty members who were truly interested in his subjects and were not there solely because it was required.
Kettering met Dr. Landrud two years earlier, while he was investigating the rape-murder of a female student at night in the campus parking lot. The professor had been working late in his office and heard sounds of a struggle outside. His evidence established the time of the murder and led to the eventual arrest and conviction of the rapist, an assistant football coach.
In the course of the investigation Kettering had mentioned his father's early interest in archeology, and he and the professor found they were comfortable talking to each other. It helped when both had turned out to be passionate baseball fans, even though the professor was true Dodger blue and Kettering retained a quixotic loyalty to the Cubs.
Now the professor greeted Kettering and Charity Moline warmly in his cluttered little office in a cranny of the science building. The college had offered him a new larger office in the administration building, but Landrud had turned it down. All his important papers and familiar things were in the old office, where he could lay his hands on them, and at seventy-five he was not about to move everything up campus.
"I hope this isn't an official visit, Brian," he said. "I know you perform an important function in our society, but I don't like the idea of people killing people for no good purpose."
"Not official, Professor," Kettering said. "I brought something along and I'd like you to tell me about it."
He drew the red stone figure from the brown paper bag in which he had wrapped it and set it on Landrud's desk. The professor got out of his chair and walked around the statuette. He studied it from all sides and various angles, but did not immediately touch it. He took off his rimless glasses, polished them, and examined the figure more closely. Kettering and Charity stood back, watching.
After several minutes Landrud straightened and turned to Kettering. "You have here a very, very valuable piece. Where did you get it?"
"It was my father's. That's all I know about it."
"Of course, they can date it more precisely in a lab, but I can tell you it's Egyptian Twelfth Dynasty. That would put it at about 1800 B.C. It's red granite, very rare from that period. A religious icon."
"Charity tells me it's called Anubis."
The professor looked at her. "That's very good, young lady. Anubis, the jackal-headed servant of Osiris. Guardian of the dead against desecration of their tombs. He was not always successful in this assignment, as we all know."
"Does it have any, well, special power?" Kettering asked.
Landrud tilted his head back and peered at him. "Power? Are you asking me if this stone statuette fashioned some four thousand years ago has magical properties of some sort?"
Kettering felt like a freshman geology student who had just asked an inordinately dumb question. "I, uh, well, I didn't really mean, that is - "
"Oh, for heaven's sake, stop stammering. It's a completely valid question, and I shall try to answer it." To Charity he said, "Miss Moline, you seem to have some knowledge of the occult. You did recognize the figure."
"A very small, superficial knowledge, I'm afraid," she said. "A few years ago a friend gave me Cartouche as a gift. It's a set of cards, a sort of ancient Egyptian version of the tarot, as you probably know."
"I am familiar with Cartouche," Landrud acknowledged. "A deck of twenty-five cards bearing pictures of various Egyptian symbols and gods. Reputed to be useful for healing, magic, and talismanic purposes."
"One of the cards was Anubis, " Charity said.
"Quite so. Tell me, Miss Moline, do you believe in the magical powers of Cartouche? Or of objects like our jackal-headed man here?"
"I don't really have a religion, Professor, but if I have learned one thing, it is not wise to immediately disbelieve anything."
"Very astute, young lady. What about you, Brian? A policeman is not supposed to believe in things that would not stand up in court as evidence."
"When I'm working, that's the rule," Kettering said. "But I've seen too much in my lifetime that can't be explained by natural laws."
"I daresay we all have, if only we would admit it," said Landrud. "To return now to your question, yes, the figure of Anubis is reputed to have special magical properties. Much in the order of the Christian cross as used against the forces of evil. Anubis, as you know predates the Christian era by several thousand years.
"The earliest Egyptians worshiped various animals because of their strength or other qualities that were to be feared or admired. Separate cults grew up around the lion, the bull, the hawk, the ibis, the baboon, the cobra, the ram. By the time they had developed writing, the Egyptians had anthropomorphized most of these deities. Thus we have Horus, a human body with the head of a hawk; Selkis, a woman with a scorpion on her head; Amun, who often has the head of a ram; and our friend here, Anubis.
