As they were set to go in, Joe looked over at Tiana and whispered, "You remember all that stuff I said about being bored and wanting adventure? If I ever say anything like that again, drive a silver stake through my heart or something." She smiled, kissed him, and they were off.
Mahalo brought them to the house by a route so complex they couldn't even follow it, but it seemed to be one designed by somebody—an escape route, it appeared, well planned, only enacted in reverse. Because of its use of the terrain and even a couple of small streams, it was quite effective in masking their movements and always providing both cover and a measure of isolation from the settled areas. It was a good route; so good, in fact, that when an informer had given it to the narcs in exchange for probation later, the narcs had used it quite effectively to sneak up on and surround the house.
There were heavy patrols, usually with Dobermans, but the dogs could not be let loose except under the tight control of their Elder masters, since Dobermans had real trouble figuring out friend from foe and were color blind. Several times men with dogs came quite close to them, but, with Marge's warnings from above and a few very casual little spells from Poquah, they seemed either to lose interest or charge off, pulling their masters in other directions.
Joe and the others finally emerged about twenty feet from the house, but then they were stopped for a while. There were nasty-looking guards everywhere, all armed with weapons and looking very much like soldiers on guard duty. The floodlights, too, remained on, leaving any approach to the house open, well lighted, and within sight of a guard or patrol.
Poquah seemed more concerned for some reason that there was the sound of dogs underneath the front porch, and a clear indication that they were just about living there. He dismissed that worry almost immediately. Any thief who couldn't get around mere vicious guard dogs wouldn't have lasted long anyway.
"Wait here. I will be back," the Imir instructed them, and pulled his dagger. He seemed to vanish, worrying both O'Grady and Mahalo.
"Where'd he go?" she whispered to Joe.
"He's like that. Just hold on."
They waited tensely for several minutes, and then the warrior elf was back in their midst. "Of the three secret entrances you describe, they have found two of them," he told McMahon. "The third is well concealed, but may or may not open, and probably not without noise. The generators should mask it for most, but there are two Elders there whom we cannot get around. Forgive me. Father, but I haven't time to freeze them, solve their own spells, or turn them into toads. Joe—we need silence on this. You come with me. I'll need you to get rid of the bodies."
It was over very quickly. From nowhere, the Imir appeared and with perfect timing cut one's throat using his short sword. When the other turned around and froze for a moment before giving the alarm, he, too, suddenly had a blade in his throat. Joe came out, keeping low, and quickly dragged the bodies into the brush. Using magic, Poquah was able to undo the two bolts that held the small panel on from inside, and he slid it away. It did creak, but no one came running, so the generators had done their masking job.
Now, quickly, at Marge's commands from the treetops just above, they darted one by one across the open space to the rectangular hole, a tight squeeze for all except Poquah. Joe brought up the rear, and got stuck for a moment. They pulled him in finally, just as a birdlike song carried a warning that someone was coming. Poquah reached back up and pulled the plate on, securing it again by the bolts. It would be an unlikely means of exit, once the guards were found missing.
They all wound up in a small area not much better than a crawlspace, but one no one would have expected was there. McMahon had explained that her friends had actually built up the floor in what was then the dining room above so that this passage could exist. There were no entrances from above; it was assumed that these would not be very practical in a raid, anyway. It led to an opening behind the woodpile in the cellar, which was just where they wanted to be.
They could feel the evil presence in the crawlway. Even Joe and Mahalo, who had no real power, seemed to sense it; to O'Grady, it was nearly overpowering. The priest had almost had a sense of being in a dream through all this, of being a detached third party who didn't quite believe what he was saying or doing, or even if he was doing God's work. Now, though, in the presence of that terrible power, all doubts fled. This was indeed the enemy, the same enemy he had felt in war, the same enemy he had felt standing in the center of Buchenwald, the same enemy whose presence nearly overpowered him at the ruins of the Marines' compound in Beirut. There was no longer any doubt. Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit, be with me and make me up to this task!
