To Kill a Sorcerer (24 page)

Bey did the same to the other figures and set them aside. Taking the first juju, he turned it over and threaded a piece of string through the loop on the back of its neck. “I suggest you keep one in your car. Hang this on your rearview mirror.”

I pictured the doll in the T-bird. “Can’t I just set it on the backseat?”

“No. First, you limit the juju’s power by not displaying it. And second, you offend the spirits with your embarrassment of them.”

“Well, goodness knows I wouldn’t want to offend any spirits.”

“Precisely.” He tapped the ash off his cigar, took a puff. “Keep one at the entrance to your home, and place the other above the lintel of your patio doors. I would leave the holly plants at that portal as well.”

“I understand.”

“You may want to give a couple of the dolls to your partner.”

“That could prove problematic.”

He opened another drawer and pulled out a clear bag that looked like it was filled with . . .

“Bones,” he said. “They have been blessed. Place a couple of them on all of the window ledges in your house.”

“Right.”

“Next, you need some protective amulets. How many should I give you?”

I thought about it. “Better give me four.”

He took jet-black rocks out of another drawer and threaded leather thongs through small golden hoops embedded in the top of each rock. “Fetishised black onyx, the most powerful defensive amulet I can create.” When he was done with the leather necklaces, he set them aside. “Now, let’s see about some offensive measures.”

He walked to the other end of the table, stopped in front of an ornate chest of drawers, slid open one of the compartments. He pulled out what I thought at first was a medium-size magnifying glass.

“That’s rather beautiful,” I said. The handle was a dark, lustrous wood, inlaid with the ankh symbol. Encircling the glass was a band of burnished gold with a cobalt cabochon on top. But the glass was what drew the eye. It was exquisitely beveled, and the shape was not round, but almost rectangular, like a cushion-cut diamond.

“Yes, it is beautiful. There are only five in existence, and I own two of them.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a Christo Glass,” he said, handing it to me.

“What does it do?” I pointed it at his desk.

“It shows you what the naked eye cannot.”

Through the glass, I saw a mass of grains quite unlike the smooth surface of the table. It appeared the grains were pulsing feebly. Everything within the confines of the glass stood out with startling clarity. “What am I seeing?”

“The table’s aura.”

“A table can have an aura?”

“A weak one, yes. Turn the glass toward me.” I held the glass out in his direction at the height of his chest.

“
Madre de Dios
.” I could see his ribs and blood vessels and his beating heart, but there was something more there, a shifting, rhythmic radiance that infused the cells. I moved the glass to other areas. The glow was always there. “The white glimmer is your aura?”

“Yes. You will see the light no matter where you look on my body.”

“Where did you get this?” I asked, examining the glass more closely.

“The first one was passed on to me by my father. The second was from a man who bequeathed it to me.”

“What man?”

“An old friend. He died suddenly, the final victim of his bad judgment.”

“How will this help me against these spirits?”

“You will be able to see them with it.”

I set the Christo Glass down and picked up my cigar.

“Seeing them isn’t the problem, Geoff,” I said, taking a puff. “I don’t need to see them to know where they are.”

“Once they’re attacking you, you mean.”

“Yes, of course.”

“But if you could see them before they got to you . . . ”

“I don’t know. That thing is pretty small.”

“Granted. But once you know where they are, you can use a special preparation of mine to hurt them badly.” He reached over to his rack of vials and pulled two of them, setting them in a separate holder. He opened a drawer under the table and retrieved two small, translucent atomizers with spray pumps. He took the tops off and placed a small funnel in the first tube. Carefully, he poured a pale gold liquid from the first vial until the atomizer cylinder was 80 percent full, then set the vial aside.

“And now for the kick.” He opened another drawer, took out two pairs of dark green safety glasses, and handed one pair to me. With the glasses on, I could barely see.

Bey picked up the second vial and, with extreme care, poured a single drop into the funnel. The flash of light was immediate, and even with the heavily tinted glasses, it blinded me, leaving a bright afterimage of the bottle imprinted on my eyes.

Filling the air was the clean, sharp odor I had smelled earlier this evening.

