The 5th Witch (25 page)

Dan looked dubious. “I’m pretty rusty when it comes to magic. I haven’t done any serious tricks for years.”

“Then let me bring you back up to speed,” said his father. “Witches are human beings, after all—they’re just as impressed by conjuring tricks as anybody else. You only need to capture their attention for a couple of seconds—just long enough for Annie to get her spell in first.”

“I don’t know,” said Dan. “Do you honestly believe it will work?”

“I think it might,” Annie put in. “So long as I use
the right magic for each witch. I can use voodoo against Michelange DuPriz, but I need to use Uitoto magic against Lida Siado and Russian mirror magic against Miska Vedma. Otherwise, my spells won’t have any effect. It would be like trying to exorcize a Roman Catholic demon with a Hindu incantation.”

“Here, let me show you this one,” said Dan’s father. He unfastened the catch on his canary’s cage and reached inside. “Come on, Sylvester. Come on, boy. I call him boy, but for all I know he could be a girl. I’ve never been prurient enough to look.”

He took the canary off its perch and cupped it in his hand. He tucked its head under its wing and started to stroke it with his finger, very gently.

“You know something—in France in the fifteenth century, they used to pluck chickens when they were still alive. Pluck them, take all their feathers off. Then they used to paint them with butter and cold basting juices, tuck their heads under their wings like I’ve done with Sylvester here, and turn them around and around until they fell asleep.

“Then they brought these sleeping chickens to the dinner table surrounded by real roast chickens. They’d give them a prod, and the birds would jump up and run down the table, upsetting everybody’s drinks. Pretty hilarious, huh?”

The canary’s eyes closed in less than a minute. Dan’s father held it up so that Dan and Annie could see it. Then he pulled off his cravat and loosely covered Sylvester.

“Poor little canary. At least he’s going to die in his sleep.”

He gently closed his fingers around his cravat. Then he raised his arm and began to crush it in his fist, tighter and tighter.

Annie said, “Oh my God. That poor little bird.”

“Ex-bird,” Dan’s father corrected. His fist was clenched so tightly that there were white spots on his knuckles.

He kept his fist uplifted for a moment longer. Then he suddenly opened his fingers and whipped away the cravat. The canary flew up into the air, chirping, and he snatched at it and caught it, and placed it tenderly back on its perch.

“So how did you do that?” Dan asked.

“Easy. Sylvester was asleep, so when I lifted my arm up, I dropped him straight down my sleeve. I only had to shake him a little to wake him up. The point is, people always want to think the worst. They
want
to believe that I crushed him.”

“And you really think that these witches are going to fall for tricks like that?”

“Why not? You did, didn’t you—both of you, and you’re much more skeptical than your average person in the street about conjuring tricks and magic.”

Dan looked at Annie, and she gave him a shrug, as if to say,
What do we have to lose?

“Okay then, Dad,” he conceded. “I’ll come back tomorrow morning, and you can give me a refresher course.”

The tricks that his father taught him were more difficult than he had expected, and even after three hours of practice, he still wasn’t entirely confident that he could carry them off.

“But that’s not the point,” said his father. “All you’re trying to do is create a distraction. Not a threatening distraction, like taking out your gun, because your witches will retaliate immediately, which is just what you’re trying to avoid. You’re trying to catch their eye, that’s all, and amuse them. So it doesn’t matter if you don’t pull the tricks off perfectly.”

“I hope this works,” Dan said.

His father took hold of his hand and squeezed it. “Just remember one thing: stage magic, it’s all about
belief
. So long as you believe that what you’re doing is real magic, then your audience will, too. I never once met a stage magician who wasn’t totally serious about his craft, even the comic magicians who pretended to mess up everything they did.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“It’s been a pleasure, son. Take care of yourself and take care of that pretty girlfriend of yours.” He picked up Sylvester’s cage and handed it over. “And take care of Sylvester, okay? I want this little fellow back in one piece. That’s if he
is
a fellow.”

When he returned to Franklin Avenue, he found Annie sitting cross-legged in the middle of her living room, with incense smoldering in a curvy brass pot. Her laptop was open, and books and magazines were scattered all around her.

“Voodoo,” she said. “I think we should go for Michelange DuPriz first, because she’s the one who can debilitate her victims the quickest.”

Dan set the canary cage down on the table, and Malkin immediately jumped up and tried to poke her paw through the bars. But Sylvester seemed oblivious to her, and carried on twittering and bouncing on his perch.

“Malkin!” Annie snapped. “That’s our new assistant, not your lunch!”