Poquah pushed out the panel as best he could and cautiously peered out. This part of the cellar, this room, was lighted with but a single bare bulb, but it was sufficient. It appeared to be used as a storeroom, with all sorts of junk around. There was no spell inside the room, but there was one, a good one, on the door. Poquah let them all come out, quietly, while he studied the spell and prepared to disengage it. He had expected it; in fact, looking at the spell, he had expected worse.
Still, it took him about twenty minutes to get it off, twenty minutes in which almost certainly the guards had been discovered missing, and perhaps their bodies found. There would be, most certainly, an alert all over the place, but that was also expected. The plan had been entirely directed at getting them in, and it had done so. Getting them out was left to improvisation—with, it was hoped, a little divertive help from their friends outside.
Once the spell was off the door, they cautiously opened it. It led into a main chamber that was rather well lighted, although by a combination of fluorescent lights rigged up overhead and some quite nonelectrical, large, free-standing candles. It was clear what the room was for, and there was no guessing the spot in the center.
The old stone floor had been carefully cleaned and scrubbed, and then, on top, an elaborate set of painted signs and symbols had been laid in some sort of shiny gold substance. The whole design was flanked by a pentagram painted in a solid white that seemed raised, as if to distance it from the stone; at each point of the pentagram there was a huge and ornate free-standing candlestick with an enormous candle, lighted and burning. It was an awesome and frightening sight, and one that left no doubt that it was the source of the evil of this place.
"No one, but no one, is to break that pentagram or touch those candles," Poquah warned. "Any breach, and the demon will be free to come out—and nothing can save us. Father?"
The priest suddenly felt the urge for a very strong drink—no, a lot of very strong drinks. He had been under fire, had shrapnel wounds, and had gone through a lot, but this was the first time he was scared before, rather than after, the danger. Still, shaking like a leaf, he removed a small box of children's colored chalk and began to draw an elaborate design on the floor outside of the pentagram. When he was through, he looked at it and shook his head. "It's crude, and there's barely enough room in here to get the entire pentagram inside the center of the Seal of Solomon."
"We'll use builder's line, then," Poquah told him, reaching into his small pack. The line was thick and pre- chalked, and when laid out straight—using pieces of junk as weights and the crude Seal, which at the moment looked exactly like a Star of David, two triangles superimposed, one upside down—was a general guide to clear the candlesticks. It still didn't look impressive, but it was correct. The angles were all equal and the sides were straight. With red chalk, the priest then drew in various characters in what might have been Hebrew along each inner wall of the design.
Something went click! in back of them, and they all turned. What had appeared a solid stone wall now was shown to be an impressive mirrorlike device that perfectly reflected the wall to its right and did not appear to reflect any inhabitants in the room. With lighting now on in back of the mirror, the rest of the room became clear.
"That is very impressive," remarked Dacaro. "Don't you a
gree. Baron?"
"I do indeed," replied a familiar voice. "Oh, please don't move! I see you all bringing up your weapons. The shield is quite bullet proof, I assure you, where we stand. If you look to the left and the right of us, you will see figures with weapons of their own, and they will shoot without thinking, I fear, at any sign of hostile action. Their bullets have an iron and silver content, I might mention, so please don't try anything. They are quite expensive and difficult to come by."
Joe looked at Poquah, who shrugged. "What can we do?"
"Drop all your weapons where they are and line up against that far wall there," Dacaro ordered them. "Quickly, please. And don't disturb the candles or the pentagram. It would be unpleasant for us, but even worse for you and the whole world if anything did, as I'm sure you understand."
They did as instructed, feeling helpless and frustrated. Joe, hands up and standing next to Father O'Grady, whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "Can't you say your liturgy now? You drew the damned thing."
"No. There's one symbol missing. They let us get this close just to toy with us."
