by John Levitt
I didn’t like the sound of that either, but Eli was no longer paying attention to me. He held out his good hand to Victor. “Your cell phone please.”
Victor straightened up and handed it over without a word. Eli walked up the beach a ways, taking Victor with him. They were away for what seemed like a long time. Campbell and I huddled together like children, standing over Jenna’s body, trying not to look at it, instead staring out across the dark, chilly beach. Finally, Eli and Victor returned.
“He’ll do it,” Eli said,” but he needs one of the eyes.”
Victor nodded briefly and, reaching into his pocket, pulled out a folding knife. Be prepared was his motto. He snapped open the blade and crouched back down next to the body.
“Hold the light steady,” he told me.
I was doing the best I could, but my hand wasn’t cooperating. I turned my head, unwilling to look, but as soon as I did the light I was holding shifted off her face.
“Damn it, Mason, hold it steady.” Stress caused his voice to crack. So he wasn’t as cold-blooded as he liked to pretend.
He inserted the tip of the blade into the corner of the eye socket and began sawing around it like he was sectioning a grapefruit. Campbell turned away. It was over quickly, thank God. Victor pried at the eye with the blade, getting the tip into the corner, and with a sucking sound, it popped out into his hand. He handed it to Eli who stuffed it quickly into the pocket of his coat. Victor wiped the blade, put away the knife, and immediately began to pile sand back over Jenna’s body.
“You’re not going to just leave her here?” said Campbell. If I had asked that question it would have received a biting reply, but Victor was matter-of-fact with her.
“We are. There’s nothing we can do for her. I’ll restore the concealment spell, and by the time anyone finds her, any traces of our presence will be long gone. The police will consider her just be another unfortunate runaway who came to a bad end. Meanwhile, we’ve got work to do.”
The distance was short, but it was a long walk back up the dark beach. At the house, Eli broke the news to Sherwood. She said nothing, just sat on the couch shaking her head and twisting the woven hemp bracelet with her fingers. Victor immediately assumed his take charge persona.
“We obviously can’t meet here,” he said to Eli. “And I have a few things to take care of first. Shall I meet you over there?”
“Over where?” I asked. They both ignored me.
“Good idea,” Eli said. “Mason, can you give me half an hour, then meet me at my flat?”
I was stunned. I’ve known Eli for close to twenty years, but I’d never been to his flat. He never invites anyone over, no matter the reason. Even Victor has never been there, and he’s known Eli longer than I have. It’s a strange quirk of his, but one of such long standing that no one even thinks twice about it anymore. Things were progressing rapidly, but I had no idea in what direction. Enough is enough. I decided I wasn’t going anywhere without an explanation.
“Not until you tell me what’s happening,” I said. “I mean it. What’s going on?”
“Mason, we don’t have time,” Victor said.
I sat down stubbornly on the couch next to Sherwood and crossed my arms. Eli looked exasperated but gave in.
“I’ve solicited some help. Do you know who Harry Keller is?”
“Oh,” I said.
I knew the name, if not the man. It was the nom de guerre of the foremost practitioner of black arts in the Bay Area. Obviously not his true name—it would be like a musician calling himself Count Basie, since the name Harry Keller was that of a respected old-time stage illusionist. Right before Houdini. In fact, Houdini took his first name from Harry Keller, just like he had taken his last name from Jean Robert-Houdin.
And that’s why we couldn’t meet at Victor’s. The wards around his place wouldn’t let anyone inside who carried that special taint of darkness a black practitioner carries, and Victor wasn’t about to modify them with Christoph still running loose. It also explained who would be using that frightful eye. But still, I found it hard to believe that Eli, the very soul of reason, was turning to a black practitioner for help.
“Dark Arts? Are you serious?”
“Deadly serious. I’ve already been talking with him, even before this. He can do things we can’t.”
Like conjuring with parts of dead human beings.
“Or won’t,” I said. “What makes you think he’ll be interested in helping us?”
“Ordinarily, he wouldn’t. But this is different, beyond the pale. Even the worst Dark Path practitioner won’t countenance what Christoph’s been doing.” I wasn’t so sure.
