An Affair Of Sorcerers m-3

by George C. Chesbro

  He shook his head and began to shuffle the cards. "Not now," he replied softly. "Perhaps later. Frankly, I get very bad vibrations from you, and I'd like to see what the cards reveal."

  "I'm sorry you feel that way," I said, resisting the urge to add something sarcastic.

  Krowl put the deck back together, shoved it across the table to me and indicated that I should shuffle.

  "I still don't feel that you believe there's anything to be gained from this," the albino said, watching me closely as I manipulated the cards. He made a clucking sound of resignation. "You should try to keep an open mind. As you shuffle the deck, meditate on some problem or question you'd like the cards to speak to. By the way, are you involved with a woman by the name of Amy? Or Abigail?"

  "What?" I stopped shuffling and looked up at him, startled once again. The names Amy and Abigail were very close to April. I found Krowl's question distressing for a number of reasons, and I wasn't sure I wanted to confront any of them. I tried to smile, but it felt like a grimace. "Is that a preview?"

  "You'll have to tell me."

  "Don't you think you should check out my cards?"

  "You're carrying a woman with you," he said, looking at me intently. "I thought I saw one of the names mentioned."

  "No," I said curtly.

  "All right," he said easily. "The presence of the woman is what's important, not her name. Are you right- or left-handed?"

  "Right," I said, actually having to think about it. My mind was wandering, and I was having trouble concentrating.

  "Then the left is the hand of your subconscious. Use it to cut the deck into three piles, then put them back in the opposite order."

  When I'd done as he'd instructed, Krowl looked through the deck, without disturbing the order, until he found a particular card, which he placed face up on the table between us. The card showed a young man stepping off a cliff.

  "This card is the Significator he continued. "It will represent you in the reading. It's The Fool."

  "That doesn't sound very complimentary."

  He wasn't amused. "The Fool is an innocent," he said. He spoke softly, but his voice had an edge of disdain. "I often use The Fool as a Significator for people who come to see me for the first time. As you can see, the young man is about to step into an abyss; it's the first step in a journey of the consciousness. Whether you succeed on this journey or are dashed on the rocks below is up to you."

  "That seems fair enough."

  Krowl quickly laid the cards out between us. He placed a card on top of The Fool, then another card crossing them both. Moving in a counterclockwise direction, he laid out four more cards, one at each point of the compass around the center cards. Finally he laid out four cards in a vertical line to his right.

  I found myself staring at the cards. The predominant symbol in a number of cards seemed to be swords; I didn't find that encouraging.

  Krowl sat in silence for almost five minutes, absently tapping his fingertips together as he stared at the cards. He seemed very much interested in whatever it was he was seeing.

  "This is an unusual layout," Krowl said at last in a soft, clipped voice. He looked at me inquiringly. I felt a fluttering in my stomach, but said nothing. Finally Krowl returned his attention to the cards and exposed the card that had been covering The Fool.

  "The Queen of Swords," Krowl continued. "We say that the card in this position 'covers' you. It represents the general atmosphere surrounding your question. As you can see, it is a woman. The Queen of Swords may be a widow. I'm certain she's the woman I mentioned-the one in your thoughts."

  He pointed to the card he had laid across The Fool. "This 'crosses' you. It's the Two of Cups-Desire. You have a very strong attraction to this woman. Frankly, the rest of the layout is confusing. The card at the bottom is The Devil. In this position it represents something which has happened to you in the past-and which is important to the matter. The Devil is a powerful card. And evil." He hesitated, rapped his knuckles once, hard, on the gleaming surface of the table. "There is evil surrounding the woman," he said forcefully. "Black magic. Does that mean anything to you, Frederickson?"

  "You're doing the reading," I said tightly.

  Krowl took off his glasses and stared at me with his pale eyes. "The Devil can also indicate the psychic. Something dark. Have you had a psychic experience lately?"

