They were walking arm in arm and no sooner had they left the bright lights of the St. Germain entertainment district than Pascal gave her arm a sudden, powerful jerk, spinning her around in front of him and shoving her hard into a dark alleyway. She stumbled, quickly reaching for the automatic at the same time, fell forward and rolled onto her side, using her body to hide the pistol from him. She held it close to her waist, on the side facing away from him, ready to bring it up in an instant. He started moving toward her quickly and she saw his features shift, changing into something hideous and bestial. Something bright gleamed in his hand. She brought the automatic up and fired three rapid shots into his chest. He jerked and was thrown backward by the impact of the bullets and she heard the sound of running footsteps. At the same time, she felt something, a presence close behind her and she rolled over, facing back into the alley, bringing up her gun. For a moment, she couldn't see anything but the darkness in the alley, and then her eyes discerned a deeper darkness, a vague form as black as pitch, dimly outlined by a faintly glowing aura, and it was moving toward her rapidly. She fired.
The muzzle flash lit up the alley as she emptied the entire clip into the dark shape that was rushing at her, but the bullets seemed to go right through it. And then, suddenly, it stopped and she saw the outline of a shadowy arm flung out and a bolt of bright green thaumaturgic energy lanced out over her head and, behind her, she heard Modred yell, "Look out!"
She heard the energy bolt explode against the building wall behind her, filling the alleyway with smoke and flying chips of brick and mortar, and she scuttled back out of the way, but before the others could strike back, the shadowy form seemed to fold in upon itself and disappear. But before it vanished, Jacqueline felt a searing blast of hatred and fury wash over her mind and she cried out, bringing her hands up to her head. In another moment, Modred was kneeling at her side while Wyrdrune, Kira and Billy stood grouped around her alertly, searching the alleyway for any signs of movement.
"Are you all right?" asked Modred anxiously.
Jacqueline nodded, still overcome by the shock of the experience and the speed with which it happened. They heard the sound of a police siren approaching.
"Damn!" said Wyrdrune. "We weren't fast enough. He got away."
"She got away," Jacqueline said.
"She?" said Kira.
"It was a female," said Jacqueline, still holding her head. It was throbbing with pain. "Just before she disappeared, I felt her ... in my mind. . . ." She shook her head. "I've never felt anything like that before. Such rage . . . such utter loathing. . . . God, it was awful!"
"What happened to Pascal?" said Wyrdrune. "We heard shooting. . . ."
"I shot him," Jacqueline said. "He had a knife. I think I killed him."
"Then where is he?" Wyrdrune asked, looking all around.
"Over 'ere," said Billy.
Modred helped Jacqueline up to her feet and they all went to join Billy, who stood a short distance away, farther down the alley. He held up his arm and blue fire crackled around his outstretched fingers, illuminating the area around them.
"Look," said Merlin.
The blue glow showed a dark trail of blood leading farther back into the alley. They followed it to an open manhole cover.
"He's gone down into the sewers," Merlin said.
"With all the blood he's losing, he can't last much longer," Wyrdrune said.
"I intend to make sure," said Modred. He started to lower himself down through the opening. "Come on."
"Down there?" said Wyrdrune. But Modred had already disappeared down the metal ladder.
Kira started climbing down after Modred. Wyrdrune made a grimace of distaste as he watched her disappear down the ladder.
"The sewers," Wyrdrune said. "There's rats down there. I hate rats."
"Let's go, warlock!" Kira called up to him. "Get down here!"
Wyrdrune sighed with resignation. "Let's hear it for the glamor of Paris," he said, and started down the ladder after them.
"Hold it right there!" a voice cried out behind them.
Billy and Jacqueline turned to see several policemen standing at the entrance to the alley, their weapons drawn.
"Hold on to my arm," said Merlin. "I'll get us out of here."
"No," said Jacqueline. "We need to buy them time. Close the manhole cover."
