by Simon Hawke
If there was a personal angle to the murder, then someone had to have benefited somehow from her death. That was the part we couldn't see yet. But the more I thought about it, the more certain I became that it was there. Maybe it was no more than a hunch, but it was pretty strong. The answer had to be there, someplace. It was just a matter of looking under the right rock.
My thoughts were interrupted by the car slowing down, then nosing down a slight incline. After a few more minutes, it came to a stop and gently settled to the ground. The door unlocked and then swung open.
"You may exit the car," the voice on the intercom said.
I was the first one out. Leventhal and the Baghwan followed. As I dropped down to the ground, my paws contacted bare earth and grass. The cool, crisp air told me that we weren't in Denver anymore, but somewhere up in the mountains.
I could see better in the darkness than the others could, and what I saw around me were thick stands of evergreens and aspen, a couple of large rock outcroppings off to the side, and a small clearing just ahead of us where the dirt road winding through the woods led down a slope into the little valley and up to a large, rough-hewn stone house that looked almost like a small medieval castle. It lacked only towers, barbican, and moat. If there were any electric lights in there, they were off, and all that was visible was the soft glow of candles through the windows. Behind us, the limo rose up about two feet off the ground and silently glided away into the darkness, leaving us alone out there.
"Will you look at this?" Leventhal said softly, staring at the stone mansion nestled in the clearing. He glanced around. "Hell, I can hardly see a thing out here. I wonder where we are?"
"Sshhh!" hissed the Baghwan.
"Hey, lighten up, all right?" said Leventhal. "We're here. Let's go knock on the door and see if anybody's home."
As if it had heard him, the massive, wooden front door suddenly swung open with majestic slowness. It didn't creak ominously on its heavy hinges, but I felt it should have to make the effect complete. The effect was further ruined when we walked up and saw that it was a man who'd opened it, and not some mystical, unseen force. Large candles placed in wall sconces provided illumination in the corridor behind him. The wooden floor was covered with a long runner of beautiful, handwoven carpet, and there was a pleasant smell of incense in the air.
"Welcome, gentlemen... and cat," he said, with a smile in my direction. "Please, do come in."
He appeared to be in his early to mid forties, perhaps a little older. It was difficult to tell exactly, because he had a very youthful-looking face. His hairline was receding and he had a bald spot at the top of his head. Everywhere else, his light brown hair was long, cascading down his shoulders in the manner of an adept. He had a full beard, neatly trimmed and going white around the chin. But the face was the face of a young man, or perhaps it was just something about the expression, which conveyed an intense vitality. The color of his eyes might have been blue or green, it was difficult to tell, because he wore a pair of small, round, rose-tinted, gold-rimmed glasses. He was dressed in black wool slacks and soft, well-made, black western boots, a black sport jacket, and a white, button-down Oxford shirt that was open at the neck to reveal a silver pentacle encircled by a serpent eating its own tail, hanging on a chain around his neck.
"Follow me, please," he said, leading the way down the corridor. We started walking after him, and then, with him already about six or eight steps ahead of us, we heard the front door close behind us. The Baghwan moistened his lips nervously and glanced at Leventhal, who simply shrugged.
The man led us to a room that was set up as a den and library. The walls were covered with bookshelves and the books they held looked ancient. A marvelous Persian carpet was spread out on the floor. It was so soft, I couldn't resist digging my claws into it a little. There was a large, well-upholstered reading chair by an oil lamp in a corner, a large desk made out of dark mahogany, and two cloth-upholstered, straight-back chairs placed in front of the desk. I also noticed a small settee with a cushion on it thoughtfully placed between them. Our arrival had obviously been anticipated.
There were some interesting items on the desktop. One was a large crystal ball, about the size of a honeydew melon, resting in a silver stand carved in the shape of a large claw. Another was a large, leatherbound book, ancient-looking, resting on a corner of the desk. The binding was old, black leather, and there was no lettering on the cover. Beautiful, antique candelabra made of brass, silver, and gold held white candles that provided the flickering illumination. One corner of the room held a small altar, an intricately carved wood table covered with a black velvet cloth on which rested a number of items in a purposeful placement. At the top left corner of the table was a dark green candle in an ornate brass holder. At the top right corner was a matching holder, with a red candle placed in it. Between the two candles, and slightly in front of them, near the center of the table, was a lovely, golden censer, and in front of that, lying flat in the exact center of the table, a circular pentacle of blue and white stained glass. To the left of the pentacle was a beautiful silver goblet, with a stem carved into the shape of a knight holding a sword. To the right of the pentacle, a small black cauldron, filled with salt. And in front of the pentacle, placed so that their blades angled up toward it, were two knives. On the left, a curved, white-handled blade, and, on the right, a straight, double-edged one, with a black handle. I felt as if, somehow, I'd stepped back into medieval times.
The man who had brought us to the room went around the desk and sat down in the chair behind it, clasping his hands on the desktop before him. He smiled enigmatically.
"So, what was it you wanted to see me about, Detective Leventhal?"
Leventhal stared at him. "You're the Mystic?"
Again, that strange, disarming smile. "I am called that, yes."
