Occult Detective

by Emby Press

  His wife interrupted him. “When Driscoll had Jerry’s laptop examined, he found he was exchanging messages with a woman.”

  “A woman calling herself Dark Mistress was his contact for the wand,” Driscoll said, saying the word with obvious distaste, “but it seems they developed a relationship beyond business.”

  “She lured him away!” Carla exclaimed.

  “Jerry is sixteen,” Rebecca supplied, “but quite mature and charming.”

  “He’s just a child!” snapped Carla.

  Paul noticed Rebecca’s cheeks seemed to colour a little at that.

  “He’s old enough to think he knows best,” Mountjoy said. “He probably met her willingly, but I cannot believe he would cut himself off like this unless he was forced to.”

  “How long has he been gone?” Paul asked. He wished Mountjoy had met with him alone. He needed clear facts not harsh words.

  “This is the fourth day,” Driscoll said.

  “The first day, when he didn’t come home – he’s slipped off once or twice before,” said Mountjoy, “– we were willing to give him some slack. But, when he wasn’t back the next day and hadn’t been in contact, I had Driscoll look into it. We also reported it to the police. Yesterday, we hired a private investigator, but they’ve made no headway.”

  “You have to find him,” said Carla, in a strained voice. “I have heard terrible tales of cultists and such: what if the person who has him wants to sacrifice him or something?” she began to sob.

  Paul didn’t blame her. He was more familiar than anyone present with the dangers that lurked just beyond the borders of the mundane world. There was a very real possibility their son was in real danger.

  “Okay,” said Paul, “I’ll do what I can to bring Jerry back to you. I can attempt a ritual trace. I’ll need something personal of his.”

  Rebecca produced a small plastic comb and handed it to him, saying, “This is Jerry’s. Will it do? Mr Mountjoy asked me to fetch it for you.”

  “Aha,” smiled Paul. “That’s good, but even better is this hair: you can’t do better than something that was part of a person. I will get straight to it.”

  *

  A ritual trace was the simplest ritual a wizard can perform. All rituals require that a link be established with their target – a trace does no more than this.

  Paul asked for somewhere private to conduct the ritual trace and Rebecca showed him to a conference room, which had sufficient space for him.

  “If you need anything else,” she said, “just shout.” Then, she added, in a less-confident voice, “Please, get him back; he’s a decent kid.”

  As soon as she’d left the room, he spoke Arabella’s name and she appeared beside him, and, without delay, began assisting him with the setting up the ritual. Together, they chalked out a circle and then placed candles at the cardinal points with a fifth in the centre. Lastly, Paul laid a golden enchanted dagger at the heart of the circle.

  Before starting the ritual, he conducted another one, making use of the circle and candles, summoning a fiery spirit that resembled a two-foot long lizard and coalesced out of the candle flames.

  “Better safe than sorry,” he told Arabella when he saw her raised eyebrow. “If Jerry Mountjoy has been taken by a mage, there is a risk that they will strike back if my ritual is noticed.”

  “Well, try not to be noticed,” she said with a half-smile.

  Paul began the ritual. Being only a trace, it was a quite simple one, merely intended to focus his thoughts and the magical energies upon Jerry. He produced the hair he’d taken from the comb and held it over the central candle, allowing it to burn as his mind reached out through the ether, following the intangible cord that bound hair and boy.

  “Yes,” he murmured as he felt the boy’s presence. Jerry was still alive; somewhere south of the river…

  Suddenly, Paul sensed an intrusion and realised his trace had been detected.

  His eyes snapped open as he lost the link to Jerry and was struck and knocked backwards as a spirit manifested in the circle, almost atop him. The spirit looked like the hideous offspring of the popular depiction of the Devil and a diseased baboon and gave off waves of malignant energy that convinced Paul it was some fiendish spirit.

  Contingencies he’d prepared, protective spells, flared to life to save him from harm.

