"Where does she go?" Libby asked. "To college, I mean."
Frank looked at her for a long moment before saying, "Someplace a long way from here. We don't see each other all that much, but we talk on the phone and exchange email all the time."
"If you guys get along so well," Morris said, "how come you don't see each other more often? Air travel makes it pretty easy, these days."
"I go and visit her once in a while," Frank said. "But I've asked her not to come here. I don't want her close by, in case something catches up with me one day, looking to settle an old score."
Libby frowned at him. "In case something catches up with you? Don't you mean someone?"
Frank gave her a sad-looking, lopsided smile. "Do I?"
The three were silent for a little while. Frank went off to check on his other customers. When he came back, Hannah had returned to her seat at the bar. Morris turned to Libby and said, "Now that we're all together again, why don't you tell us about your encounter with the mysterious Pardee."
"All right," Libby said. "It was about nine years ago. He's considerably more powerful now than he was back then. Or so I hear."
"I really wish my parents would stop interfering with my life," the young woman says. "I'm twenty-six, which means I'm old enough to make my own decisions. And I'm afraid they've sent you on a fool's errand, Miss... I'm sorry, I'm terrible with names."
"Chastain. Elizabeth Chastain. But my friends call me Libby."
"No offense, Miss Chastain, but I don't think you and I are likely to become friends."
Gabrielle Stafford turns her back on Libby, ostensibly to enjoy the magnificent view of Lake Michigan afforded by her condo's immense living room window. Although her tone is dismissive, Libby notices that she hasn't buzzed for someone to show Libby out (a term the rich use when they have one of their flunkies throw you out on your ass). There are conflicting impulses at work here, Libby thinks. Good. At least she is not completely in the bastard's thrall--yet.
"Your parents aren't trying to interfere," Libby says. "But they're very concerned that you may have given your trust and affection to someone who... might not have your best interests at heart."
Gabrielle turns back from the window and gives Libby a withering look. "You don't need to be tactful, Miss Chastain. I know they think Lewis is only after my money, they've made that abundantly clear. As if I haven't had enough experience with gold diggers to tell the difference. No, Miss Chastain, Lewis loves me, and I love him. Very, very much. Tell my parents that. They won't take my word for it, God knows. Maybe they'll believe it if it comes from one of their... employees."
Libby ignored the snub. "I'm only working for your parents as a consultant, Miss Stafford. They're kind of concerned, because you've given a great deal of money to Mister Pardee over the last four months. That's your right, of course. Your grandmother left it to you, I understand, to do with as you wish."
"That's right, she did! And if I choose to share it with the man I love, that's my business, and none of their own. And certainly not their consultant's."
"Of course," Libby says. "As you say, it's your own money. But your folks are also concerned that your fiancé has involved you in a lifestyle that may be, um, unhealthy."
"Oh, for shit's sake, is that what this is about? The week Lewis and I spent at Decadence, in Jamaica? It's a beautiful, exclusive resort, all the best people vacation there." She slowly looked Libby up and down. "I don't imagine you've been there, yourself?"
All right, relax, Libby tells herself. It's not her fault, not really. Of course, being in thrall to a black wizard doesn't preclude the possibility that you might also be a bitch.
"Since you've relieved me of the burden of tact, Miss Stafford, let's call it what it is. Decadence is a sex club for what used to be called the jet set. Quite notorious in some circles."
"Our sex life is our business. And if Lewis and I choose to invite others to share in it occasionally..." She waved a dismissive hand.
"Uh-huh. You got whacked on a combination of booze, pills, and coke and then let yourself get gangbanged. Three men at once, one for each hole. A number of other people watched the show, including your fiancé, Lewis." Libby just shakes her head. "And somebody in the audience, or maybe one of the employees, took pictures."
"I thought that was all taken care of," she says, sounding more like a whiny adolescent than a supposedly mature woman. Hearing Libby describe her activities so bluntly seems to have rattled her. "My parents paid off that terrible person before he could post those... pictures on the Internet."
