by R. L. King
“Please, Dr. Stone.” She leaned forward, gripping the table, her eyes wide and her face full of concern. “Please, listen to me. I know it sounds crazy, but I know what I’m talking about. And…” she added, her voice growing a little more tentative, “…I think maybe you might, too.”
“What do you mean by that?” Stone frowned, taken aback by her fervor. Her golden aura flared bits of red: she was agitated, but was it by her inability to get through to him, or something else?
“Who is Archie? Is he a demon? Is he the one you’re looking for?”
“Ms. Ruiz—”
“Is he?” One hand went to her crucifix, her fingers caressing it as if for comfort.
He let his breath out. “Not…exactly. This is all an academic exercise. I had some photographs of a couple of items I thought might be connected with the Church, and some questions about previous Church ownership of some land. I was hoping Father Reed would be able to answer them for me. There aren’t any actual demons involved, real or imagined.” He felt guilty lying to her, but the last thing he wanted to do was involve some devout young Catholic girl in his investigations. Not with the way Archie seemed to consider anybody connected to him to be fair game for his gruesome attacks.
“Do you mind if I ask you what these items are?”
Clearly, she wasn’t going to let up on her questioning. “A box, with carvings on it consistent with religious iconography. And a cross that was found inside the box. Have you ever heard of Enochian?”
She shook her head.
“It’s an ancient language. Some say it’s the language of the angels. The cross had a warning carved on it in Enochian, and I believe the people who put it in the box were trying to ward against something.”
“Do you have this box and the cross?” she asked.
“No. I only have photographs of them. Part of a research project I’m working on.” He flashed her his best reassuring smile. “See—no real demons. Just research.”
She wasn’t having any of it. “Does this have anything to do with those murders? The ones you were consulting on? I read that some of the police thought they had occult involvement, but most of them didn’t. The ones that did contacted you, right?”
Stone had forgotten she knew about that. “Well…” he said slowly, “the one, actually. Only one detective thought the occult angle was worth pursuing. And my consultation with him didn’t last long before the higher-ups terminated it.”
“He was killed…” she said, looking down at her hands. Once more, her right hand went to her crucifix, and she mouthed a few words. Then her gaze came up again. “Do you think the same murderer killed him, Dr. Stone?”
“You’re very well informed about the case, Ms. Ruiz. Any particular reason? I’d hardly think a gruesome series of murders would be of interest to someone like yourself.”
Her eyes flashed. “Someone like myself? What do you mean by that? Because I’m young? Because I’m a woman? Because my faith is important to me?”
“Wait, wait,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. I meant no insult. All I meant was you don’t seem the type to have the kind of…prurient interest that attracts most people to following the details of grisly crimes.”
“Do you believe in God, Dr. Stone?” she asked abruptly.
The question startled him. “Not…per se,” he admitted.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t believe the way you do. I don’t follow any organized religion. But I’m also not willing to say there isn’t something out there in the universe. Why?”
She shrugged. “No reason, really. I’m not surprised, though. Many people don’t, these days. But I do. I know God is real, and He’s all around us, looking out for us. And I also know that the Devil and his forces are real.”
Stone leaned back in his chair. “Ms. Ruiz, what is it you suggest I do? Stop my research? I’ll remind you that researching the occult is my job. If I stopped every time I encountered something potentially frightening, I might as well take up waiting tables or driving a taxi.”
“I think you should stay away from demons. It’s dangerous to seek them out—if you do, they will come. And you have no idea how horrible they can be. You’re not prepared to deal with it.”
“It almost sounds as if you speak from experience.”
She looked away.
Stone sharpened his gaze. “Ms. Ruiz?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, still not looking at him. “Just—please, believe me. I beg you.”
“You have experience with demons?” he pressed.
She stood up fast, shoving her chair back so it almost toppled over. The woman at the potato stall glanced over, startled.
“Yes!” Grace said, glaring at Stone, her voice shaking. “Yes. I do. My brother was possessed by a demon, and it was the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I know you won’t believe me, but I don’t care. And I told you, I don’t want to talk about it. I should have known it was pointless to call you. Just—please leave it alone and stop asking!” She snatched up her purse and whirled to leave.
Stone stood too. “Ms. Ruiz?”
She stopped, but didn’t turn back. Her golden aura roiled with agitation. “What?”
He quickly pulled out another of his business cards and scribbled his mobile phone number on it. “Please. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. I’ll leave you alone. But please—take this. If you want to talk again, you can reach me at this number.”
For several seconds she stood in the same position, shoulders rising and falling fast as if she were breathing hard—or perhaps trying to hold back tears. In a sudden movement she spun, grabbed the card from his hand, and then strode off toward the exit.
Stone watched her go, her aura trailing red flickers behind her. He glanced at the potato-stall worker, who was looking at him with suspicion, then sighed and made a show of heading off in the opposite direction from where Grace had departed.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Stone thought about Grace Ruiz as he headed over to the Rosicrucian Library. He wondered why she’d been so adamant to warn him off his hunt for Archie if she wasn’t connected with the demon. He still wasn’t completely convinced she wasn’t, but his instincts—along with careful magical scrutiny now that he had a better idea what he was looking for—told him she was on the level.