  Krowl had shaken me with his comments about a woman; now I felt as if I'd been hit between the eyes with a hammer. The dream. As much as I'd been resisting thinking about it, I had had a "psychic" experience: Transcending all the laws of logic and science, a comatose child had somehow reached out across an unmapped abyss of the spirit and touched my mind in order to tell me she was in danger. The dream had been vivid and complete, from the flames surrounding Kathy to the gown she'd been wearing. The dream had enabled me to save Kathy's life-but it was an experience I still wasn't psychologically prepared to examine.

  "Finish the reading," I said tautly, struggling to keep my voice steady. "Then maybe we'll see how it all ties in."

  Krowl made a harsh sound in his throat and started to rise. "You're uncooperative and hostile," he said, anger sparking on the hard flint of his voice. "I don't understand what you're doing here."

  "I would like you to finish the reading," I heard myself saying. "I'm curious."

  Krowl hesitated, then shrugged and sat back down again. He continued in a perfunctory, almost apathetic, tone. "The card on the left side of the cross shows an influence which may be just passing away: it's the Page of Swords, reversed. It's a sick child-perhaps the woman's daughter. At the top is the Five of Wands. It represents something that may happen in the future. This is a card of violence. There's violence around you; I can feel it, as well as see it in your cards."

  A large, invisible hand planted itself on my chest and pushed me back in the chair. My gaze rose to the Tiffany lamp over the table; more than half the shards in its glittering surface were the color of blood. The hand reached inside my chest, wrapped itself around my heart and squeezed. Images swam in the glass; the faces of people I'd known-some good, some evil, all dead. In an age when most detective work was sterile and boring, done with computers and phone checks, I continually found myself involved with high-fever cases that grew into epidemics of death. It seemed wherever I went in my career, I left a foaming, bloody wake filled with bodies; whatever garden I set out to till ended up Golgotha. But I survived. I was a carrier. Now Kathy and April had been exposed.

  My neck and ears felt hot. Krowl had been reading my mail, and I found that the fear I'd initially felt was rapidly metamorphosing into anger. There could be any number of explanations for what seemed to be the deadly accuracy of Krowl's reading; he could very well have read about me and the violence that usually attended my investigations. What Krowl could not possibly know-because I hadn't realized it myself until he'd pointed it out to me-was the importance April Marlowe had suddenly assumed in my life. Krowl had hit that target dead center. The truth was that April Marlowe distracted me as much as-or more than-the plight of her daughter, or the Senator's. It was ugly, hard for me to admit; but it was true. It made me feel ashamed.

  Krowl pointed to the card on the right side of the cross. It showed a dog baying at the moon. A large, ominous-looking crayfish was crawling out of a pond at the dog's feet. "The Moon," Krowl said, placing his forefinger on the card. "Its position represents something that may happen soon. The Moon may stand for deception, unforeseen perils.. secret enemies." He pursed his lips and squinted at me. "Possibly bad luck for one you love."

  "What kind of bad luck?" I asked quickly. My voice sounded strange in my ears, shrill and strained.

  Krowl smiled broadly, as though he'd won a major concession from me. "I don't know," he said quietly. "The woman is sad now; I pick that up from you. She's surrounded by trouble, and I sense that you carry much of that trouble with you; you bring it to her."

  "What do the rest of the cards tell you?" I asked, pointing to th
e vertical line of cards on his right. I hoped my voice was steady, but I'd experienced an unnerving flash of the "bad luck" I'd brought to others in the past. Like Garth: A woman he'd loved had died in the desert sands of Iran, six thousand miles away. Garth himself had fired the bullet that killed her.

  "The Nine of Swords," he said, pointing to the card at the bottom of the vertical line. "Its symbols speak for themselves. The card is in the position representing your fears-in this case suffering and illness, possibly the death of one you love." He frowned and suddenly swept his hand over to the Page of Swords on the opposite side of the cross. "Or the woman's daughter," he added quietly. "It's the woman's daughter you fear for. And-" He abruptly stopped speaking and stared intently at the cards, as though looking for something. Finally he shook his head, continued.

  "The next position represents the opinion of family and friends. As you see, the card is Strength. All it means is that you know they have faith in you.

  "The next card is the Six of Swords, and it's in the position of your hopes. The card is a logical one for the 'hope' position. A man-you, obviously-ferries a woman and her daughter across a lake toward a more peaceful place.

