In the House of Secret Enemies

by George C. Chesbro

  “I do not discuss my clients,” Borrn said in a voice that was so low it was barely audible. “Get out.”

  “You may have to discuss Davidson with the police. I think you may have had something to do with his death. What did you tell him that would make him want to take his own life?”

  I expected some kind of reaction and got none. I knew instinctively that Borrn was not going to say more. He sat very still, like some kind of statue executed in perfect detail, but still without life. Again, I had the impression that he had retreated to somewhere deep within himself to a trancelike state where, as far as I was concerned, he had left the room and would not be coming back. I swallowed hard. His eyes were blank, looking at and beyond me. I suddenly knew that he could stay that way for hours if he chose to do so. Nothing I could say or do would have the slightest impact on him.

  It was the most effective brush-off I’d ever seen. I got up and left.

  I didn’t go far. It had been a long day, and I’d covered a lot of territory, geographic and emotional; but there was still a way to go, and I was anxious to get to the end of whatever road it was I was traveling on. Borrn had gotten to me in a way he probably hadn’t anticipated. He’d known too much about me. That meant one of two things: He had actually seen things in my palm, or he had a dossier. To me it was no contest. I wanted to find the dossier, then find out who had given it to him, and why.

  I killed what remained of the afternoon in a local bar over beer and a steak sandwich. Then I went out and bought a penlight and a navy blue sheet. Finally I went back to the alley. It was dark.

  It took me all of thirty seconds to burgle my way into the store-front. I shrouded myself with the sheet to hide the light from the penlight and began to go through Borrn’s rather extensive library. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for; whatever it was, I didn’t find it. Most of the books were highly technical treatises on astrology, replete with countless charts and tables that made my eyes water. That was it, except for a crumbling copy of something called the Kabala and other books on mysticism. There were no personal papers or records of any kind.

  I sat down in Borrn’s chair and tried to think. I’d apparently struck out in Borrn’s office, and I doubted strongly that I would find any “Borrn” listed in the telephone directory. Besides, judging from what Uranus and Garth had said, I wasn’t going to get any information from people in the neighborhood who might have any.

  I raised a good dwarf chuckle by reflecting on the fact that I might just have to “scry” up some answers. I reached out and touched the crystal ball in front of me. It was heavy leaded glass. I absently pushed at it and heard a soft click behind me. I turned and whistled softly.

  A section of one of the bookcases had slid open to reveal a short corridor leading to what appeared to be a large chamber. Light from the secret chamber was pouring out into the storefront and splashing onto the street. I quickly rose from the chair and went through the opening.

  I’d been worried about getting the door shut, and I realized too late that I’d confused my priorities. The heavy steel door sighed shut as I passed through the opening. It came up flush against the wall with a very solid and ominous click. I looked for some way to get the door open and couldn’t find it. It was a double-security system, primarily designed to keep intruders out but, failing that, designed to insure that they stayed in. Since there seemed to be no way out, I went in.

  The setup inside was impressive. The interior of the warehouse behind Borrn’s store-front had been gutted and reconstructed to form a huge, circular chamber. The walls and ceiling were solid and soundproofed; the floor was concrete. I estimated the construction costs to be in excess of a half million dollars. Borrn didn’t get that kind of money from doing mystical manicures.

  The job wasn’t completed yet. There was a gaping hole high on the north wall, with ropes and scaffolding hanging down from it. That would be the conduit for the building supplies.

  There was a large crater in the middle of the floor, about twenty feet in diameter. I walked over and looked in. It was perhaps six feet deep, covered at the bottom with large gas jets. The ceiling above was blackened, and there were air vents placed at strategic points around the chamber to allow for circulation. The whole thing reminded me of a crematorium.

  There were twelve cubicles built around the perimeter of the chamber, and I could see from where I was standing that they were living quarters of sorts, complete with cots, small libraries and black-draped, candle-covered altars; but it was the thirteenth cubicle built into the north wall in which I was interested. It was at least twice as large as the others, and was draped in red: that would be Borrn’s. I walked in.