Dan picked up one of her books and flicked through it. There were recipes for spells and potions and grisgris bags, as well as drawings of voodoo dolls and diagrams of
veves
—magical designs for summoning the
loua
, or voodoo spirits.

“Are you sure you can do this?” asked Dan.

“Dan, I feel more than ready, believe me. Ever since that third Rebecca Greensmith turned all maggoty in her cell, I feel even more powerful than ever.
I
trapped her.
I
restrained her. It’s the natural order of magic. All of the influence that particular manifestation of Rebecca Greensmith used to possess—it’s mine now.”

“Okay. Then I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to ask a couple of uniforms to sit on the Zombie’s house on Laurel Canyon and to give us a head’s up any time that Michelange DuPriz goes out on her own. Meantime, I think I’m going to do some more practicing. That goddamned stabbing-yourself-in-the-eyes trick, that really takes some precision. There must be thousands of magicians out there who never got it right, all walking around with guide dogs.”

Annie took hold of his hands and kissed him. “We’ll do it, Dan. I know we can do it. We have to, because nobody else can.”

Two officers in an unmarked police car kept watch on Jean-Christophe Artisson’s mansion on Laurel Canyon until well past midnight, but there was no sign of Michelange DuPriz—either with or without her sister witches.

Dan was still trying to stab himself in the eyes when the officers called him.

“Sorry, Detective. Looks like a bust for today.”

“Okay, thanks. We’ll make an early start in the morning. She has to come out of the house sometime.”

He opened a last bottle of stout and went out onto the balcony. The night was unnaturally quiet, as if everybody had realized that there were magical forces at work in the city and was trying not to disturb them. But in reality only those who had been unfortunate enough to confront the witches knew what was happening. He had watched the news bulletins about the SWAT officers who had been killed at West Grove Country Club, and he could hardly believe how successfully the story had been suppressed. Meteorological experts were still sitting in the TV studios talking about “highly localized tornado conditions.”

It made him wonder how many other news stories were suppressed and how many disasters and conspiracies and official foul-ups went unreported—or distorted beyond recognition.

He fed Sylvester and filled his water bowl. Then he showered and went to bed. He lay in the dark for almost an hour with his eyes open. Then he slept and started to dream.

He was speeding southward along 101, at over 120mph. Gayle was sitting beside him, singing “Comfortably Numb” in a weird, off-key falsetto.

“
When I was a child—I had a fever! Eee—eee—eee!
”

“Hey, this time we’re going to be okay,” he told her.

She turned to stare at him, her blond hair fluffing in the slipstream. “What do you mean?”

“This time we’re not going to crash. You’re not going to be killed.”

“This time? How much did you and Gus have to drink? I’ve never been killed. Do I
look
like I’ve been killed?”

“You died, Gayle, and it was all my fault. But I’m not going to let it happen again.”

“Dan, what are you talking about? I’m alive!”

He opened his eyes. Gayle was lying in bed next to him, naked, her bare shoulder silhouetted against the window. He could feel her breath on his cheek.

“Are you real?” he asked her, a catch in his throat.

She kissed him on the forehead, then on the tip of his nose. “Of course I’m real. Don’t I feel real?”

“Yes. You feel real. But I don’t know whether you’re really you.”

“Who else could I be?”

He sat up. She snuggled up behind him and traced patterns on his back with her fingertips.

“Who else could I be, Dan?”

“I don’t know. I’m not so sure that I want to know.”

“Has that friend of yours been talking to you again? That Annie?”

“What does Annie have to do with us?”

“You tell me. Just so long as she doesn’t come between us.”

Dan twisted around and stared at her in the darkness. “How can she come between us, Gayle? You’re dead!”

She put her arms around him and drew him down on top of her. “Do I
feel
dead?”

At 10:07
A.M
., his cellphone rang. He was sitting on a stool in the kitchen drinking coffee. The blinds were pulled down tight to keep out the morning sunshine.

“Detective Fisher? Officer McNab. We have movement. Your lady friend just left the property in a black Escalade.”

“Anybody with her?”

“One of the Zombie’s musclemen, that’s all.”

“Okay, great. Keep on her. And keep me posted on her progress.”

“You got it.”

Dan had not directly told the officers that their surveillance on Michelange DuPriz was part of his investigation into the mass slaughter at West Grove Country Club and at the White Ghost’s house at Silverlake, but everybody at the station knew that he was involved in some of the weirder events of the past few days—starting with the three detectives burned to death outside the Palm—and they gave him their unquestioning support.

He called Annie. “Are you ready to go? Michelange DuPriz has left the Zombie’s house, and so far she only has a single bodyguard with her.”

