by J. R. Mabry
“Any new friends?”
“Yes. One girl—Dani. I guess it’s short for Danielle or something.”
“What’s your impression of Dani?”
“She seemed nice. Wears a lot of black, though. Seems depressed if you ask me.” Mrs. Hernandez shrugged. “I try not to judge.”
“Of course. Did Connie have any hobbies? Or any new interests that you’ve noticed?”
“She loves karaoke,” Mrs. Hernandez smiled sadly. “She’s terrible at it, but she loves it.” She swallowed. “I’d do anything to hear her sing again.”
Cain nodded. He felt incredibly sad but fought to keep a stoic expression. “Mrs. Hernandez, would you mind if we took a look at her room?”
Mrs. Hernandez shook her head, then she stood up and walked to the hall. Cain and Perry followed. She led them to what seemed a typical teenage girl’s bedroom. The bed was unmade, and the carpet on the floor was strewn with socks and underwear. A boy-band poster hung above her bed, and My Little Ponies of various hue adorned her bookshelves.
There was a low table that seemed to be used as a desk. An ancient PC was dark and silent. Cain touched the mouse and the screen lit. “Do you know the password to this?” he asked.
Mrs. Hernandez walked up and punched in a short string of letters. Cain stepped in and found the girl’s email, searching the message lines.
Perry looked under the bed, then under the mattress. “Jackpot,” she said.
She pulled out a copy of Wicca for Dummies and held it up. “Mrs. Hernandez, did you know that your daughter was into witchcraft?”
Mrs. Hernandez’ eyes went wide, and she shook her head.
Perry thumbed through the book and found a bookmark. “This could be something.”
“Whatcha got?”
“Place called The Cloven Hoof. It’s in San Francisco.”
“What is it? A bookstore?”
“I can’t tell. There’s an address, though. And hours. It’s open.”
“I think I might have something here, too. Connie answered a Craigslist ad, offering a free tutorial in Wicca.”
“Is there an email address?”
“Nope, it’s one of those anonymous thingies—some random string of letters and numbers.”
“Take a shot of her screen, and let’s check it out.”
Cain nodded.
“There’s probably more here,” he said. There was a lot to go through.
“Mrs. Hernandez, we need to take Connie’s computer to a lab so we can do a more thorough search.” Perry touched her arm compassionately. “Will that be all right?”
Cain knew it didn’t matter whether it was all right or not. A warrant would not be hard to come by in a case like this, and if need be they could stay put until it arrived.
But it didn’t come to that. Mrs. Hernandez nodded. She looked utterly beaten. Cain stifled an instinct to give her a hug. Perry could afford to be less cautious. She grabbed the woman’s hands in her own and squeezed them. “We’re going to do everything we can for Connie,” she said. “Do you believe me?”
Mrs. Hernandez nodded, but she didn’t look up.
16
Brian set his suitcase down and rang the doorbell. He couldn’t hear it go off and realized that he would simply have to trust it. A moment later the security door buzzed, and he was able to push it open. He took the stairs two at a time, and as he stepped out onto the landing, Chava’s door opened, and there she was, cooing and embracing him. He let his bag drop the last few inches to the floor and buried his head in her neck. Then he lost it. She held him while he sobbed, rocking him back and forth gently. “I’m so sorry, achi.” She held him until he was cried out. She picked up his suitcase and, taking his hand, led him inside.
“You need a drink,” she said.
“No, I don’t,” he answered.
“Well, I need a drink, and it’s rude to make me drink alone.”
“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon,” Brian argued, blowing his nose.
“Then we have no time to lose,” she said, her voice filled with mock gravity.
She poured herself a glass of wine, and him half a glass, and set them both on the coffee table. Chava was about six inches shorter than Brian, with wiry, dark brown hair. She wore it long, tied at the back, with a kippah at the crown of her head. Bookshelves lined every square inch of the living room, creating a cozy but slightly claustrophobic atmosphere.
“Thank you,” he said.