What had she meant about her brother being possessed by a demon? He wished he could have gotten more of the story—even though he didn’t believe in the Christian version of demons, he certainly had enough experience with various entities possessing humans that he had no problem believing what she’d told him. Probably best to just leave it alone now, though—the last thing he needed was another intriguing puzzle, especially one unrelated to his current investigation.
Besides, Grace had made it fairly clear that she wouldn’t welcome further communication from him. Maybe after he’d dealt with Archie, he could hunt her up and ask her again under less emotionally charged circumstances.
The Rosicrucian Library was located in San Jose’s Rose Garden area, a tiny building down a narrow, tree-lined walkway to one side of the Rosicrucian Egyptian Museum complex. It wasn’t exactly hidden—it was open to the public, and a small sign near the center of the grounds pointed curious visitors in its direction—but compared to the displays of mummies, ancient Egyptian artifacts, and other intriguing antiquities in the main galleries, its collection of dusty tomes didn’t attract too many people.
Stone didn’t mind this at all. Ever since he’d discovered it several years ago during a search for a long-forgotten bit of esoteric trivia, he’d come down here several times a year to examine their new acquisitions and take advantage of their well-stocked stacks covering everything from ancient religion to various sects and practices of the magical arts. He wondered if any of the library’s personnel knew that a f
ew of the books, especially in the restricted area, actually were imbued with magic—he’d checked them over the first time he’d spotted them on a sweep with magical sight and pronounced them harmless, so he hadn’t felt the need to warn anyone to be careful with them.
A while back, he’d made an arrangement with the Museum to grant him a particular sort of membership, for which he paid a significant annual fee. He had no real interest in the mummies and other marquee exhibits, but what he did want was access to the library after hours and on the days when it was closed to the public. The director had been reluctant at first, but his reputation as a world-class researcher of the occult and a Stanford professor had finally swayed her. The only thing she’d asked in return was that he come down occasionally to give lectures on occult-related subjects the membership might find interesting. Since then, his periodic presentations on alchemy and ancient Egyptian magical practices enjoyed significant popularity among both the adult and school-age attendees.
The library was closed today, but he knew the librarian was around so he didn’t have to use the access key they’d given him. A quick call brought her to the front door to let him in. “Alastair. It’s good to see you. You haven’t been by in a while.” She was a small, plump woman in her mid-forties, dressed in a lightweight beige cardigan over a floral blouse. Schoolmarmish half-glasses perched on her nose.
He followed her inside. “Hello, Patricia. I’ve got a bit of research to take care of. Might be here a while—I hope I’m not disturbing anything.”
“Oh, no. Just cataloging some new books we got today and catching up with some paperwork. I’ll probably be here a couple more hours at least. Let me know if there’s anything I can help you find.”
Stone nodded and headed off into the stacks. The library wasn’t large—most of its collection took up an area about the size of a big garage. The remainder, mostly valuable or controversial tomes that couldn’t be made available to the general public unsupervised, were kept in a smaller, locked room. Even Stone’s arrangement with the museum didn’t give him access to that room without a librarian to accompany him. That was all right, though: the books Lucas had indicated in his research paper were in the main collection. If he discovered anything that led him to believe he’d find more in the restricted room before Patricia left, he could ask her to let him in.
He located Lucas’s books in the Occult section, and grabbed a few other likely-looking possibilities along with them. All of these he carried back to one of the tables. He pulled his previous notes, a notebook, and a pen from his briefcase, spread everything out, and set to work.
The books Lucas had used didn’t offer much in the way of information additional to what he, Eddie, and Ward had found in London. One of them included a few crudely-written sigils similar to the ones found at the murder site, and postulated that they were part of an ancient, lost language that predated any known written human tongue. In addition to the sigils, the book also listed other examples of so-called “lost” or possibly “alien” languages, but could offer no speculation as to their origin or translation. Based on what Stone had learned in London, the sigils in the book didn’t even seem to mean anything, but rather had been cobbled together from several different sources.
The second book was a bit more helpful—it also included images of the sigils, and suggested that several Catholic and Rosicrucian scholars from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries believed them to be the language of Satan or his demons. They couldn’t agree on anything else, though, and no definitive information about where examples of the sigils had been found was included.
Stone flipped through the rest of the books he’d gathered, but none of them offered anything useful. On a hunch, he got up again and found the shelf containing the library’s small collection of books that overlapped the Church and various occult teachings. Though it wasn’t common, he knew that some scholarly clergy did make studies of the occult, in order to help them combat the influence of demons. The trouble was, the mainstream clergy even back in those days (especially back in those days) tended to start throwing around words like “heretic” and “inquisition” when they got wind of what their colleagues were up to, hence the secrecy. Not many volumes discussing their theories and areas of study survived in modern times.
He didn’t realize how long he’d been there until Patricia came up to him. “I’m about to head out, Alastair. Anything you need before I go?”