"Now, don't think of anything rash," Dacaro told them. "There are only two exits—this way and the way you came in. I assure you that the way you came isn't much use anymore."
"You did know about that entrance," Joe said accusingly. "You left it deliberately untouched so we'd be sure to take it!"
"Very astute. We figured what the game was when we saw you talking with O'Grady, and that seemed the easiest solution. We were curious to see if it could be done, and, if so, how. The Seal is quite impressive. It will make effective blackmail against our friend down there when he decides to get too ambitious. As you might expect, we are not totally in accord with his aims," the Baron said calmly. "Now, we are sliding back a portion of the panel near you. Poquah—you first. Ah. Now you. Father. Yes, that's fine. And now the two lovely ladies, one after the other. And, last but not least, you, Joe."
Joe did as instructed and found that merely being "covered" wasn't the word for it. The room on the other side of the mirror of illusion, which Poquah had not detected, since it was a variation of an illusionist's apparatus and not magical in the real sense, was fully as large as the other. Covering them with semiautomatic rifles were five of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, all wearing high-heeled leather boots, gold tassels hanging from a chainlike belt hung on their hips, and not much else. Each rifle was on a different one of them. By the way the women held them and the looks on their faces, there was no question that they would shoot and shoot straight, if given even the slightest provocation.
The Baron wore slippers and a pair of lounging pajamas; Dacaro had on a pair of jeans, a flannel shirt, and regular slip-on moccasins.
Esmilio Boquillas was still the same, the sort of man who continued to improve in attractiveness and magnetism as he grew older. He looked tan and fit, despite spending little apparent time outdoors, and much as Joe remembered him. "You haven't changed a lot. Baron," he noted.
"Why, thank you, Joe. You have changed, certainly. I assume this is a convenient form you took for this operation. And the ladies—I assume that one of these is the lovely Tiana and the one with the flowers in her hair is Mahalo McMahon. I am quite impressed, Ms. McMahon. We had dismissed you as a drug-brained airhead. No, no, Poquah! Don't pull that vanishing act on us! Your friends will die immediately, and it won't work on us anyway."
"You are still very sharp for one who was stripped of his powers," the Imir noted coldly.
"There is an almost infinite variety of kinds of power, Poquah. I was stripped of only one of them."
"Do you want to call me out, Imir?" Dacaro asked, almost taunting the elf. "Want to go head-to-head down here after they've gone upstairs?"
"It is quite tempting," Poquah admitted, "but I perceive us as being close to equal in power and experience, and you have the advantage of the Baron's newest spells. I assume that the Lamp would never have permitted me through if I were able to be even your equal. Such a duel is pointless."
Dacaro grinned, but Joe thought he detected some sign of relief behind that confident exterior. The only time the old adept had ever faced power head-to-head that Joe knew of, he'd run—back into the Lamp. "Seems to me that fellow you left behind in Husaquahr would have been a better overall wizard for you. Baron," he said dryly. Dacaro gave him a withering stare, but the Baron held him back.
"That's probably true overall, but unfortunately Sugasto wasn't in the Lamp, which was the only way to get anyone here and block pursuit."
"Sugasto! So that's why he seemed so familiar!" Joe remembered Sugasto, briefly. The ancient adept who'd stolen the Lamp more than a thousand years ago and had wound up imprisoned in it for all that time by his own greed. "The last I remember of Sugasto, he was stuck in the body of a horse going downriver with Dacaro."
"He managed to make himself known to me. He was in intensive training at my northern retreat as one of my adepts when we had our unfortunate defeat. He's quite talented, though, and very ambitious—as you'd expect from spending a thousand years among the djinn. Dacaro, though, is good enough, and he's bound by the Lamp to my service."
"It wouldn't matter about the wish. Baron," Dacaro assured him. "What more could I want than I'm getting now? And I could never come up with those spells or this whole plan. You know that."