Billy stared down at the heavy iron cover. It rose up slightly and floated over the opening, then dropped down into place with a scraping, chinking sound.
They were hit by the strong beam of a searchlight mounted on one of the police vehicles.
"Come out of there, slowly, with your hands up over your heads! Don't try anything or we'll shoot!"
Slowly, they raised their hands up and clasped them atop their heads, then started walking toward the entrance to the alley.
Chapter
SIX
Inspector Renaud entered the interrogation room together with Sergeant Legault. "Leave us," he said to the two other officers in the room and they silently walked out. Billy and Jacqueline were seated at the table, their hands cuffed in front of them. Legault leaned back against the door while Renaud came around in front of them. He took out a package of cigarettes, shook one out and lit it.
"Mademoiselle Monet," he said. "It seems that every time we meet, there has been a murder recently committed." He glanced at Billy. "Your young friend was not carrying any identification. Might I inquire as to his name?"
Jacqueline glanced at Billy. "He wants to know your name," she said.
"Slade," he replied. "Billy Slade."
"You're British," said Renaud, switching to English.
'"Gor, perceptive, ain't 'e?" Billy said to Jacqueline.
Renaud grimaced wryly. "How old are you?"
"Fourteen."
Renaud reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out Billy's knife. He pressed the release button and the blade sprang out. "You're a bit young to be playing around with one of these, aren't you?"
"I dunno. 'Ow old d'ya 'ave to be?"
Renaud shook his head. He closed the knife and put it down on the table.
"Where are your parents?"
"Dead."
"I'm sorry."
Billy shrugged.
"Who is your legal guardian?" Renaud said.
"Don't 'ave one," Billy said. "I can take care of meself."
"I'm sure you can," Renaud said, "but a minor needs a legal guardian in order to be issued a passport. How did you get into France?"
"On an airplane," said Billy.
Renaud tried to stare him down, without success. "What is your relationship with Mademoiselle Monet?" . "We're not 'avin' a relationship," said Billy. "We're just good friends, y'know."
Renaud took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Young man, I advise you not to try my patience. This is a very serious matter. I'll get back to you in a moment. In the meantime, I strongly suggest that you reconsider your flippant attitude. Legault. . . ."
Legault took out Jacqueline's pistol and placed it on the table in front of her. The magazine had been removed.
Jacqueline said nothing.
"A ten-millimeter semiautomatic, spellwarded against detection," Renaud said. "The signature weapon of a certain gentleman known as Morpheus. Or perhaps Morpheus is not a gentleman at all, eh? Perhaps Morpheus is actually a woman."
"You think I'm Morpheus?" said Jacqueline. She gave a small snort. "You can't be serious."
"Can't I? It has long been rumored that you have connections with this individual and now we find this gun in your possession, exactly the sort of weapon that Morpheus is known to use. We've already examined it for fingerprints and yours were on it," said Renaud. "It has been fired. A trail of blood was discovered in the alley, leading to a sewer entrance. It would appear as if someone was shot in that alleyway and then the body was thrown down into the sewers. It was undoubtedly washed away, but before long, it's bound to reach one of the outlet points and be discovered. And then, mademoi
selle, we will have you on a charge of murder. In the meantime, we have more than enough to hold you."
"If I'm being charged, then I have a right to call my attorney," said Jacqueline.
"As you wish," Renaud said. "But before you exercise your right to legal counsel, I thought mat we might have a little talk. You have the right to refuse to respond to what I have to say, but you might find it interesting, just the same. Earlier tonight, the body of a young prostitute was discovered in an alley off the Rue Saint Honore. She appeared to have been attacked by some sort of animal. There were claw marks on her body and her throat had been torn out. But her breasts and abdomen were mutilated in the same fashion as in the murders of Joelle Muset and Gabrielle Longet. The same thaumaturgic runes were carved into the flesh."