“You know you’re welcome here anytime,” she said. “And for as long as you need.”
He nodded, tears welling up in his eyes again. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?” she asked. Her face twisted up in a sad, compassionate smile. “And why would being told you were welcome make you cry?”
“It’s not just being welcome. I guess it’s being welcome here. In a…a Jewish place.”
“Brian, the Hasidim might have expelled you, but there are plenty of places in Jacob that will love you and embrace you.”
She moved to sit beside him on the couch and clutched at his hands. “Surely you never felt out of place at our synagogue?”
“No, it’s just…it isn’t home, I guess.”
“And living with those Christians is home?”
“Living with Terry is ho—” His voice caught in his throat and he leaned his head on her shoulder and sobbed again. She held and shushed him until his shaking subsided. “Drink,” she said, moving his wine glass closer to him. “Don’t refuse HaShem’s medicine.”
He sniffed and laughed and took a sip. “That’s not what’s really bothering me.”
“It sure seems to be bothering you,” she said.
“It just…came up. I didn’t expect it.”
“That’s…normal,” she said, putting her own head on his shoulder. “Terry cheated on you. I get it. It’s terrible.”
“Thank you. And…it’s more than that,” he said. “I feel like Terry’s betrayal kind of woke me up. Like I’ve been sleeping for years. I mean, all these years have gone by, and what have I really done?” His voice trailed off. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
“Have you prayed about it?”
“No, it’s…” He was going to say it was too soon, but that sounded stupid. The truth was, it simply hadn’t occurred to him to pray about it yet. He changed the subject. “Maybe it’s good.”
“What’s good?”
“Maybe there’s a blessing hidden underneath his betrayal.”
“Maybe so. But, my dear…please don’t rush to that kind of opinion. That’s like slapping an emotional band aid on it before the wound has really revealed what it’s about. I suggest really feeling the pain, really grieving the loss, and letting its meaning unfold over time.”
Brian nodded. That sounded like wisdom. “It just…hurts. And I want it to stop hurting.”
“I know. That’s what wine is for.” She took a long pull at her glass then rose and picked up his suitcase. “I’m going to take this to the guest room. C’mon, I’ll show you where the towels are.”
He nodded and followed her to the narrow hallway so typical of San Francisco flats. She paused by a closed door. “Um…you should be prepared for something.”
“What’s that?”
“This is my guest room, so that’s where you’re sleeping.” She looked tentative, as if afraid of his reaction. Was it messy? He could deal with that. Was it decorated in some wild way? Was it festooned with bondage paraphernalia? He couldn’t quite see it. Chava was a fairly typical liberal rabbi. She and her partner Elsa had never even hinted at any S&M proclivities. “And when no one is here, it’s where I do my research.” Brian steeled himself for piles of books and stacks of disorganized papers. He could deal with that, too. “Just, don’t think I’m too weird, okay?”
“You have met the people I live with, right?” Brian asked.
She opened the door and turned on the light, then she stepped to the window and drew aside the bla
ckout curtains. Sunlight flooded the small room, and Brian gasped. Stepping into it, he turned completely around, taking in the photos and papers tacked to every wall, many of which were connected by strands of different-colored yarn stretched between pushpins. Brian could see barely a foot of white wall space, no matter where he looked. On one wall, strands of yarn fanned out in every direction, like the rays of the sun.
“Welcome to my secret obsession,” she said. “I don’t let very many people know about this, but if you’re going to be staying here, I don’t see how I can keep it from you.”
“What is this all about?” Brian asked, relaxing a bit.
“You know who Serah Bat Asher is, right?” Chava asked.
“Sure. She’s the one who recognized that Moses would be the deliverer of Israel.”
“You also know that she can never die, right?”
“I vaguely remember a midrash about her being the only person allowed into Eden after the expulsion.”
“Well, I’m kind of obsessed with her. In fact, I’ve been tracking her down for years.” She traced one of the strands of yarn back to where it met all the others—directly below a photo of an old woman, smiling a mischievous smile, her eyes filled with laughter and terrible knowledge.