Leventhal glanced around. "What's the matter, you don't believe in electricity?"
The Baghwan rolled his eyes and caught his breath, as if expecting to be struck down. The Mystic merely smiled again.
"This is an isolated area," he said. "We don't have electricity out here. And I rather prefer it that way. I have no real need of it. Its energy can be distracting."
"But you have a telephone," said Leventhal.
"No, as a matter of fact, I do not."
"Then how... I mean, when the Baghwan called..."
"How was I contacted to arrange this meeting?" asked the Mystic. He smiled again. "Telephones are certainly involved, Detective Leventhal, but not at this end. I have ways of maintaining contact with the outside world, but then you didn't come here to question me about my lifestyle, did you? You came seeking help in your murder investigation."
"What are you, psychic?" Leventhal asked.
Again, that smile. "I can be, but in this case, no. It was merely a matter of logical deduction, based on some inquiries I made about you, and about the case you are currently working on."
Leventhal merely grunted, and glanced at the Baghwan.
"Well, I had to tell 'em what it was all about," he said defensively.
"Do not blame the Baghwan," said the Mystic. "He was not, by any means, my sole source of information. I take care not to invite just anyone to my home."
"Is that right?" said Leventhal. "So what makes me so special?"
"Absolutely nothing," the Mystic replied. And then he glanced at me. "It was your feline companion I was anxious to meet. Catseye Gomez, isn't it?"
"Just Gomez will do," I replied, staring at him with some confusion, which I no doubt shared with the Baghwan and my partner. "I'll repeat what my friend here said. What makes me so special?"
"Oh, I've heard a great deal about you," the Mystic replied. "Especially about your involvement in a certain case in Santa Fe. And with certain individuals."
I knew whom he was referring to. Merlin and the others. "You know them?" I asked.
"I know only one of them personally," he replied. "You might say we've had sort of a profes
sional relationship in the past. I often think about him, in my dreams."
The reference to dreams was what told me whom he meant. He meant Modred, better known by the code name he had worked under for many years-Morpheus. The God of Dreams. An appropriate alias for someone who had made a living putting people to sleep... permanently. I wondered how much he knew. I certainly couldn't ask him, not with Leventhal and the Baghwan there. The world at large had no idea that Merlin was still alive, only transmogrified by an incredibly powerful spell that had fused his spirit and persona with the immortal shade of his own father, and a cocky kid from England by the name of Billy Slade. The three of them were one now, and together with the "others" the Mystic had referred to, they were engaged in a quest to find and neutralize the Dark Ones, the necromancers once more loosed upon the unsuspecting world. No, I couldn't talk about that with the others present, and the fact that the Mystic knew something about it, or had been involved with Modred at the very least, told me a great deal. I looked at him with new respect.
"Seems like we have at least one friend in common," I replied. "Assuming, of course, that he was a friend."
"Oh, yes, he was, a very good one," said the Mystic. And then he smiled cryptically. "And still is, I might add."
I nodded. That meant he knew as much as I did, because the rest of the world believed that Morpheus was dead. I was becoming very much intrigued with this man, and I had a lot of questions I wished I could ask, but under the circumstances, I couldn't ask them. What passed between us was a look of understanding. Leventhal, of course, had no idea what we were talking about, and the Baghwan couldn't care less. He didn't want to know.
"Am I missing something here?" asked Leventhal.
"Yes," replied the Mystic, "but it does not concern you.
Suffice it to say that were it not for Gomez, you wouldn't be here now. So... what is it I can do for you, detective?"
The Mystic leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers while Leventhal replied.
"I'd like to ask a favor," Leventhal said. "I'd like you to perform a divination."
The Mystic frowned. "The police certainly have their own adepts, who are quite capable of performing divination rituals," he said.
"Yeah, but not like you," said Leventhal. "Divination is always an iffy business, at best, which is one of the reasons it can't be used as evidence. But word on the streets has it that you're the best, that you always get results, and right now, I need results."
"However, as you quite correctly pointed out," the Mystic said, "you would not be able to use these results in a court of law. So of what use would they be to you?"
"They might at least point me in the right direction," Leventhal replied, "and I could take it from there. Our lab adepts didn't come up with anything beyond routine forensic evidence, and not much of it, at that. I've got a situation with a lot of pressure here, one that's getting a lot of press, and I'd like to resolve it before it gets worse. Like I told the Baghwan here, I couldn't care less about your being an unregistered adept. I'm not a BOT agent. I'm willing to pay for this, or trade, or whatever you like, within reason, of course."
"And you are quite sure you can afford my price?" the Mystic asked, with a smile.
"No, I'm not sure of mat at all," said Leventhal. "But I'm willing to kick in as much as I can afford, providing you're willing to negotiate."
The Baghwan had his eyes closed.
"I never negotiate, detective," replied the Mystic. "I merely name my price, and you are either willing to pay it, or you are not." He glanced at me and smiled. "However, in this case, I am disposed to be somewhat charitable. My price is a favor for a favor. I will perform this divination for you, but at some point in the future, perhaps next week, perhaps next month, perhaps even years from now, I will ask you for a favor in return, and you will grant it. That is my price."