"Yes, the combination of a fat check and the threat of legal action did it--this time. But you and Lewis have reservations there for next week, don't you?"
"Lewis says we need to experience everything life's rich banquet offers, and what the fuck do you care, anyway?"
Libby catches the note of hysteria in the young woman's voice. This one's not quite as content with her new "lifestyle" as she claims to be.
"You're right, Miss Stafford. How consenting adults amuse themselves is not my business. As long as you were consenting?"
"What are you talking about? Nobody forced me." Her laugh has a bitter undertone. "If you saw the pictures, you must have seen that much, honey. Nobody held me down. I did it of my own free will."
"That's an interesting phrase, 'of my own free will,'" Libby says thoughtfully. "It sounds like a term that certain... practitioners use."
"What do you mean, doctors?"
"Not in the classic sense, no. Doctors usually try to help people, or so I hear."
"I'm not going to stand here and play word games with you, Miss Chastain. I'll have to ask you--"
"I was asked to bring you a gift."
That got her attention. This lady isn't the type to turn down presents.
"Really?" Gabrielle says. "Who from?"
"Your parents gave it to me to pass on to you. They said it belonged to your grandmother."
Libby reaches into her voluminous handbag and comes up with a shiny white box, the kind jewelry stores use. She walks toward Gabrielle, the box extended. "Your mom said your grandmother would have wanted you to have it."
Gabrielle opens the jewelry box, with a deft flick of the wrists that bespeaks much practice, to reveal a slim chain that looks like silver, from which hangs a matching pendant. It is heart-shaped, the kind that is hinged to swing open, usually to reveal a picture inside. Gabrielle tries to open it, but to no avail.
"This damn thing won't open up," she says.
"Why don't you see how it looks on you," Libby says, and gives a slight push of magic along with those words. "Then we can see about getting it open."
"Good idea." Gabrielle stands before the nearest of several mirrors in the room and brings the two ends of the chain up to the back of her neck. She fumbles with the catch that will join them.
"Here, let me give you a hand," Libby says. "I'm pretty good with these things."
She is as good as her word. In a few seconds, the chain is fastened.
As Gabrielle is admiring her reflection, she sees in the mirror that the Chastain woman is resting her fingers on Gabrielle's shoulders, and her lips appear to be moving.
"What are you doing? Are you talking to yourself?"
Libby's hands tighten imperceptibly. "Sshhh. Be still."
The annoyed expression drops from Gabrielle's face and she stands there, uncertain.
Libby continues speaking under her breath for a few moments longer, then reaches her hands up to gently cup the young woman's ears. "Ephphatha. Ephphatha. Ephphatha." It is ancient Aramaic, the same word said to have been used, long ago, by a troublesome Galilean preacher who once gave a deaf and blind man the greatest gift imaginable.
Gabrielle does not protest this intrusion upon her precious person, nor does she object when Libby rests her hands over the young woman's eyes, to say the same word, three more times.
The word means, "Be thou opened."
Libby steps back, th
en walks around to face Gabrielle Stafford again.
Gabrielle does not look angry, but perplexed. "What did you do? I feel... strange."
"We were talking about your fiancé, Miss Stafford, about Lewis. You were telling me how he wants you to try new things, experience new sensations."
Over the space of about ten seconds, the young woman's facial expression morphs from confusion, to surprise, to shock, then finally to what can only be described as shame.
"Oh, my God!" she says quietly, as if talking to herself. "What did I... what have I...?"
She moves on unsteady legs to the nearest chair, and collapses into it. Libby returns to her chair, as well.
"Go on," Libby says. "What were you about to say, about Lewis? About the things you've done, just because he told you to?"
Gabrielle's eyes dart back and forth wildly, seeing nothing, as her mind processes memories, emotions, suppositions, conclusions... but mostly memories.