  Obeying its binding, the fire elemental surged forward like a wildfire to attack the demonic ape-thing, driving it back for a moment before the ape-like spirit’s fangs and claws tore it apart in a shower of sparks, extinguishing its flame. But, that moment gave Paul the chance he needed to grab the enchanted knife and strike at it. The blade was imbued with a baleful soul-stealing power that was especially efficacious against spirits. Arabella, too, joined the fray and thanks to the damage done by the elemental spirits, they soon had the upper hand.

  The conference room door burst open and Rebecca ran in. Driscoll and a security guard followed her a moment later. Paul’s cries and the sounds of the fight had reached them.

  The two men had revolvers – which, against spirits, were no more use than peashooters – and opened fire at the monster that had appeared in the room. For a moment, Paul thought Rebecca had a gun, too, but it was merely a phone and she cowered in the corner from the violence. Despite the relative ineffectiveness of bullets against it, the additional attacks seemed enough to finally force it to abandon its physical form and flee.

  “It’s gone,” said Arabella, whose coexistence in both the physical and ethereal planes allowed her to follow its flight whilst still being physically present.

  “Who? What?” demanded Driscoll, looking at Arabella and the spot where the devil-ape had been. The guard with him appeared even more dumbfounded and Rebecca seemed close to tears.

  “This is Arabella; she assists me. That thing was a malign spirit apparently sent by whoever has Jerry. It seems they do not want him found. I’ll explain in a minute…”

  *

  Paul explained everything he’d learnt and glossed over Arabella as soon as he’d had a chance to summon some more elementals.

  “Can you stay here, tonight?” he asked the Mountjoys.

  “Yes; I’ve got a small apartment here for when I’m working late and there are rooms for you, Rebecca and Driscoll.”

  “Good. I’ve set some of my spirits to guard this place in case whoever has taken Jerry sends any more malign spirits this way. As long as you’re all here, you’re safe. If you don’t need to leave in the next day or two, don’t.”

  “That’s fine by me,” said Mountjoy. “I do most of my business through teleconferences and emails.” His wife didn’t seem too keen, but was obviously more concerned about her son. Rebecca didn’t seem happy.

  “Mr Driscoll, I’ll leave mundane security to you.”

  “I’ll put a few more men on, just in case,” Driscoll said.

  Paul nodded. “Right. Well, I know Jerry is south of the river, but unfortunately I couldn’t get any more of that before I was attacked. A further trace is unlikely to be any more successful, I fear. However, I’m thinking that a more traditional approach might be useful: Mr Driscoll, could you go over everything you know about Jerry’s movements and conversations and see if it ties him to anywhere south of the Thames.”

  Driscoll nodded. “Will do,” he said as he left.

  “I could use a map of London,” Paul told Mountjoy, who slid a tablet over to him. Paul slid it back. “Um, I’m still not au fait with a desktop. Do you have an Ordnance Survey or something?”

  “I should have an A to Z,” Rebecca said.

  “That’ll do.”

  She left the room and returned a couple of minutes later with one, which she handed to Paul.

  He flicked through it and began to examine London south of the river. Although he hadn’t got an exact fix on Jerry, he hoped to narrow down the area in which he was. He had Rebecca photocopy him the relevant pages and he began to draw on it, attempting to fix the general are
a.

  Driscoll returned after about an hour; the Mountjoys had not long retired, but Rebecca was still to hand.

  “Anything?” Paul asked.

  Driscoll waved a tablet at him. “The emails were sent from a library and various internet cafes. South of the river,” he added. “Either this Dark Mistress doesn’t have wi-fi or she was savvy enough to cover her tracks by not using her own device. None of the places have CCTV that can be remotely accessed. The police are aware of the locations, but are taking their sweet time, if there is any CCTV to be had.”

  “Anything else?” prompted Rebecca.

  “Maybe. We found that Jerry has used his credit card several times at a nightclub in Lewisham called Arcana.”

  “Nightclub?” queried Paul. “I thought he was sixteen.”

  “He could pass for eighteen,” replied Rebecca, “and, well, I got him a fake ID.”

  “What?!” exploded Driscoll.

  Rebecca had the good grace to look embarrassed. “He wanted to go clubbing and, well, I didn’t think it was a big deal…”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Paul, keen to focus on finding the boy. He suspected the PA probably had a crush on Jerry.