Leventhal cleared his throat. "That's a pretty vague sort of price," he said. "It's not that I'm unwilling in principle, you understand, it's just that-"
"Relax, detective," the Mystic said, with a dismissive motion of his hand. "I can assure you that I shall not compromise your position on the force and ask you to do anything illegal. Well, at least not any more illegal than the sort of things you have already done. Does that help clarify things for you?"
Leventhal hesitated slightly, then decided. "Okay, fair enough, in that case, I accept."
The Mystic nodded. "Very well, then. What, exactly, is the nature of this divination you wish me to perform?''
Leventhal reached into his pocket and pulled out something I couldn't make out. He placed it on the desk before the Mystic, and then I recognized it. It was a piece of the bomb left behind after the blast. I'd seen it before in the police forensics lab, but I hadn't noticed him sneak it into his pocket.
' 'This is part of a bomb that killed a woman named Susan Jacobs," said Leventhal. "Somebody planted that bomb in her car. I need to know whatever you can tell me about it."
The Mystic looked down at the piece of debris without touching it and nodded. Then he rose and moved over to the altar in the corner of the room. He took the objects from it, the candles and the cauldron, the goblet and the stained-glass pentacle, the censer and the knives, and placed them in identical positions atop his desk. I noticed that both the desk and the altar were positioned similarly-facing north, I guessed. He lit some incense and placed it in the censer. Then he poured some water from a carafe into the goblet, and added a pinch of salt to it from the cauldron.
"Please take that object and place it in the center of the pentacle," he said to Leventhal, who did as he was told. Then the Mystic took the crystal ball and placed it before him, between the two knives. "I will ask you to remain seated," he said, "and completely silent from now on."
Leventhal nodded. The Baghwan nodded, too. He would probably have done backflips if the Mystic told him to.
"Gomez, I shall ask you to assist me," said the Mystic.
"Me?" I said. "What can I do?"
"A great deal," said the Mystic, with a smile. "The enchanted stone in your eye socket... Even if I did not already know the nature of its enchantment, its trace emanations are like a signature. It can provide energy to augment my own, and it would be a privilege to employ it, if you are willing."
"What do you want me to do?" I asked.
"At a certain point, I shall give you a nod," the Mystic said, "and you will direct a beam of force toward my upraised blade. Not a very strong beam of force, if you don't mind," he added, with a grin. "I do wish to survive the experience."
"Okay," I said. "I'll try my best."
"Good. And now we shall begin. Please remain silent and motionless for the duration."
First, he took the censer and, carrying it, walked slowly clockwise in a circle around the table, a circle that also encompassed us. Then he took the goblet and did the same, dipping his fingers into the water and sprinkling it around the same circle. I recognized the procedure. It was similar to one that I'd seen Paulie do from time to time. He was casting a magic circle.
When he'd finished with the water, he replaced the goblet in its former position, then used a match to light the candles. First the green, and then the red. Then he took the black-handled knife and held it up before him. He closed his eyes as he brought it up level with his face, holding it with both hands, and his lips moved soundlessly for a moment. Holding that same position, he stood facing us for a moment, his eyes closed, and his lips moved silently for several seconds. Then he did the same thing again, facing in the three other directions, turning clockwise as he did so. I knew that he was silently invoking the spirits of the four directions, North, East, South, and West-Earth, Wind, Fire, and Water.
It was witchcraft in the classic form, magic of a sort not usually practiced by most modern registered adepts, who did not go in for much ritual or ceremony. Paulie had done it occasionally, partly out of his personal interest as a scholar of the Old Ways, and partly out of family tradition. Paulie's m
other had been a witch, only his rituals had been different, more vocal and elaborate, drawing more on his mother's Native American tradition, mingled with his studies of ancient Celtic lore. This was a more intense, more inner-directed approach. I knew what the Mystic was doing, in general, but I did not know what his specific ritual was. It appeared more Celtic than anything else, or perhaps Saxon, I wasn't sure. The Mystic had his own, idiosyncratic methods.
When he finished invoking the spirits of the four directions, he stood facing us again, still holding the knife-the athame-before him, at the level of his face. He opened his eyes and stared at it intently. His eyes seemed to unfocus, almost to glaze. And as we watched, a faint blue glow appeared around the blade, an aura that grew in intensity until it was blindingly bright and we couldn't look directly at it anymore. Then, the Mystic held the knife away from him, in his right hand, and pointed it toward the floor, toward the point at which he had started making the circle.
What looked like blue lightning lanced out from the tip of the blade, struck the floor, and ignited. A trail of blue flame, like fire following a trail of fuel, raced around the circumference of the circle he'd described before, until we were sitting in the center of a ring of fire. I glanced at Leventhal, who sat there motionless, with his eyes wide. I saw him swallow hard. The Baghwan sat there gripping the arms of his chair, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, all the color drained out of his face.
Gradually, the flames died down until we were surrounded only by a circle that was emitting a soft, blue glow. The Mystic held the knife before him once again. He moistened his lips slightly, took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then looked at me and nodded once.