"Sweet merciful mother of God!" Gabby breathes. "Lewis said I should, I had to... My God, I let three guys fuck me, all at the same time! While people watched!!"
She puts her head in her hands, and sobs, as if from the cellar of her soul.
Libby takes no joy in Gabrielle's pain, but she is made joyous by what it represents--the spell that the black wizard cast over her is broken, before it could destroy her will entirely. The girl's parents had been right when they'd told Libby that Pardee had bewitched their daughter--they just did not realize how right they had been.
But there is more to be done, before Libby confronts Pardee himself.
"Your fiancé, is he out for the afternoon?" Libby already knows the answer to that question, but she wants Gabrielle to consider its implications.
"Yes... yes, he's out shopping for clothes, and that usually takes him hours. Lewis likes nice things." Then her voice changes. "Nice things that I'm paying for... oh, my God, so much money. I've given him so much..."
"Is it possible that some of the financial arrangements you've made with Lewis might be revoked, without Lewis's knowledge or consent?"
Gabrielle wipes a manicured hand over her tear-stained face. "Yes, yes I think so. A lot of it is in joint accounts, with both our names on them. Either signatory can withdraw funds, or even close the account, without the consent of the other." She sounds as if she is quoting from a financial document she read a long time ago.
"Do you think perhaps some phone calls might be in order?" Libby asks gently.
Gabrielle's full lips are now compressed into a thin, hard line. "Yes, I most certainly do." She looks at Libby. "I'm sorry I was rude to you before, Miss Chastain. I don't know what you did, but the fog is gone from my brain for the first time in... months. Thank you. Thank you very much."
Libby inclines her head a little. "You're quite welcome. And as for what I did--it was nothing more than open your eyes, to let you see what's real."
"Well, I'm really glad you did it. Now, if--"
"Don't you think it would be a good idea if I stayed a while longer?" There is a gentle push behind those words. "Just in case your mind starts to feel foggy again."
"Yes, yes you're right. You sure you don't mind?"
"Not at all. There's nowhere I have to be."
Except right here, when Mister Pardee comes home. It's time he and I had a chat.
Libby feels a little bad about using her magic to manipulate Gabrielle Stafford. But compared to what Pardee's black magic had done to her, Libby was giving her a mere gentle touch on the shoulder, and it should all be to her benefit, as it had shown to be already.
"Miss Chastain, will you--"
"Why don't you call me Libby?" No push there, just an offer.
"I will, thanks, Libby. I'm Gabby." She thinks about how odd the phrase sounds. "You know, that's going to be kind of funny some day. But not today."
Gabby stands up. "Will you excuse me for a minute, Libby? I want to wash my face. Then I have phone calls to make. If you'd like anything to drink or eat, just push that button to your left. One of the staff will be happy to get whatever you need."
Libby isn't hungry or thirsty, and she always feels kind of awkward asking servants to do things for her. So she uses the few minutes Gabby is gone to ready some of her gear for the coming confrontation with Pardee. She has studied the wizard from a distance, and is confident that her power is greater than his--at least, at this stage in his development. But with black magicians, you never, ever take chances.
Libby makes sure her wand is at the top of the other objects in her bag.
In fact, Pardee does not make an appearance until almost 6:00pm.
He lets himself in with his own key, and he does not close the door behind him gently. Libby is sitting where she can face the entrance to the living room, and has asked Gabby to sit on the sofa to her right.
Lewis Pardee, sporting a full head of thick, black hair, is carrying several bags and boxes with the names of expensive men's stores on them, but this exercise in retail therapy does not appear to have made him happy. In fact, as he enters the living room, he looks distinctly pissed off. Then he sees Libby Chastain and slows his progress, his face slowly changing from angry to wary.
His eyes are on Libby from the moment he enters the room. She can feel his witch sense probing her, testing, looking for weaknesses. Pardee tosses his purchases carelessly on a nearby chair, staring at Libby with intense interest and no small amount of hatred.