  “Right,” Paul went on, “tell me the addresses so I can put them on the map.”

  “Already done,” said Driscoll, tapping the tablet and handing it to Paul. The locations of the places used by Dark Mistress to message Jerry and that of the nightclub were shown. They all fell in a general area.

  “I think,” Driscoll said, “this Dark Mistress probably met Jerry at Arcana.”

  “Right,” yawned Paul. “I’m going to sleep now. Wake me this afternoon. What time does this club open?”

  Driscoll took the tablet back, tapped it, and said, “Six o’clock.”

  “Okay, we’ll pay it a visit then.”

  *

  Paul wasn’t entirely certain that taking the Rolls Royce was a good idea, but it had plenty of room for Driscoll, Rebecca and one of Driscoll’s men, Tennant, and Rebecca assured him enough people went to clubs in flash cars that it wouldn’t stand out.

  “They rent them for the evening,” said. “Some people like to flash the cash on a night out.”

  The club was one of those that existed on the fringe of the Occult Underground, catering to both real occultists and poseurs and wannabes. Arcana was rather tackily decorated with blown-up images of garish tarot cards on the walls. Paul found it incredibly naff.

  “Right, let’s do this,” said Rebecca, leading the way, heading straight for the bar.

  It was only the early evening, so not many people were in, but they wanted to check with the staff whether they recognised a photo of Jerry. Unfortunately, they clearly valued their customers’ privacy and refused to confirm or deny he’d been in. However, as the evening drew on and more customers arrived, they had a break.

  Rebecca came over to Paul and said, “I was speaking to that guy over there, the one in the suit, cape and top hat.”

  “The Count Dracula-a-like?” he asked and she nodded. Paul couldn’t believe the man was dressed like that in the heat; even he’d ditched his suit jacket.

  “Well, he said he recognised Jerry. He remembered seeing him with a woman. He described her as about thirty, dressed in black, long black hair and heavy black eye make-up and lipstick.”

  “Sounds like our Dark Mistress. Did he say if she was a regular?”

  “He’d seen her around, so it seems like it. But, he didn’t have anything else to say.”

  “Go, tell Driscoll and Tennant to keep an eye out for her,” said Paul. He moved over to the wall and leaned against it, then allowed himself to drift in the ethereal, assensing the crowd for a few seconds. About a third of the people had the auras of those awakened to magic; the majority were just poseurs and dabblers. Unfortunately, nothing he saw gave him a lead. Something about the scene nagged at him, but before he could focus on it, the club exploded into chaos.

  Several of the Ape Fiends, as he’d identified the malign spirits, had manifested in the middle of the club and were headed straight for Paul. Patrons scrambled out the way, many in a panicked state. A few fought back, but the spirits showed no interest in them.

  Paul had kept a couple of air elementals, fragile-seeming Sylphs, ready to call and called them now; Arabella, too, appeared. Producing the enchanted knife he’d successfully wielded earlier, he entered the fray. He was shocked to see three of the fiends seize one of the Sylphs and tear it apart with ease.

  “Run!” shouted Arabella.

  With her and the remaining Sylph watching his back, he slashed at the nearest of the demonic apes, then ran for it, fearing his remaining contingent protective spells wouldn’t be enough against these odds.

  Moments later, he was out in the street and running past the first stumbling crowds of drunks, hoping he wouldn’t be pursued. Whoever they were up against was taking unexpected measures to stop them; he only hoped they wouldn’t risk causing public chaos. At least he could rely on Arcana to keep a lid on what had happened there.

  Paul stopped after five minutes, his lungs burning and chest hammering. For a moment, he thought he was about to have a heart attack, but it subsided.

  Arabella suddenly appeared beside him. “They’ve gone,” she said. “They were definitely there for you; they ignored the others.”

  “Hmm, it seems I’ve really poked the hornets’ nest,” he said, then added, “oh dear, I’ve left my jacket behind.”

  “Mountjoy can buy you a new one,” she told him as the Rolls Royce pulled up. “Maybe something a bit trendier.”