  I was a slow learner. The cubicle was rigged in the same manner as the store-front; I had no sooner stepped over the threshold than a steel door dropped from a hidden receptacle in the ceiling. Obviously, arrangements for walking out had to be made before walking in. I decided that didn’t bode well for my immediate future.

  I began a systematic search of the room. It didn’t take me long to strike pay dirt. This time there were personal notes and correspondence written in a language I could understand.

  Two things became very clear: Borrn was not the leader of the coven, and Harley Davidson had, indeed, had a “secret enemy.”

  The door sighed open an hour or so later. Sandor Peth stood in the doorway, staring down at me where I sat on the bed. Borrn and the rest of the coven stood slightly behind him. All were dressed in crimson, hooded robes adorned with mystic symbols. The lights had been turned out in the large chamber, and there was a loud hissing sound; firelight flickered and danced like heat lightning.

  I looked at Peth. “Dr. Livingstone, I presume?”

  Peth’s milky blue eyes didn’t change. “You are a very persistent man, Dr. Frederickson,” he said evenly. “And fast. I’m afraid I seriously underestimated you.”

  I motioned to the firelight behind him. “Rather newfangled, isn’t it?”

  “One of the exigencies of living in New York City.”

  “You want to tell me what this is all about?”

  “Like in the movies?”

  “Like in the movies.”

  Peth motioned to Borrn, who came forward and searched me. I didn’t put up any resistance. It wasn’t the time. I wanted to find out what Peth had to say—if anything. Also, I thought resistance might be offensive to the thirteen of them.

  “All right,” Peth said when Borrn had finished with me and stepped back into the group. He entered the room and sat down on a chair across from me. “First, why don’t you tell me what you’ve surmised so far?”

  “You killed Davidson, and you were trying to cover your tracks.”

  “The second part of your statement is correct. But I—or we—did not kill Davidson; we caused him to die.”

  “An interesting legal point.”

  “Yes. I suppose it is.”

  “How’d you do it?”

  Peth motioned to himself and the others, as though the answer were obvious. There was a faint ringing in my ears.

  “You’re telling me you put a spell on him?” I decided he was crazy, and I told him so.

  Peth shrugged. “You asked me what this was all about, and I am trying to tell you. Of course, the fact that we caused Harley to take his own life is unprovable. However, the papers in this room, which I’m sure you’ve seen, do prove intent to do harm, and could prove embarrassing in a courtroom. I’m truly sorry you proved to be so conscientious.”

  “Why did Davidson have to die?”

  “We depend on people—you would probably call them ‘victims’—for our financial resources. All of us, in one way or another, are involved with people, and these people unwittingly provide financial support for our activities.”

  “What activities?”

  “Simply put, the accumulation of power that will enable us to control even more people. As you know, fame and fortune in the rock-music business is ephemeral. Harley was at the p
eak of his earning powers. The power which you scoffed at had enabled me to secure Harley’s power of attorney and convince him to sign a will leaving all of his rather large list of investments to me. Also, I had managed to buy a million dollars’ worth of insurance, without a suicide clause, on Harley’s life. Very expensive, but I knew I wouldn’t have that many premiums to pay. At that point Harley became more valuable to us dead than alive.”

  “And that’s when Borrn went to work on his head?”

  “We all participated in the process. We knew that Harley would eventually kill himself, but we did not know when or how. If I had known he would do it the way he did—by swallowing pills inside a locked house, as reported on the radio—I would not have proceeded the way I did. However, I knew that I, as the beneficiary of very large sums of money, would come under a great deal of suspicion. That’s why I went to your brother. I anticipated his reaction and thought that would be the end of it, with my innocence established in his mind. However, when he suggested that I come to you, I felt I had to take the suggestion.”

  “You did some pretty thorough research on me first.”