“Oh, fuck,” Brian said.
“What?” Chava inquired. “Did you forget something?”
“No, no. I’m just…Chava, I know her.”
17
“Let’s go! Let’s go!” Richard shouted from the front door.
“Just a few more minutes!” Tapper responded with forced cheerfulness. “We have a lot of equipment to move.”
“Yeah, but we have no idea what these folks are dealing with. We don’t want to show up when…when it’s too late.”
Tapper walked over to him. “Look, it won’t be news until we’re there to record it. So relax.”
Richard scowled. “Um…are you aware of how solipsistic that is?”
Tapper’s head twitched, but her smile remained constant. “I have no idea what you just said, but give us a few more minutes, and we’ll be right there.”
As she walked away toward her lighting technician, Richard pretended that he didn’t see her mouth the words, “Whoo-boy.”
“Here, Dicky,” Susan said, handing him a soft-sided cooler. “None of us got breakfast. Marco and I threw together some sandwiches for you guys.”
“For the CNN crew, too?” Richard asked.
“Uh…no, just for you exorcists. I assumed they were smart enough to eat before they showed up.”
“Yeah, but it’s nearly lunch time.”
Susan scowled at him. “Marco, did you start in on your own sandwich yet?” Without another word she turned her back on him and went back into the kitchen.
“Sorry,” Richard said to no one.
Within ten minutes, the kit bags were loaded, sandwiches were hastily made and given to the CNN crew, and a convoy consisting of a battered Corolla and a news van wound its way through the Albany tunnel. “Left,” said Mikael, navigating. Richard turned left. Their car was packed with all five of the Blackfriars, plus Tobias. He thought about leaving Terry home, but since this was a case involving dogs, it seemed wise to bring both Tobias and Terry—the one who could most easily communicate with the big yellow lab. Richard hoped Terry would be able to hold it together, and he uttered a silent prayer to that effect.
A few minutes later, they pulled up at a modest, sedate-looking house on an idyllic, tree-lined street.
“Don’t look like a demonic haunt,” Dylan noted.
“Are Ozzie and Harriet here?” Kat asked, climbing out of the car.
A harried woman rushed out of the house to meet them. “Thank you so much for coming. I…I don’t know what to do.” She was young, maybe thirty, with strawberry hair and freckles. Richard noted that she was about Kat’s size, but built more like Susan. “What’s this?” she said as the CNN van pulled up.
“CNN is following us for a couple of days,” Richard explained. “Will that be okay?”
The woman looked nervous. “I…I guess so. I just wasn’t expecting it.”
“Just ignore them,” Richard said, giving her a wink. “That’s my plan.”
“I didn’t know who to call,” the woman said, “I talked to my pastor first and she gave me your number.”
“If it’s really a deliverance case, you called the right folks. And if we’re not the right folks, we can assess the situation and get in touch with the person you need.”
“Thank you.”
The cameraman rushed up and raised his lens. A moment later the lights started blaring.
“Is that really necessary?” Richard asked. “It’s full daylight.”
“Just pretend like we’re not here,” Tapper said from behind the cameraman.
“What is yore name, ma’am?” Dylan asked, notebook at the ready.
“Elizabeth. Barker. My husband is away on business. My son is Teddy. He’s thirteen.”
You’ve got a dog problem, and your name is Barker, Richard thought. But he kept his mouth shut.
“And yore dog, ma’am?” Dylan asked. “Tell us about yore dog.”
“He’s seven. A Dachshund-Beagle mix. His name is Barney.”
“Where is Teddy?” Kat asked.
“He’s…I put him in the closet.”
Richard blinked. “Why did you put him in the closet?”
“To keep him from running to that dog!”
“Where is the dog?”
“In the back yard. In the dog run.”
“Okay. First thing, I think you should get your son out of the closet and bring him here,” Richard said. “He might have some useful information.”
“Oh, okay. Please, come in,” she said, gesturing toward the front door.