"I should have known," he says, "when I found that my credit cards had been cancelled--every fucking one of them. I should have known."
From the sofa, Gabby says, angrily, "Lewis, we need to--"
"Shut up!"
"I will not shut up, you bastard, and you will not talk to me like that way, any more. I've always hated it, and I've stopped putting up with it, effective right now."
Pardee stares at Gabby as if seeing her for the first time, then turns and looks at Libby again. "Well, now," he says. His quiet voice is a chilling contrast to the tone he has just used with his fiancée. "We have been busy, haven't we?" Then he forces a semblance of a smile onto his face and starts toward the chair where Libby sits.
"I suppose proper hospitality calls for introductions, even under difficult circumstances," he says in an almost normal voice, extending his hand as he approaches Libby. "I'm Lewis Pardee, but then I guess you know that. And you are..."
"Stop right there!" Libby says, and there is more than a little push in the words. She moves her hands a little, so Pardee can see the wand she holds in her right.
Pardee stops dead in his tracks.
"I'll not shake your hand, wizard, and my name doesn't matter," Libby says firmly. "You know all you need to know about me." In magic, black or white, names are power. No way is she giving this creature her True Name.
Pardee feigns disappointment. "Tsk, tsk," he says. "I would have assumed the Sisterhood taught better manners."
"They teach more important things than that, Lewis Randall Pardee." Let him know that she has his True Name, even as he had not learned hers.
Libby rises from her chair, the wand ready in her hand. She walks slowly toward the sofa and eases behind it, so that she stands over the still seated Gabby Stanford.
"Lewis Randall Pardee," she intones, "I charge you to leave this woman in peace, and never to return to her, in any form, physical or spiritual. I charge you to have no contact with her by any medium whatsoever, whether those of man or magic. I further charge you to do her no harm of any kind, now, or at any other time."
Libby steels herself. If it is going to hit the fan, it will do so now. "And finally, I charge you to leave this place, and never to return, in any form. In furtherance of these commands, I place my geas upon you now." Libby points her wand at Pardee like a pistol, and says something in a language Gabby has never heard before, but which the wizard knows all too well.
He tries to fight her. Without moving a visible muscle, he sends his Will and his Power against Libby's geas, but despit
e an effort that brings sweat to his forehead, he cannot dislodge it.
Neither form of magic, white or black, is more powerful than the other. When the two come into conflict, the outcome is determined by the magical strength and skill of the practitioners. A white witch may not use her magic to destroy a black one (although the reverse is not true)--but that does not mean that a black witch--or wizard--may not be rendered temporarily impotent by the superior strength of a white magic practitioner.
Once Pardee realizes that he will not prevail, he looks closely at Libby Chastain, as if planning to paint her portrait from memory. Finally he says, in that quiet, deadly voice, "I think it likely that we shall meet again. And I think it very likely that the outcome shall be different on that occasion, much to your sorrow."
Libby says nothing. She merely stands there, her Power and her Will serving as both her sword and her shield.
Pardee turns on his heel and leaves the room, and then the condominium. Libby keeps magical track of him until he is out of the building. He never returns.
As he drove back to the hotel they had checked into earlier, Morris said over his shoulder to Hannah, "Your buddy Frank seems like the kind of guy I wouldn't mind having at my back. Pity he's so burned out."
"Yes, he's been through a lot." Hannah was sitting sideways in the back seat, so that she could check the traffic behind them for a tail. "With some people, that breaks them down, over time." After a moment's pause, she went on. "Others, it just hardens."
"You agree with Nietzsche, then?" Libby said from the front seat. "That which does not kill us makes us stronger."
"Yes I do." Morris and Libby each noticed an odd note in Hannah's voice, but neither commented on it. "I most certainly do."
A little later, Libby said to Morris, "Well, we've got some information, and a name. I'll be passing all that on to the Sisterhood tonight, but what are we going to do with it?"
Evil Ways (Morris and Chastain Investigations) Page 22