“But can he really be that much help? Haven’t you always said that the whole dark side crap is exactly that?”
“I always believed it was. But lately I’ve come to suspect I might have been too hasty in dismissing such things. Not that there’s an actual Devil, of course, or that one can make a pact with dark forces, but I can’t deny there’s something to it. I’ve had to adjust my thinking to take that possibility into account.”
“Oh, come on, Eli, black magic? Invocation of evil deities? Pentagrams? What next, the blood of virgins? What does any of that have to do with manipulating magical energy?”
Eli sighed. “I’m not sure anymore. Dark rituals are constructs, of course, but they do come from traditions handed down for centuries. If there wasn’t something to them they wouldn’t have survived. In any case, belief systems can be powerful, and dark side concepts can be very powerful indeed.”
This was disturbing. Eli had always been the voice of moderation, the academic skeptic. If he was now buying into the objective existence of evil, we were all in trouble.
“So, what now?” I asked.
“We need to be proactive. Harry is stopping by my place on his way home. Give me thirty minutes to talk with him alone, if you would, and then come on over. We’ll decide how to proceed then and accompany him back to his house.”
I told Campbell she should stay at Victor’s, but she wasn’t interested. “I’ll come along,” she said. “Maybe I can even be of some help.” I thought she also was curious to see what Harry Keller was like.
Campbell and Sherwood spent the next thirty minutes talking together in low tones. I don’t know what they said, but Sherwood looked more at ease by the time we left. I fired up the van and we headed over to the Richmond. Lou immediately curled up in the back for a nap. If he had been a person, I’d have said he was in denial about what he’d done to Moxie and was using sleep as a coping mechanism. Lou being an Ifrit, I couldn’t say. Maybe he was just tired.
I found a parking spot a couple of blocks away. Eli’s place is on the top floor of a two-flat Edwardian, the lower flat being empty courtesy of Victor. Keeping it unoccupied was a necessity considering the experiments Eli conducted. It wouldn’t do to have curious downstairs neighbors, and Victor could afford it.
I must admit I was curious to see it. Inside, the decor was all grays and blacks with a few muted earth tones thrown in. A couple of low tables, a huge comfortable reading chair with a lamp alongside, and a hardwood floor. Very minimalist, like a hugely upscale Ikea. Except that every wall was covered floor to ceiling with books: on history, on comparative religion, on magic, on sports, on just about everything. No fiction that I could see. Eli once remarked that the average novel was a long, complicated, and uninteresting set of lies. Myself, I like a good story. Sherlock Holmes. Travis McGee. Even Harry Potter.
Fighting for space with the books, a huge collection of classical music CDs took up one entire wall, along with a McIntosh stereo system that boasted speakers six feet tall and three inches wide. Six thousand dollars if it was a penny. Victor again? Maybe Eli just spent money on what he thought important.
After letting us in, Eli sat down heavily in the comfortable chair. Standing next to a window, casually thumbing through the racks of CDs, was Harry Keller.
I couldn’t place the guy for a momen
t, then I did. The last time I’d seen him he’d been wearing a watch cap and talking up Christoph at The Challenges. African-American, late twenties, dreadlocks and a neatly trimmed beard. It was the dreads that had thrown me. He walked away from the window and sprawled down onto an uncomfortable looking chair, legs outstretched and ankles crossed, giving me a negligent wave and a relaxed smile, very much at ease. He was wearing the standard black leather jacket over a black turtleneck. A diamond stud in his right ear and several plain metal rings on his right hand completed the urban look.
Louie stiffened the moment he saw him but didn’t growl. Suspicious, but willing to reserve judgment. Harry stayed in his chair when Eli introduced him.
“Harry Keller,” Eli said. “I told him most of your experiences with Christoph and he’s agreed to help.”
I leaned over and shook hands, but couldn’t help remaining skeptical. I’d heard quite a bit about this man over the years and not much of it inspired confidence.