  Driscoll opened the car door for him and called his name.

  *

  Paul had gone to lay down as soon as they arrived back at Mountjoy’s office. He was feeling exhausted and not a little dejected at their stalled investigation.

  “I’m sure we were getting close,” he yawned as he lay on the bed. Arabella was seated in the corner of the room, ready to watch over him as he slept. But, just as his eyes closed, they snapped open again and he exclaimed, “Wait a minute!”

  A moment later, Paul was on his feet and heading out the door, without a word to her. There had been something that had caught his attention just before the club was attached. Something had tied in with other things that had niggled at the back of his mind.

  Ignoring the surprised guard outside their bedroom door, he burst into the Mountjoy’s bedroom. The couple had closely been trying and failing to read, but now looked at him in surprise.

  “Paul?” asked Mountjoy.

  “It’s Rebecca – she’s involved!”

  *

  Driscoll was summoned and he immediately sent someone to fetch Mountjoy’s PA, but Rebecca was gone. They were gathered in Mountjoy’s office.

  “Well, that does seem to lend credence to your theory,” sighed Carla, “but would you care to explain?”

  “It was a coming together of little clues,” he told her. “For instance, she clearly had feelings for your son and had provided him with a fake ID. As she was forthcoming about the latter, I assumed it was merely a bad judgement call due to her suppressed feelings. But, then, at the club, when I assensed the clientele, I noticed that Rebecca’s aura was unusually agitated, moments before the Ape Fiends attacked.”

  “Are you sure they didn’t scare her?” Mountjoy asked.

  “No, it was definitely before they appeared – she could only have known they were there if she has the Talent, and she showed no sign of that. Even if she’d sensed something, it couldn’t have caused that level of agitation – and it was not fear or terror, anyway. I didn’t really take it in, at the time, as the Ape Fiends appeared. But, later, it clicked: she knew the attack was coming…”

  He paused, then continued: “That called back what I’d noticed about her feelings and the ID – plus the fact she seemed familiar with the club.”

  “But, couldn’t it all be coincidence?” Driscoll asked. Paul guessed the man had vetted Rebecca and didn�
��t want to admit a mistake.

  Shaking his head, Paul said, “No – not when you consider how she produced our two main leads.”

  “Sorry?” asked Mountjoy.

  “It was Rebecca who gave me the comb – which I don’t think was actually your son’s – and she was the only one of us to find someone who’d seen Jerry at the Arcana club. I don’t think he was at the club, at least, not recently. Convincing us he had been was why she mentioned the fake ID.”

  “It all seems tenuous to me,” Driscoll said.

  “Well, there are two other points that I find compelling,” Paul replied. “The first is the attack on me when I tried the trace – I assumed it was a direct response, but, as they say, never assume. Thinking back, I’m certain it didn’t follow the link back to me. When she entered the room, Rebecca had her phone in her hand – because, I believe, she’d just called her accomplice to tell them where I was in order to send the spirit.”

  He could tell they still weren’t quite convinced. “Second, there is the attack on the nightclub: how did they know we were there? I know the Ape Fiends weren’t there when I was assensing and we weren’t followed – they were nowhere near here when we left. There was no way they could know we knew of the probable relevance of that club at that time. The only reason to attack us there at that moment was if they knew we were there – and someone had to tell them.”

  “Couldn’t it have been an attack on the club?” Mountjoy asked. “A coincidence?”

  Paul shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. They targeted me specifically.”

  Driscoll sucked his lip a moment, then said, “How about someone in the club? Couldn’t they have recognised you? They could’ve… summoned those things or contacted whoever did.”

  That silenced Paul for a moment, he’d been so caught up in his theory that he hadn’t considered the idea.

  But, then, after a moment’s thought, he said, “No. I assensed the people there and Rebecca was the only one whose aura betrayed them. Alright, I admit, I can’t be a hundred percent certain someone left the room before I could assense them or that someone had managed to mask their aura so I couldn’t spot a tell-tale sign. But, given the timing of Rebecca’s agitation, I think such alternatives are unlikely.”