“I’m ready. I’ve had all my stuff packed since six o’clock this morning.”

He went into the bedroom. Gayle was lying there, still asleep. He walked around the bed and gently shook her shoulder.

“Gayle?”

“What time is it?”

“I have to go work. Are you still going to be here when I get back, or are you going to disappear again?”

Her eyes were misted, as if she had been crying. “It depends if you want me here.”

“I don’t know. I’m finding this very difficult to deal with.”

“You mean you don’t love me anymore?”

“No, of course not. But how can I love you if I’m not sure that you’re not really you?”

She lay back on the pillow and smiled up at him. “Now
there’s
a question.”

He picked up Sylvester’s cage and went downstairs to Annie’s apartment, holding the cage high like a lantern.

“I’ve had an update,” he told Annie when she opened the door. “Michelange DuPriz is on Rodeo Drive in Bijan, of all places.”

“Bijan—you’re not serious! The Zombie must be paying her a fortune if she’s shopping there. Their perfume’s—what—about three grand a bottle.”

“Okay…you got everything you need?”

Annie lifted a loose-weave bag, embroidered with gray and scarlet beads. “Everything’s in here. How about you?”

“I’m ready, yes. But I can’t say that I’m not scared shitless.”

They climbed into Dan’s Torrent and headed for Rodeo Drive. It was a bright, warm morning and
Beverly Hills looked its normal, affluent self. They drove slowly past the House of Bijan, with its arched entrance and its squiggly Bijan signature above the door. One of the Zombie’s shiny black Escalades was parked outside, and an unmarked Crown Victoria was parked three or four cars away, two cops in shirtsleeves sitting in it.

Dan steered the Torrent in a U-turn and parked behind the police car. He reached over to the backseat and lifted Sylvester out of his cage. The canary fluttered furiously, but Dan carefully closed his fingers around it and stowed it in the right-hand pocket of his sport coat.

He climbed out of his SUV and walked up to the two officers in the Crown Victoria.

“Thanks, fellows. You did good. How long has she been in there?”

“Twenty minutes. Long enough to spend about three years’ salary. My salary, anyhow.”

“How about the bodyguard?”

“He’s been in and out. Look, here he comes again.”

One of the Zombie’s black-suited heavies emerged from Bijan and walked across the sidewalk to open the Escalade’s passenger door. Through the boutique’s tinted window, Dan could see Michelange DuPriz in a pale gray dress, talking to two Bijan assistants who were carrying several shopping bags for her.

Dan pointed to Annie. “This young lady and me, we’re going to be apprehending the woman. She may look like a thin streak of nothing, but believe me she’s extremely dangerous and you two guys shouldn’t go anywhere near her.
Capiche?
She was responsible for Cusack and Fusco and Knudsen getting cremated. You don’t want the same thing to happen to you.”

The two officers looked up at him, and he could tell that they desperately wanted to ask him what this was all about.

“Listen,” he said, “if we can pull this off, I’ll explain it all to you later. Right now, it’s probably better that you don’t know. All I want you to do is go for the bodyguard. Disarm him, get him down on the ground, and cuff him. I’m going to repeat myself and say—whatever happens, stay well clear of the woman.”

“Okay, Detective. Got you.”

At that moment, the front door of Bijan opened and Michelange DuPriz stepped out, putting on a large pair of Chanel sunglasses. Dan heard the door of his Torrent slam as Annie climbed out, and now she was walking toward the front of the store at a quick, determined pace. As she approached, she reached into her bag, and Dan saw her take out a large red candle and a small brown pouch.

He started walking toward Michelange DuPriz himself, obscuring his face with his hand as if he were trying to keep the sun out of his eyes. But Michelange DuPriz was too concerned with organizing her shopping bags, and she didn’t even look at him until he was only three or four feet away from her.

“
Hey!
” he shouted, and threw Sylvester up into the air, right in front of her. She took a step back in surprise. Without any hesitation, Dan smacked his hands together so that the canary appeared to explode in a burst of feathers.

“
Kisa ou ap fe?
” said Michelange DuPriz. It was all the distraction that Annie needed. With her left hand she pointed the candle at Michelange DuPriz and with her right hand she shook the small brown pouch so that a fine ash was blown all over her. Then she took out a tiny silver whistle and started blowing it in shrill, staccato bursts.

The bodyguard yelled, “Get away from her, lady!” and started to cross the sidewalk toward her. But he was less than halfway before the two police officers
called out, “Police! Freeze!” and cut across in front of him with their guns drawn. “Facedown on the sidewalk, sir! Do it now!”