“You know, I’m kind of surprised,” I said to him, deliberately rude. “I would have thought you’d be more likely to be getting in line for a few of Christoph’s special jewels.”
“Well, fuck you, too, Jack,” he said, without any particular rancor. “I’m no angel, but that dude Christoph is way out of control.” I was subconsciously expecting some sort of lilting Jamaican accent what with the dreads and all, but his speech was pure New York City. “Eli’s clued me in on what Christoph’s been doing. No way I’d ever have anything to do with that shit. No way in hell. Just because I’m a ‘black’ practitioner doesn’t mean I’m a sicko. Believe it or not, I even possess some ethics.”
“Sure,” I said. “You’re a regular saint.”
“Hey man, lighten up, will you. It’s all about the most efficient use of power, you know. I don’t take any particular pleasure in my methods. If I could get better results by helping widows and orphans, why, I’d be the poster boy for UNICEF.”
“I see,” I said. “So, you’re not a bad person, you just do bad things.”
Eli interrupted. “Sorry, Mason, we don’t have the luxury of philosophical discussion. Time is not our ally. Remember, Christoph could be operating on some other poor Ifrit right now, as we speak. Or, God forbid, even a practitioner.”
I still didn’t like it. Then again, who was I to judge? It’s not like I was the purest of beings myself. And we could certainly use all the help we could get. Besides the general danger, there was my specific situation. Christoph was not happy with me, and the next thing he sent along to pay a visit might well be worse than a Gaki, although it was hard to imagine how that could be.
“Welcome aboard, Harry,” I said, sarcastically. “So, what do you think? Any bright ideas? Any clue where Christoph might be holed up?”
“Well, yes and no,” he replied. “No, I don’t know where Christoph is hanging out. But I do know a way to find him. Or rather, to summon up something that can find him.”
“Of course,” I said. “Black arts. Demon summoning. Why didn’t I think of that?”
Eli pointed an admonishing finger at me. “Before you get on your skeptical high horse, Mason, you might want to recall something called a Gaki.”
“Okay,” I conceded. “You do have a point.”
Harry Keller whistled. “That’s nothing you want to mess with,” he said, admiringly. “How did you get away?”
“Not important. Can you do anything like that?”
“Oh, yes. Only nastier. Much nastier. With the…uh, object Eli has, I can tie it to Christoph wherever he is.”
I had serious doubts about practitioners who believed they could summon demons, but the Gaki had come from somewhere, hadn’t it?
“Have you done this before?” I asked, curious.
Harry laughed self-consciously. “To be honest, I’ve never quite had the nerve. Not with this one. And, I figure it’ll take at least three strong practitioners, maybe four, to call it up.”
“Victor?” I asked, glancing at Eli.
“He’ll be meeting us at Harry’s.”
Harry tried to reassure me. “Between you, me, Victor, and Eli, it’ll be a piece of cake.”
“And you can control this thing?” I asked. “Just checking.”
“Well, there’s always the element of risk. But if it works, it’ll be awesome.”
That word “if” again. Like “should,” and “probably,” not one of my favorites. And I still didn’t trust him. I flashed him a big, insincere smile.
“But you’re willing to take the risk, right? Because you’re a good guy and want to help us out?”
Harry dropped his smartass demeanor. “You may not believe this,” he said. “But this Ifrit thing is totally over the line, as far as I’m concerned. And now that girl. It’s sick, you know?” He hesitated. “And besides, Christoph seems to have it in for me these days. Somehow, he got the idea that I stole one of his gems—before I knew what they were,” he added hastily.
I nodded. “I see.”
That was better. One of the few things you can always trust in a person, whatever their agenda, is self-interest.
Campbell had been sitting quietly next to Eli, listening, not saying a word, apparently content to be ignored. She broke in suddenly, her voice quiet but easily heard.
“This is a very, very, bad idea,” she said, shaking her head.
Harry Keller glanced at her dismissively, but Eli said, “Why so?”