  "The last card represents the outcome. It's the Ten of Swords: disaster."

  Krowl let the prediction drop perfunctorily, then removed his glasses, leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands behind his head. The light from the overhead lamp danced eerily in his pink eyes. "Normally, at this point I'd try to be upbeat," he continued casually. "I'd try to assure you that the trends shown by the cards don't necessarily have to come to pass. I'd tell you that the cards reflect your present state of mind, and what could happen if you don't change your present behavior patterns. But I don't think you care about what I have to say. I still think you came here for some other reason."

  "You're very perceptive, Krowl," I said, meaning it. My stomach was churning, and I felt light-headed. I hoped it didn't show. I found I disliked Krowl; he was arrogant and-to judge by the way he'd handled my reading-cruel. He was also, as I'd been warned, damn good.

  "Thank you," Krowl said with a thin smile. "Now, why don't you tell me what it is you really want?"

  "I came to see you because I wanted to see what the tarot cards are all about, and you've shown me," I said. "But it's true that I had another reason for coming here. I need information."

  Krowl rose stiffly from his chair. "I don't give out information," he said coldly. "I never discuss my clients. You owe me forty dollars."

  I stood up, counted out the money from my wallet and placed it on the table. "I don't want to talk about any of your clients; what I need to know involves one of mine. The sick child you saw in the cards; that could be her. She's dying because something was done to her; I have to find out exactly what's wrong with her."

  Krowl's gaze dropped to the layout on the table, and he stared at the cards for a long time. Finally his eyes flicked back to my face. "What are you talking about?" he asked tightly. His face was flushed to the point where it almost matched his eyes.

  "The girl's father got himself involved in some bad witchcraft business," I said, watching Krowl carefully. "I think his new friends killed him and did something to the girl. She's in a coma. It will help if the doctors can find out what was done to her. I'm trying to find the people responsible. Garth said that you might be able to help me. I have to find a ceremonial magician who uses the witch name 'Esobus.' Have you ever heard the name?"

  Krowl quickly reached for his glasses and put them on. "What makes you think I'd know anything about this?"

  "I just told you: Garth told me you might know who Esobus is."

  The albino started to put the cards in the layout back into the deck. Both his hands were trembling now, and he looked sick. Suddenly he pushed the cards away and walked quickly to a bookcase filled with occult icons and books. He leaned against it, arms outspread and forehead touching the leather-bound volumes, as though drawing strength from the symbols and words there. He spun around as I started across the room toward him.

  "Get out!" Krowl said firmly. His flesh had returned to its normal parchment color, and he'd stopped shaking. It was quite a transformation. "What right do you have to come to me under false pretenses and start asking questions?"

  "Hey, buddy; I'm just asking you to help a little girl who's dying. Esobus works out of your bailiwick, not mine. I can see that you're afraid; okay. I absolutely guarantee that no one will ever find out you gave me his real name."

  "I don't know anything." He half-turned toward a louvered door behind him. "Jonathan! Come here!"

  "Bullshit," I said quietly. "You sure as hell know something; you looked like you were about to toss your cookies when I mentioned the name. Come on, Krowl. Anything you tell me will be kept in the strictest confidence. Nothing is going to happen to you. Tell me Esobus' real name."

  A huge man, almost seven feet tall, appeared in the doorway, and Krowl motioned toward me. "Get him out of here," he said to Jonathan. Then to me: "Don't come back here again."

  I waved an embarrassed, reluctant Jonathan off and headed for the door, where I paused with my hand on the knob, turned. "I don't know what your problem is, Krowl," I said softly, "but I want to make a prediction of my own. I'm betting that I can be an even bigger pain in the ass than Esobus. I'm making up a creep list, and it looks like you're on it. If that girl dies because the doctors don't have information you could have given me, I'm going to be back. You think on that, you son-of-a-bitch." I took a card out of my pocket and handed it to the bemused Jonathan. "Here's my number; you call me if you want to talk."

  I made a point of slamming the door behind me.

  I walked to a phone booth at the end of the block and called Garth. I let the phone ring ten times and was about to give up when Regina finally answered.