He glanced at his watch—it was getting late. He almost said no, but then he held up one of the books he’d been looking at. It was a long shot, but worth asking. “I’m trying to find out more information about this ancient language. There’s a bit in these two books, but I’m wondering if you remember seeing anything in the restricted stacks.”
She took the book and studied the indicated pages for several moments. “Hmm…” she said at last. “These look familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve seen them before. I just…Oh! That’s right!” She brightened, but then frowned again. “One of the other researchers was looking for information about this same thing, a while back. I’m not sure what he found, if anything, but I remember he devoted quite a bit of effort to it.”
Stone stared at her. Someone else was looking for information about an ancient demonic language that figured prominently in a series of gruesome murders? “Who was this? And when?”
“Oh, it was a couple of years ago,” she said. “I don’t know if he ever found what he was looking for, but he does check in every now and then to see if I’ve gotten in anything new. He called not long ago, in fact. I think he’s down in Los Angeles now.”
“Can you remember his name?”
She shook her head, her frown deepening. “I’m sorry. He was an older man, I remember that. But we get a lot of researchers, and I’m afraid it’s slipped my mind. Samuel…Simon…something like that, I think.”
“Stefan?” Stone asked quickly, wondering if Kolinsky could somehow be involved in this.
“No…no, that wasn’t it, I’m sure of it. I’d have remembered that. If you like, I’ll see if I can track down his name and number. I know I have it somewhere around here.” She looked sheepish. “I’m afraid I always thought he was…a bit dotty, to be honest, which is why I didn’t hold on to his details. I’m almost certain he’s a member of the Order, though. I’m sure if he’s still interested, he’d be delighted to share information with you. Maybe you two can help each other out.” She handed the book back.
Stone nodded, adding it to the stack. “Thank you, Patricia. I’d very much appreciate it if you could do that for me.” He scribbled all three of his numbers—home, office, and mobile—on a scrap of paper for her.
“Not a problem. Did you need anything else before I leave?”
“No—you go on. I’ll be out of here soon.” He wanted nothing more than to get into the restricted area to see if this other researcher might have discovered anything, but Patricia already had her purse over her arm and looked like she wanted to get out of there. It could wait until tomorrow, when the library was open.
She didn’t even bother telling him to lock up when he left—he’d been here enough times that they both knew the routine. She bid him good night and headed out, the door clicking shut behind her as he returned his attention to the books.
When his mobile phone buzzed in his pocket, he realized, startled, that an hour had passed. It was after nine o’clock now. He pulled it out, noting that he didn’t recognize the number. Probably another vacuum cleaner salesman, or some straggler reporter who’d finally figured out how to get hold of him about his police consultation. “Yes, this is Stone.”
“Dr. Stone? This is Grace Ruiz.” She sounded…odd.
“Ms. Ruiz?” That was a surprise. “I didn’t expect to hear from you today, after our talk. Are you all right?”
There was a long pause. “Dr. Stone, I…I think I might have seen your demon.”
Ch
apter Thirty-Four
Stone tightened his grip on the phone. “Seen my demon? What do you mean?”
Another pause. “Could we…talk somewhere?”
“Of course. Name a place.” What could she be talking about? Had Archie attacked her? And if so, how had she managed to get away from him?
“There’s an all-night diner called Fernando’s.” She gave him the address. “Do you know where it is?”
“No, but I’ll find it. I’m still in San Jose, so it shouldn’t be long.”
“Thanks,” she said. She still had the same odd, shell-shocked tone. “I’ll see you there.”
The address she’d given him was in east San Jose, a small oasis of light and color amid a bunch of closed, depressing-looking businesses. Stone parked the BMW under a streetlight, put a quick disregarding spell on it, and hurried inside. Two young Latino men in baggy jeans and tank tops lounged outside the front doors, passing a cigarette back and forth. They eyed him with suspicion as he passed, but said nothing.
Grace Ruiz sat in a booth near the back of the diner, her hands wrapped around a half-full cup of coffee. She was staring into it, but looked up as he approached. “Thank you for coming,” she said. “I know I keep calling you with weird messages, but—”
“No, no, it’s quite all right.” Stone slid into the seat across from her. To magical sight, her golden aura looked even more agitated than it had earlier that day. “What’s this about a demon?”
She took a deep breath and a long sip of her coffee. “I was walking home from the bus stop about an hour ago. It was dark, and there wasn’t anyone on the street. I thought I saw somebody duck into an alley, so I crossed the street and kept going.”
Stone nodded. The neighborhood looked like a rough one; a young woman walking alone after dark would need to be vigilant about her surroundings. He waited patiently for her to continue.
She didn’t say anything else until after the waitress had come by and brought Stone a cup of coffee. “I’d just gotten home—I live with my grandmother a couple blocks from the bus stop—and was taking the garbage out to the dumpster in back. Then this guy stepped out in front of me.” Her fingers tightened around her cup. “At first I thought he was one of the neighborhood gangbangers—sometimes when they get high they can be a little scary. But he looked…strange.”