  Peth looked surprised. “No. As a matter of fact, I didn’t. I should have. If I had, Borrn would have been prepared for your visit, and you would not be in the position you find yourself. As it was, Borrn did not know you were a dwarf—I hadn’t had a chance to tell him—and you gave him a false name.”

  “You’re lying. Why? It’s a small point.”

  Again, Peth looked surprised. Suddenly he laughed. “Borrn gave you a reading, didn’t he?”

  Something was stirring deep inside my mind; it was blind, soft and furry, with sharp teeth. I ran away from it. “You took Davidson into your coven, right?”

  “Borrn made Davidson think he was a part of the coven—in which I, obviously, was the missing member. Of course he was never really a part. All of the ceremonies he took part in were actually part of a magical attack on his deep mind.”

  I’d heard enough to convince me that some kind of legal case could be made against Peth, Borrn and the others, and the papers I’d hidden inside my shirt would give me a shot at proving it. At the least, New York City would be rid of one particular supercoven composed of thirteen megalomaniac cranks. There remained only the slight difficulty of finding a way to get past thirteen men, and out of a sealed room. I tried not to let that depress me.

  “What happens now?”

  “Must I state the obvious?”

  “You’d be a fool to kill me.”

  “Really? Why is that? I think we would be fools not to kill you. The fire is very hot. It will leave no trace of you. You will simply have disappeared.”

  “My brother knows I’m investigating Borrn. He’ll find this place.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so.”

  “Somebody’s building it.”

  “Haitians, who appreciate our powers. They are afraid of voodoo spells. They would tear their own tongues out before they told anybody about this place. It’s true that Borrn will be investigated, but I have no doubt that he will come out of it clean.”

  “People know he’s a witch.”

  That shook him. “How is that?”

  I decided against mentioning Garth or Uranus. “It’s in his witch’s diary. Davidson’s.”

  Peth was silent for a long time. Whatever he’d finally decided wasn’t going to be shared with me. He rose from his chair and gave a slight nod of his head. As one, the twelve figures outside the door entered the room and began to fan out around me. Their movements were slow, almost mechanical; it was like seeing a guillotine blade descend in slow motion.

  I smiled in what I hoped was a disarming manner, and gathered my legs beneath me. I focused my gaze on Peth’s solar plexus. I couldn’t fight thirteen men, but a few of them were going to discover that I was one deadly dwarf. Peth would be my first candidate for instruction.

  “O Pentacle of Might, be thou fortress and defense to Robert Frederickson against all enemies, seen and unseen, in every magical work!”

  Uranus’ voice drifted down from the darkness in the outer chamber. Before all the lights went out I caught the looks of utter astonishment on the faces of the coven members. I was a little surprised myself, but not so much that I forgot the way out of the room. I lunged forward in the darkness, caromed off a few sheeted bodies and landed on my face on the concrete outside. I got back up on my feet and raced off to my left, taking cover in the darkness, beyond the firelight. I’d traded in one trap for a new, slightly larger one; as long as the lights remained out, a few people were going to pay a heavy price for trying to find me.

  That left me to meditate on the question of what Uranus was doing in the building.

  Peth and the others seemed to be preoccupied by the same question. I watched as they slowly emerged from the darkness to spread out in a circle around the raging fire. Peth stood at their head, gazing up toward the spot where the hole in the north wall would be.

  “Who are you?” Peth asked in a whisper that carried throughout the chamber.

  “All wise Great One, Great Ruler of Storms, Master of the Heavenly Chamber, Great King of the Powers of the Sky, be here, we pray thee, and guard this place from all dangers approaching from the west!”

  Peth and the others knew a few rhymes of their own. There was no visible signal of any kind, but their voices rose in a chorus that made chills ripple through my body:

  “Amodeus, Calamitor, Usor! You who sow confusion, where are you? You who infuse fear and hate and enmity, I command you by the power of Disalone and Her Horned Consort to go!

  “So mote it be!

  “So mote it be!”