"I warned you that would happen," said Jacqueline. "And since Max Siegal was in police custody, he obviously could not have done it. You should have listened to me in the first place."
"Yes, perhaps I should have," said Renaud. "It might interest you to know that a short while ago, I placed a call to Chief Inspector Michael Blood of Scotland Yard. He would not answer any of my questions until he became satisfied that I was who I said I was, and even then, he was extremely guarded. He did not tell me a great deal, other than the fact that you and your associates, whom he was careful not to name, were instrumental in solving a series of grisly murders in Whitechapel and that Scotland Yard owed you a great debt of gratitude. He vouched for you unequivocally and urged me to give you my complete cooperation. He hinted at some sort of criminal conspiracy that was international in scope. When I asked him if necromancy was involved and if the I.T.C. was pursuing the investigation, he told me that he was unable to discuss the matter further, due to security considerations. He suggested mat I should take my lead from you. I asked him if you were some sort of government agent or an operative of the I.T.C. and once again, he said that he was not at liberty to tell me, but urged me to cooperate with you to the fullest extent of my authority, and even beyond, if necessary. It was altogether a fascinating conversation, redolent of mystery and intrigue.
"After I got off the phone with him," Renaud continued, "I called the Los Angeles Police Department and spoke with Captain Rebecca Farrell, with equally fascinating results. Once again, I had to wait until she had verified my identity, and then I was told that you had been of invaluable assistance to the Los Angeles police in clearing up a series of brutal murders in which the same pattern I described to her had appeared. Captain Farrell was just as cryptic as Chief Inspector Blood, but she also vouched for you unequivocally and urged me to give you my complete cooperation. It was interesting to note that both of them were very careful not to volunteer any names or information, responding only to the facts I gave them, leaving me with the impression that I'd become involved in some sort of highly classified investigation. In all my years of police work, I have never encountered anything quite like this situation."
He glanced from Billy to Jacqueline.
"I find it difficult to believe that you are connected with any government agency or with the I.T.C.," he said, "and yet somehow you seem to have obtained the cooperation and the unqualified endorsement of senior officials in both Scotland Yard and the Los Angeles Police Department. How could someone like you manage such a thing? The possibility of bribery occurred to me, but that would seem unlikely. And then it occurred to me that you are a witch, a student of the thaumaturgic arts, and Inspector Blood and Captain Farrell might have been thaumaturgically coerced, through the means of a compulsion spell."
"If that was the case," Jacqueline said, "then aren't you worried that I could do the same to you?"
"That possibility occurred to me," Renaud admitted. "Which is why Sergeant Legault has orders to shoot you if you so much as mumble or make a sudden gesture toward me."
Jacqueline glanced over her shoulder and saw that Legault was holding a pistol at his side.
"If that was my intention," she said with a smile, "then I could easily have done it when we were alone in that cafe together. Why didn't I do it then?"
"I don't know," said Renaud, frowning. "There is altogether too much that I don't know and that disturbs me very much. I do not like being disturbed. You may call your attorney, if you wish, but we have more than enough grounds to keep you both in custody until I have some answers. And if I cannot compel you to speak, then perhaps a team of interrogators from the I.T.C. can."
"You've called in the I.T.C.?" Jacqueline said.
"The Bureau has. They detected trace emanations at the murder scene. I'm expecting the I.T.C. agents at any moment," said Renaud. "You can speak with me or you can speak with them, but I think that you will find it easier to speak with me. I understand that their methods of interrogating uncooperative suspects can be quite unpleasant and severe."
"I wish you hadn't brought in the Bureau," said Jacqueline.
"Under the circumstances, I didn't have much choice," Renaud said. "Now what is it to be?"