“We, uh, brought our dog,” Richard said. “I know this will sound weird, but we think he might be able to help.”
Mrs. Barker looked at him like he was out of his mind, but she didn’t object. Richard followed her up the few stairs of the arts-and-crafts bungalow and into the front room. Houses in Albany are typically gorgeous but on the tiny side, and Richard was not surprised to find that the place was crowded before half of them had filed in. He kept walking into the dining room to make space. The place was immaculately kept, he noted, with tasteful, original art on the walls—blotchy, impressionistic landscapes that reminded Richard of Umbria. A bright light erupted, searing Richard’s vision, and he held his arm up to shield his eyes. “Holy shit, you guys,” he said in the general direction of the lighting technician.
Dylan and Terry set kit bags down on the floor, and a moment later Kat and Mikael did the same, with Tobias in tow. “I’m not sure we all need to be here,” Mikael said.
Richard shrugged. “Don’t know what we’re dealing with yet, either. We may need Kat as bait.” Kat punched him in the stomach.
Dylan jerked his head toward the kitchen and Richard followed him in. When they were out of earshot, Dylan whispered, “You gonna let Kat take this one?”
Richard blinked. “Well, sure, but…CNN.”
“You don’t trust her?”
“I trust her.”
“It’s time, dude. If you really trust her, I say let’r shine. You don’t need to hog all the glory, do you?”
Richard scowled at him, but it was hard to take offense. He was right. Richard nodded and turned toward the kitchen window. He stood on tip-toe and surveyed what little of the back yard he could see. He didn’t see any dog. When he turned around again, Mrs. Barker was leading a teenager who must have been Teddy into the living room, dragging him by the elbow. Richard and Dylan walked over to meet him.
“This is Teddy. Teddy, tell the monks what you did.”
“Friars,” Terry objected, but his heart wasn’t really in it.
“Barney died,” Teddy said. The kid had a sullen demeanor and brown hair that hung down over his eyes. He wore a sleeveless black concert tee and ripped black jeans. He looked exactly
like what Richard imagined Mikael must have looked like ten years ago.
“Uh-huh. An’ then?” asked Dylan, squatting down to be more at eye level with the kid. Dylan lost his balance and rolled onto the floor, and Richard rolled his eyes. The cameras, after all, were also rolling.
“So I wanted to bring him back to life.” He looked ready to cut and run—as if he knew he’d done something wrong but was ready to defend his actions just the same. Richard knew the feeling.
“That’s something I understand,” Richard said, sitting down on the arm of the couch. “A couple of my dogs have died over the years. I’d have done anything to bring them back.” The kid looked at him with something approaching hope. “So what did you do?” Richard asked him.
Teddy turned on his heel and ran to the hallway. His mother yelled and started to go after him, but Richard held up his hand. “Give him a minute.” Mrs. Barker stood down, her eyes moving back and forth, uncertain.
A few seconds later Teddy returned and thrust an iPad at Richard. Richard turned it around and looked at the screen. Dylan peered over his shoulder and whistled. “Reanimation spell. That’s some powerful bad mojo there, li’l buddy.”
Richard scanned the spell quickly. “Do you know how this works, Teddy?”
“Yeah, you say the magic words, and people come back to life. Dogs, too, I guess.”
“The magic words have meaning. They’re not just nonsense syllables. Did you do this exactly as it’s written? Including the pentagram?”
“Yeah. I did it in the garage.”
“Show me,” Richard said. He followed the kid through the kitchen into a single-car garage, and everyone followed like the cars of a freight train. Richard saw a pentagram erratically sketched on the floor—running over oil spots and cracks in the cement. He pulled out his phone and called up the compass app. The pentagram was facing roughly the right direction. “Did you stand inside the pentagram when you said these words?”
Teddy nodded.
“Show me the sigil you drew.”
“I copied it from the website,” Teddy handed a large sheet of drawing paper to Richard. The sigil was rendered in purple crayon and embellished with guitars and rocket ships.