"In the Egyptian religion Osiris was the good guy. The bad guy was his brother, Set. A constant battle raged between them for the souls of the people. It was a fairly even match, with
Osiris winning sometimes and Set at other times. Finally Good was triumphant, and Set was banished to the underworld. Anubis, as the bravest and strongest of Osiris's lieutenants, was assigned as guardian of Set's tomb. It was his job to be ever alert against the repeated attempt of the evil one to escape his imprisonment."
"Professor," Kettering interrupted, "that's really interesting, but what about this statuette? Is it supposed to have magical powers of its own?"
"I was getting to that," Landrud said, frowning over his glasses. "This little fellow here, or one like him, was wielded by the priests of Osiris against the agents of Set. The good-versus-evil battle, as we all know, is never really over. While we can assume that good is more or less in charge today, evil waits always for a chance to get back on top."
Kettering took the figure of Anubis from the desk and turned it over slowly in his hands. "And this can prevent it?"
"If properly used," said Landrud. "There's an incantation that goes with it, something a good deal shorter than the Catholic rite of exorcism but rather more difficult to pronounce. That part has remained the secret of the ancient Egyptian priests."
Kettering hefted the figurine. "This has been sitting in a box in an attic in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, for thirty years. My father must have had it for quite a few years before that. And God knows where else it has been. If this Set, the bad guy, is so powerful, why didn't he send one of these agents of his to grab it while it was unguarded?"
"Not possible," said the professor. "Are you familiar with the legend that says a vampire may not enter a house unless he is invited in?"
"Yes, but we're not dealing with vampires here."
"I am merely illustrating certain parallels in the occult lore of the ancient Egyptians and that of the Middle Ages. The Anubis, you see, cannot be taken by Set or any of his lieutenants unless it is given over willingly. Once this is done, the icon is powerless until regained by the forces of Good. No easy task that, I need hardly tell you."
Kettering began to rewrap the figurine in the brown paper bag. "Thanks a lot for your time, Professor. I owe you a lunch for the information."
"Make it a ball game," said Landrud. "I understand the police have a little influence with the Dodger ticket office."
"Damn little," Kettering said, "but you're on for the game."
"Brian," the old man said seriously, "may I ask you what your plans are for that figure of Anubis? I could not help but notice that you seemed unconcerned about its monetary value."
Kettering hesitated. "I don't think I'd better tell you now. Next time, okay?"
"Next time." The professor shook hands with Brian and with Charity. He walked with them to the door that led out on the parking lot. "I am not sure I would approve of whatever it is you two are about to do, but then who cares whether I approve, yes? Just be careful."
"I will."
"I am serious, Brian. There are forces at work that are beyond our powers of conception. Powers we do not dream of. May I offer one piece of advice?"
"Sure," Kettering said.
"Attack in the daylight hours. Darkness is the friend of evil."
Kettering started to smile, then saw that the old man was serious. "Thank you, Professor," he said. "I'll remember that."
"Remember also this young lady's rule ... do not be in a hurry to disbelieve anything."
***
Back in Kettering's apartment, he and Charity sat across from each other at the table. Between them, softly luminescent, its sharp jackal muzzle pointed toward the window and the setting sun, stood Anubis.
"You're determined to do this?" Charity said.
"I haven't come this far to quit now."
"What if you're wrong? What if Zoara Sol is not your Doomstalker?"
"Then I haven't lost anything except dignity, of which I have very little left anyway."
"And the incantation? What do you plan to do about that?"
Kettering leaned back in the chair, his eyes focused somewhere off beyond the walls. "It's in my head, Charity. I heard my father use the words when I was a little boy. I've heard them in my dreams. I can almost ... almost speak them. I'm counting on them coming to me when I need them."
"Jesus, you're taking a lot of crazy chances."
"So what's the alternative? Sit and wait and worry about who's going to be the next to die? I can't do that."
"No, I suppose you can't. I hope there are no arguments about me going with you this time."
He smiled. "Nope. We straightened that out. You dealt yourself in, and you're in to stay."
Charity came around the table and kissed him. "Shall we get it over with then, so we can get on with our lives? Assuming we have some of our lives left."
Kettering looked toward the window. "Not tonight. We'll go in the morning. Remember what the professor said: Darkness is the friend of evil."
Grasping his hands, Charity pulled him up from the chair. "Then at least we have tonight together. Come with me and I'll show you something else that's friendly with darkness."