But before they could reply, there was a knock at the door of the interrogation room. Legault opened it to admit two people, a man and a woman. The man was in his late thirties or early forties, of medium build, clean-shaven, with light brown hair worn in the sorcerer's style, down to his shoulders, dark eyes and angular features. He was expensively dressed in a conservative, dark blue neo-Edwardian suit. The woman looked about the same age. She was a big, large-breasted, Rubenesque woman with long, thick, wavy black hair. She was wearing the traditional robes of a sorceress, made of black velvet with intricate gold and silver embroidery, and she wore a profusion of rings and bracelets. Her face was round and cherubic, with a small nose, a wide, sensual mouth and a high forehead.
"Agent Raven, I.T.C.," she said, showing her credentials and giving her magename in French, with an American accent. "And this is my partner, Agent Piccard."
The man, evidently, did not choose to use a magename, following the practice of many of the younger sorcerers, who did not adhere to the traditional forms, though most of them still wore their hair long.
"These are the suspects?" she said, glancing at Jacqueline and Billy.
"'Allo, Kimberly," said Billy. "Still makin' your own clothes, eh? You always did like a bit o' flash, but then it suits you."
Her eyes widened and she came around to stand in front of the table where Billy and Jacqueline sat. She stared at Billy intently. "Who are you?" she said in English. "How do you know me? And how did you know my truename?"
"I always remember my students," Merlin said in his own voice. "You've hardly changed at all, Kim. However, I can hardly blame you for not recognizing me. You might say that I've become a completely different person."
Her eyes grew wider still and her mouth fell open. Piccard was beside her instantly. His lips moved silently and he brought his right hand up in a magical gesture.
"Tell your partner not to bother with his spell of compulsion," Merlin said. "I'm afraid that it won't work on me."
"No, it can't be!" said Raven, shaking her head.
"Don't you recognize my voice?" said Merlin.
Raven shook her head. "You sound just like. . . . But that's impossible. He's dead," she said.
Renaud and Legault both watched them, frowning, becoming more and more confused.
"Remember when we discussed astral projection in class?" said Merlin. "You asked if it was possible for something to happen to the sorcerer's body while in a state of astral projection, so that his physical self would die, while his astral self survived. You wanted to know if that couldn't be the explanation for ghosts. I said that it could, indeed, but that it was also possible for a disembodied astral spirit to settle in another person's body, which could also account for cases of possession or for people's belief in the idea of reincarnation. Well, ironically, that was exactly what happened to me and young Billy, here."
"It's a trick," Piccard said to his partner. "He is a natural. He's taking information from your mind. Concentrate. Shut him out."<
br />
"What the devil is going on here?" asked Renaud.
"Use your common sense, Piccard," said Merlin. "Do you really think it's possible for someone as young as I appear to be to possess enough skill to resist your spell or see into another's thoughts? Even given phenomenal natural ability, it would take years of study and training to fully develop such talents. If you had been one of my own students, you would have known to disregard deceptive appearances and use your sensitivity to guide you."
Piccard moistened his lips. He put his hands up to his head, fingertips pressing lightly against the temples, and shut his eyes. Furrows appeared between his eyebrows as he concentrated.
"What's going on?" Renaud said anxiously. "Will someone please tell me what's happening here?"
Piccard put his hands down and swallowed hard. "We are in the presence of an extremely powerful adept," he said. "It hardly seems possible, but I know of only one mage who could have such power. The late Merlin Ambrosius."
"Bravo, Piccard," said Merlin. "Full marks."
"Just a moment," said Renaud. "Are you seriously suggesting that this boy is the legendary Merlin Ambrosius, reincarnated?"
"Not reincarnated, Renaud," said Merlin. "At the moment of my death, I flung my astral spirit from my body, so that only my physical self died. My spirit survived, floating free, until it was drawn to young Billy Slade and settled into him. You see, Billy is descended from me by way of a De Dannan witch named Nimue, from the time of Camelot. Our life energies are spiritually compatible, even if our personalities sometimes are not."
"And you expect me to believe this nonsense?" said Renaud.
[Wizard of 4th Street 04] - The Wizard of Rue Morgue Page 10