“It just is. This whole approach is…misguided. You can fight fire with fire, but you can’t fight the Devil with the Devil. I’ve had dealings with black arts people, probably more often than you. And it’s true, they’re not all as black as they’re painted.” Harry inclined his head in mock acknowledgment. “But believe me, it doesn’t matter how important the situation is, or how desperate, or even how noble your motives might be. Even if you succeed, it always turns out the same way. Badly.”
Eli sat silently, thinking, and finally said. “I tend to agree with you in principle, Campbell, but this time we don’t have much choice. Christoph has grown strong, strong enough so that I’m not sure we can handle him now. Somebody else could end up dead. Harry here has his own special way of dealing with threats, and just this once, he may have the right idea.”
Campbell said nothing. The expression on her face told me that she wasn’t buying it for a moment, but knew nothing she could say was going to change Eli’s mind.
“We need to get going,” said Eli, getting to his feet. “Victor will be on his way over to Harry’s by now.
Campbell walked over to stand beside me. “Can you drop me off back at Victor’s?” she asked. “I need to get home and my car is still parked there.”
The unspoken subtext was now that Harry was involved, she wasn’t going to have anything more to do with us. But I think it was more than just that. She’d finally reached the end of her reserves. Twenty-four hours ago she had been happily ensconced in her cabin in the woods, living a sane and balanced life. Three hours after coming down to help me find Lou, she found herself running for her life, a berserk Christoph in pursuit. Then she watched us dig up the body of a dead teenager and gouge out one of her eyes. Now she was listening to otherwise sane practitioners talking about their plans for summoning demons. She wanted no more of it and I can’t say I blamed her. It was ugly and it wasn’t her fight in the first place.
“Sure,” I said. I looked at Harry. “Where do you live?”
“Up on Potrero Hill.”
Lou jumped up and waited by the door. “Okay,” I said. “I guess it’s time to go.”
* * * *
Harry, naturally, rode a motorcycle, a black Kawasaki Ninja. Eli joined me and Campbell in my van and we dropped off Campbell at Victor’s. The BMW was gone, which meant Victor was already on his way. Twenty minutes later, we joined him in front of a surprisingly sedate and mundane house on Potrero Hill. Harry was already there. To my surprise, Maggie had accompanied Victor. Unlike Lou, she seldom left the comforts
of home unless she had to.
On the way over I had pumped Eli about Harry Keller and his ilk, and their rather limited views on the working of the craft. The whole black magic thing seemed antithetical to everything Eli had taught me over the years, and now it seemed as if he had done a one-eighty and was swallowing the concept whole without so much as a hiccough.
“I can’t believe you’re buying into this demon summoning thing,” I said. Eli seemed almost embarrassed. “Me neither,” he admitted. “But Harry gets results. Honestly, what’s the difference whether he believes he is summoning up a demon from another dimension or if he’s creating it solely by his own personal energy? It’s all semantics. Either way, if whatever he conjures up manages to rip off your arms and legs, the actual mechanism by which it does so is rather a moot point, no? Take the Gaki, for example. Is it actually a creature with an existence of its own? Or did Christoph’s sending take that exact form because of the power of myth, the fact that others have used that embodiment before?”
“Inquiring minds want to know,” I said.
Eli gave me a weary look. “Sorry, Mason, but you’ve got one of the least inquiring minds I’ve ever encountered. Besides, I suspect that the truth of the matter is not an either/or proposition. Questions dealing with the nature of magic and reality seldom are.”
“Well, good, at least you’ve cleared that up,” I said. “But here’s a far more practical question: can this guy be trusted?”
“I doubt it. But for right now, our interests are identical. He’d rather help us than face an angry Christoph alone. Enemy of my enemy, you know?”
“I guess,” I said, and dropped it.
Harry’s house sat quietly toward the top of Wisconsin Street. It was a good-sized two-story dwelling with weathered gray shingles and bay windows on the bottom floor. The roof looked as if it could use some attention, and one of the drain spouts had separated away from the building. Either Harry Keller wasn’t as successful as reputation had it or he was purposely trying to keep a low profile. Still, I was disappointed, having half expected a massive black Victorian with spirals and turrets and maybe a bat or two. I should learn to lower my expectations.