Chapter 33
Brian Kettering and Charity Moline made love three times during the night. Passionately, violently, casting off any small restraints they might still have felt. They made love as though they might never come together again.
Kettering lay wide awake as the dawn approached. He watched the black rectangle of window over the bed turn charcoal gray. His body was bruised and drained from the night of passion, but his mind was alert, eager, impatient to be going. He willed the sunrise to accelerate.
Beside him, naked, still damp with a sheen of perspiration, Charity stirred. She sighed and moved against him, and he knew she too was awake.
She spoke with her lips against his bare shoulder. "You play rough." Her voice was hoarse from the cries of last night.
"You too," he said. "Is that a complaint?"
He pulled her head up even with his and kissed her, tasting their sex still on her tongue.
"No complaint," she said when they broke apart.
They lay together, their bodies touching, watching the gray of the window lighten from charcoal to slate to pearl.
"Is it time to go?" she said.
"Almost."
He reached over and pulled her still closer against him. She reached down and touched him.
"My God, there's no satisfying this man."
"Oh yes there is. You managed it twice last night."
"Three times, but who's counting?"
He eased her over onto her back, knelt between her legs and buried his face in the rusty thicket of her pubic hair. He tasted her. She moaned and pulled his head more tightly into her.
He rose to his knees and planted his hands on her firm buttocks. She rose to him eagerly and he entered. Their eyes locked on each other as he thrust into her. The lovemaking this time was slow and sweet. And gentle right up until the climax when their bodies slapped naked flesh on flesh with a sound like pistol shots. They cried out together in a final release of juices and clung to each other as the pulsing of their bodies gradually subsided.
They spent only a minute longer in bed, holding onto each other, then Charity threw off the blankets, swung her long legs out and padded across the bare floor into the bathroom.
Kettering lay on his back, hands clasped behind his head. He stared at the ceiling where one squiggly hairline crack traversed the plaster from one wall to the other. He listened to the hiss of the shower and imagined Charity naked under the spray of water, sponging off the private places of her body that they now shared. In such a very short time this woman had become an important part of his life. Had he met her too late? He closed his eyes, not wanting to think about the ordeal that lay ahead of them today.
Neither of them was hungry, so they settled for cinnamon buns and coffee at Denny's, then headed the Camaro into the mountains.
The morning overcast burned off swiftly as Kettering drove. As their altitude increased, the landscape below stretched away to the sea with only a light layer of mis
t. Charity sat quietly beside him. Every few minutes they exchanged a smile, but neither of them spoke. Nestled in the seat beside Kettering, between his thigh and the gear-shift pedestal, was the statue of Anubis, wrapped in this morning's Los Angeles Times.
They passed the road leading off to Mount Wilson and crossed the bridge over Barley Creek. Kettering slowed the car, and this time he did not miss the narrow road that led up into the trees.
Charity moved closer to him as the road twisted ever higher along the lip of the cliff. Kettering kept his eyes straight ahead, not looking down into the hazy depths of the canyons.
The crossbar at the gate into Harmony Village was raised. No guard was in sight. Kettering drove on into the field. The same pickup, station wagon, and van that he had seen on his first visit were parked there again. No one was visible in the parking field or in the cluster of buildings beyond.
Kettering braked the Camaro to a stop and shut off the engine. With a last look at Charity, he pulled the newspapers away from the red granite statuette and, grasping it tightly, got out of the car.
Charity climbed out on the other side and walked around to join him.
Silence enveloped them like an invisible blanket.
"Is it always this quiet up here?" Charity said.
"Not the last time I came. To borrow a line from a hundred old movies, it's too quiet."
They walked toward the village, staying close together. Kettering held the Anubis cradled against his chest. Still they saw no one. They heard no voices, no birds, no insects ... none of the natural sounds of the forest. Only the faint splash of the creek.
They reached the clearing in the center of the village and stopped. The sun was bright in their eyes, but a chill penetrated Kettering's jacket and made him shiver.
"Hello!" he called.
"Hello!" a distant echo answered.
He and Charity looked at each other.
"Where is everybody?" she said.
"Somebody's got to be here," he said. "We saw the cars."
He raised a hand to his mouth to call out again, but the shout died in his throat. There was movement off to one side between two of the buildings. And up ahead of them. And over there, something else. And there.
Gary Brandner Page 24