"Yes, I do, Dacaro. However, it is getting very late and we have a busy time tomorrow, as you might all know. I hadn't known who exactly would appear, although I certainly expected Joe and Poquah, so we'll have to put off any final arrangements until tomorrow. We have prepared a secure set of storage areas for you all until then."
Poquah was led off with Dacaro and his beautiful but deadly Ministering Angel, and placed in an iron cage suspended from the cellar ceiling. He had some immunity to iron, but being suspended completely enclosed and surrounded by it made him weak as a kitten.
No matter what the obvious differences, the Baron was not about to be fooled by any were tricks again, so he ordered both Mahalo McMahons and Joe, who was stripped naked as were the others not already nude, imprisoned together in what appeared to be some kind of a large vault. Everything in it had been moved out, but its walls were sheer metal. There was a small ventilation area near the top, but it wasn't even large enough for a pixie to get through. It wouldn't kill them, but, weres or not, Joe and Tiana weren't about to escape from the thing.
That left O'Grady, who was feeling frustrated and humiliated, standing there stark naked and covered by beautiful women with nasty rifles. "Take him upstairs and lock him in a secure room," the Baron ordered. "And— give him three or four bottles from the liquor cabinet. Our friendly lush will take himself out of the game, I think."
"I'm still a little uneasy," Dacaro noted. "That Kauri's got to be around someplace, and she's got real power until dawn."
"So what? Why do you think I made certain that all the household guards were women? Kauris have no power over women, and they have no power over you or me, thanks to our own protective spells. I expect she's hovering about right outside now, or perhaps perched atop the building." He suddenly brightened. "Why, yes! I believe we can come up with a spell for that." He walked back, past the iron cage and the vault. In his small office, he switched on the light. He sat down in his office chair and turned on his computer, then played with it for about five minutes. Dacaro saw a lot of numbers, then watched as the screen transformed itself into a multicolored pattern of enormous complexity. "There!" said the Baron. "Think you can cast that on the house in a couple of minutes?"
"Yeah, I think so, but I don't understand it."
"If she is either on the house or touches it while this is in force, she'll stick to it like glue. She and no one else—it's attuned to Kauris only, and she's probably the only one on Earth. Do it and then go to bed. Tomorrow is a big day, and some time this morning we'll pick her stuck and comatose body off the house and take care of her, too."
"I'll do it, but I still smell
something else going on. Even if they had that seal in place, they wouldn't have stopped us, just slowed us down. And I'll bet you a fortune that only the fairy folk in this mob know what else is going on—and we can't selectively drag it out of them before they die."
"I know. We'll have to be on alert, but cast that spell first—now. It will give us one less thing to worry about, and we can deal with the rest comfortably, knowing it's our only problem."
Joe and the two women had had a miserable night, but they managed to drift into sleep off and on, huddled together for warmth in the cold and antiseptic vault. They were even more miserable when they awoke, however, hungry, thirsty, stiff, and, as Mahalo pointed out, with no place to go to the bathroom.
Joe began to suspect they'd been forgotten, but finally the vault door opened and both Dacaro and the Baron were there, looking very dapper in suits, ties, and patent leather shoes. With them was a tall and strikingly beautiful blond bombshell, dressed quite well but not too revealingly. Joe guessed that she would change later, hooking on sex appeal those that Dacaro couldn't.
"Good afternoon," the Baron said cheerfully. "May I introduce the Baroness de Boquillas?"
Joe had the sudden urge to rush them, but he knew it was futile. Dacaro had the power to stop him with a wave of the hand, and behind them were the Ministering Angels, now wearing nice powder blue robes but otherwise just as well armed and determined. He remembered Poquah's command that they were to stay alive at any cost and hope that whatever was being worked by others was going to save them.
Boquillas pointed to Mahalo McMahon. "That one is yours, my dear. I'm sure we can make her into a wonderful Ministering Angel."
Vengeance of the Dancing Gods Page 26