  There was a pause, then Uranus’ voice again, soft, drifting like a sonic feather:

  “Four corners in this house for Holy Angels. Christ Jesus be in our midst. God be in this place and keep us safe.”

  The response was a blast of psychic hate:

  “It is not our hands which do this deed, but that of Amodeus the Horned One!

  “The trespasser must die!

  “So mote it be!

  “So mote it be!”

  I was watching a duel of sorcerers, and I felt thrown back in time a thousand years, thrown to the ground at the mouth of a cave in which moved dark, strange shapes.

  There was a long silence. Peth made a motion with his hand and the other members of the coven turned and started to fan out. It was dwarf-hunting time.

  “Stop!” Uranus’ voice was weaker, ragged, as though she were short of breath. The movement of the coven members stopped. “I am Uranus Jones, and Dr. Frederickson is under my protection. You have heard of me and know of my powers.”

  Peth’s voice drifted softly through the room, waxing and waning like some invisible moon. “I have heard of you, Uranus Jones. You are a member of our family, a unit of the Universal Mind. Respect our wishes. This is not your concern. Leave us. So mote it be.”

  Again, the faint, muted tones: “I repeat that Dr. Frederickson is under my protection. You harm him at your own peril.”

  Her voice drifted off strangely. The muscles in my stomach began to flutter uncontrollably. There was movement to my left.

  “Mongo! Shoot the leader if anyone moves again!”

  Uranus’ voice seemed stronger now, as though she had successfully passed through some great ordeal. I liked her suggestion, except that I didn’t have a gun, and Peth knew it.

  “He doesn’t have a gun,” Peth said, underlining my thoughts. I wondered why he sounded so uncertain.

  “He does now,” Uranus said. “Open the doors and let him pass.”

  It was the beginning of an argument between two other parties that I was going to lose. It seemed a good time to excuse myself from the debate.

  I remembered the scaffolding hanging from the hole in the north wall, and tried to picture in my mind exactly where it would be. I knew it was about ten feet off the ground, and I would need tremendous momentum if I hoped to reach it.

 
Circus time. I shoved off the wall and sprinted across the floor, getting up a good head of steam. Somebody reached out for me and missed. Twenty feet from where I judged the wall to be I launched into a series of cartwheels, then, on the last turn, planted my feet on the floor and hurled myself up into the air.

  At the apogee of my leap my hands touched wood. I gripped the edge of the scaffold; I scrambled up onto the platform, shinnied up the rope and dropped over the concrete cornice onto a pile of building supplies.

  The entire escape had taken less than fifteen seconds.

  I could see Uranus now in the glow of the firelight reflected off the walls. She was slumped against a girder, next to a large circuit breaker; her appearance frightened me more than anything that had happened previously. She appeared to have aged into an old woman, devoid of energy; her beautiful, silver hair hung in wisps from her head.

  I ran over to her and grabbed her around the waist.

  “Fire exit,” she gasped. “Off to the left.”

  I started to my left, pulling Uranus after me. I’d expected to hear a furor from below or, at the least, a few well-chosen curses. There was silence.

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this place?” I whispered through clenched teeth. “It would have saved everybody a lot of trouble.”

  “Scry,” Uranus sighed in the same broken voice that had so frightened me before. “Knew … felt … you in trouble. Called Garth but afraid … there wasn’t … time.”

  She seemed to be regaining her strength. I released her and she scrambled along beside me. I found the window she had come through. We both went out, then started down the fire escape.

  “The gun,” Uranus said. “Do you have it? They may try to come after us.”

  “I don’t have a gun.”

  Uranus said nothing. I could hear the sirens of Garth’s cavalry coming to the rescue. Judging from the sound, they were closing fast.

  “Let’s go watch the show,” I said, starting down the alley leading to the front of the building.

  Uranus grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the darkness beside the building. She looked herself again, though still pale; it was as though she had passed through a near-fatal illness in a matter of only a few minutes.