  "Hi, Regina. It's Mongo. Let me talk to Garth, please."

  Garth came on the line a few seconds later. "Jesus, Mongo," he growled. "You pick the most incredibly inopportune-times to call."

  "Think of me as your conscience."

  He grunted. "How's the little girl?"

  "The same."

  "Did you get anything from John?"

  "A hard time. He doesn't like me; I don't like him."

  "That's too bad. He's a great contact. If anyone knows who Esobus is, I'd have laid odds it would be John."

  "And you'd win. Krowl knows something, all right; I thought he was going to pass out when I mentioned Esobus. The problem is that he threw me out. He's afraid of something. If Krowl won't tell me about Esobus, I'm going to start finding out about Krowl. How well do you know him personally?"

  "Not well enough to tell you anything useful. I met him through some of my other contacts."

  "Okay. I want you to do something for me. Have you heard of Harley Davidson?"

  "The motorcycle or the singer?"

  "Ho-ho. I thought he was out on the Coast, but it turns out he's one of Krowl's clients. He may have digs here in the city. If so, some of the Special Details boys may know where to find him. Make a couple of calls for me in the morning, will you? Davidson used to be a student of mine, and he may be able to give me a better line on Krowl."

  "Will do. Incidentally, a friend of yours has been very busy lately."

  "Who?"

  "Daniel-or Crandall, or whatever the hell his name is. He's been cutting a pretty wide swath through the underground here. You've got company; the word is that he's looking for Esobus too. The difference is that those nice folks are afraid of him. I hear he's scaring the shit out of people."

  "Yeah? Well, good for him. Get back to me on Davidson as soon as you can, okay?"

  "Check. May I go now?"

  "You may go now. Listen; save some energy, will you?"

  Garth cursed good-naturedly and hung up. I dug another dime out of my pocket and called Madeline Jones. Madeline had also known Bobby Weiss before he'd become Harley Davidson. Weiss had enrolled in my classes because he was interested in criminolo
gy; I was sure he'd taken astronomy because he'd lusted after Madeline.

  "Hello?" It was a stranger's voice-hollow, thin and strained.

  "Uh … is Dr. Jones there?"

  "This is Dr. Jones speaking. Mongo?"

  "Yeah. Mad? God, you sound terrible."

  "I. . have a cold. And I'm very tired."

  "Sorry to be calling so late."

  "It's all right. Is something. . wrong?"

  "First of all, I just saw John Krowl. I'm sure he knows something about Esobus, but he won't talk to me. I'm afraid our relationship got off to a rather rocky start."

  "What. . makes you think John knows anything about Esobus?"

  "Big reaction when I mentioned the name. Anyway, I was hoping you'd talk to him for me; assure him that I'm relatively straight and that anything he tells me will be in strict confidence. I know you think Esobus is a myth, but it looks like you're wrong. Hearing the name definitely upset Krowl. I just don't have the time to lean on him. Will you talk to him?"

  There was a long pause at the other end of the line, and I repeated Madeline's name.

  "Yes, Mongo." The stranger's voice was barely a whisper. "I'll talk to John, but I don't think he'll have anything to say to me."

  "Well, I'll appreciate your making the effort. And I may have another lead. Do you remember Bobby Weiss?"

  "Uh. . vaguely."

  I wondered; rumors around faculty circles had it that the student and the middle-aged woman had been lovers. "I think he may be in New York," I said. "I was wondering if you'd heard anything from him."

  Again there was a long silence; again I repeated her name.

  "I'm sorry, Mongo," she managed to say at last. "I'm just so. . exhausted I can't think. I don't know what's the matter with me."

  "Mad, have you seen a doctor?"

  "No. I just need. . some rest. I haven't heard from Bobby. I'm sorry I can't help you there."

  "It's okay. Listen, sweetheart, you take care of yourself. Okay?"

  "Yes," Mad answered dully. "I will. Thank you, Mongo. Goodbye."

  When I hung up, I found that I was concerned about Madeline. I quickly reminded myself that I had enough other things to worry about, and that Madeline-to say the least-was a strong woman who could take care of herself.