Annie continued to shrill her whistle, faster and faster, and Michelange DuPriz staggered backward and collided with Bijan’s window. She looked as if she were drunk or somebody had hit her very hard. She waved her right arm like a chicken’s wing and Dan guessed that she was attempting to cast a spell to protect herself. The ash that Annie had thrown over her was zombie dust, which had numbed her and thrown her off balance. By whistling, Annie was calling up a
rada
, a sweet and powerful spirit from the Haitian netherworld. The ash candle was engraved with a
veve
, which made the spirit welcome and willing to help her.

Michelange DuPriz must have known that, too, because she tried to scream out a voodoo curse. But she had lost the initiative, and it was too late for her to start an incantation. All she could do was splutter and spit. She dropped onto her knees, and her sunglasses clattered across the sidewalk. Her face was contorted with frustration.

Annie stopped whistling and took out a stick with a plume of feathers tied to the end. She started to tap the side of the candle, using the same staccato rhythm.

“Rada Ye, I ask with all my heart to end this evil for me. Rada Ye, bring this witch the punishment that she deserves for all of her wickedness.
Souple, souple
.”

She approached Michelange DuPriz until she was standing right over her, and she touched her forehead three times with the tip of the candle. Meanwhile, the two police officers had forced the bodyguard to lie spreadeagle on the ground, and one of them was cuffing him. The bodyguard wasn’t trying to wrestle himself free: he knew better than that.

“Rada Ye, I pray to you. Rada Ye, I will reward you well for your strength and your kindness. You may take this witch’s spirit as your prize. Hear me, Rada Ye, and bring her the pain that she has brought to so many others.
Mesi, mwen sinyur
.”

Michelange DuPriz started to shake. Her eyes rolled up so that Dan could only see the whites, and her face turned a dirty white color. One shiny black stiletto shoe began to click repeatedly against the sidewalk, almost in synchronization with Annie’s tapping.

Annie glanced toward Dan and said, “
Now
, Dan!”

Dan hunkered down close to Michelange DuPriz and held out his loose fist so that it was right in front of her face. Michelange DuPriz’s eyes rolled back into focus, and she stared at him in hatred and bewilderment. Dan gave her a humorless grin and said, “Abracadabra, Ms. DuPriz!”

He opened his fist and there was Sylvester, completely unhurt. The canary cheeped and twittered and fluttered his wings in annoyance, but Dan had trapped the bird’s feet between his fingers so that he couldn’t fly off.

Michelange DuPriz raised both of her angular arms to cover her eyes, but again she was too late. Annie tapped the
veve
candle again and again, ti-
tappa
-ti-
tappa
-ti-
tappa
, and Dan became aware of a ripple in the air, like the ripple from a hot summer highway, and he was conscious of a resonance, too, so deep that it was almost below the range of human hearing.

Michelange DuPriz went rigid, and her arms dropped stiffly by her sides. She raised her axelike profile upward, her eyes bulging wide, and her neck began to swell. She let out a terrible choking noise, as if she had a fishbone caught in her windpipe.

Ti-
tappa
-ti-
tappa
-ti-
tappa!

Her lips stretched wide, and a gray and greasy shape began to emerge from her mouth, so large that she couldn’t entirely regurgitate it. At first Dan couldn’t understand what it was. It looked anvil-shaped, and it seemed to be covered with fur. Then it opened its yellow eyes, and he realized with shock what Michelange DuPriz was painfully bringing up. Not cockroaches, or toads, or quarters.

It was a cat, and it was trying to force its way out of her mouth so that it could come after Sylvester.

Dan, still hunkered down, took two crablike steps backward. “Jesus Christ, Annie!”

The cat managed to push its head out, and then one paw, but then it got stuck and started to wriggle and yowl in frustration.

“Annie!” Dan protested.

“I can’t help it, Dan! I didn’t choose this! This was what the
loua
decided she deserved.”

“Jesus, can’t you stop it?”

But Michelange DuPriz dropped sideways onto the ground, jerking and juddering and whining through her nostrils. Her dreadlocks shriveled and turned gray, and all the beads that she had worn in her hair dropped onto the sidewalk and rolled away. Underneath her pale gray dress, her body appeared to collapse, as if she were crumbling to dust in front of their eyes. The skin of her face tautened, and then wrinkled, and then broke away from her skull like cellophane burned by a naked flame.

The cat kept on wriggling and struggling. At last, with a loud crack, it managed to dislocate Michelange DuPriz’s jaw. It forced its way out of her mouth, its fur still slick with mucus. It shook itself, and then it scurried away, its belly low to the ground.