“Holly!”

“In a tincture one hundred times more powerful than the naturally occurring plant. Spray this on one of those demons, and you will wound it terribly, perhaps even kill it.”

Killing the spirits of the girls was not appealing.

He screwed the spray top on the atomizer and repeated the procedure with the second jar, blinding us momentarily once more. He took the two jars, the seven juju dolls, the bag of bones, and the black onyx necklaces, and placed them in a small leather duffel bag.

I handed him my glasses, and he dropped both pairs back in the drawer. He opened another drawer and pulled out three red bands with little gold charms hanging from them.

“Kabbalah red bracelets,” he said, stuffing them into the case. “They’ll ward off the Evil Eye. It’s sort of an all-purpose charm, but effective. Wear it on your left wrist.” He zipped the bag shut. “Now,” he said, putting all of his materials back as he spoke, “these entities that are after you—they were sent by someone, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Does this have anything to do with the Voodoo Killer?”

“I am not at liberty to discuss that.”

“Of course. But if that man is involved, and if these spirits are the souls of his victims, you can only save them from eternal servitude by killing their murderer.”

“I intend to do that. Is that all I need to do? Just kill him?”

“It may be necessary to find the vessel in which he keeps them trapped and release them.”

“Okay.”

“I would visit as few people as possible until you’ve concluded this investigation.”

I nodded. He realized, as I had, that these demons might focus on the people I cared about and might even be sent to attack those I visited. I was not worried about Bey. He could take care of himself—but he was the only one I knew who could. I picked up the bag he had packed for me. “I am sorry if I have caused you any trouble.”

“No, they won’t be able to bother me. They won’t be able to bother you, either, as soon as you have those jujus in place.”

“I really appreciate this, Geoff. I’m sorry to run, but I must meet my partner.”

“No need to apologize. Let me see you out.”

He led the way out of the room and down the hall. In the foyer, I turned and extended my hand, but he pushed it aside and embraced me in a crushing hug before he opened the door.

“Do give my regards to Aliena.”

Thursday, December 23, 10:38 p.m.

I drove to the Valley with my bag of protective charms on the rear seat. The juju hung from my rearview mirror, swinging gently, looking like the grotesquely dressed victim of a lynching.

If Kanga had already attacked me, he was undoubtedly preparing to attack Hamilton as well. I knew I could never get Hamilton to listen to me and place some of Bey’s charmed objects in strategic positions around his apartment, so I would have to do it myself somehow.

I activated the hands-free and rang Preston.

“Yeah?”

“Well, Mr. Preston? Don’t tell me you have nothing this time.”

“We’ve got him. Kanga. First name is Karnall.”

“Any record?”

“No, he’s clean. He works as a chemist in Agoura Hills for a pharmaceutical corporation, Arvomed.”

Aha,
I thought. “Does Arvomed distribute a drug requiring an inhaler?” I turned onto Sylmar.

“Three.”

“Where does he live?”

“Encino, on Lindley.”

“Have the police ID’d him yet?” I pulled into the Van Nuys PD parking lot.

“Not yet.”

“Thank you.” I disconnected, called Hamilton, and told him to meet me downstairs. A couple of minutes later he pushed through the front doors and crossed the lot.

“Let’s do Jerry’s,” he said as soon as he climbed into the car. “I need a bacon cheeseburger and fries.”

“Okay. Let’s get it to go and take it back to your place.”

“Fine. The Bird looks good,” he said, looking around.

“Thanks.”

“What in God’s name is that thing?” He stared at the juju doll.

“Gift from a friend. I couldn’t hurt his feelings.”

“Well, he’s not here now. You can take it down.” He reached for it.

“No!” I held the figure by its feet. “It has to stay there.”

“You did say this was a ‘he,’ right? I mean, if you promised a hottie you’d leave that ugly thing there, okay, but a guy? I don’t know about that.”

“You will.”

“The hell you say.” He batted the juju lightly and leaned back in his seat. He pulled out his phone and dialed. “What did you want?”

“A Monte Cristo sandwich with fries and a Brooklyn egg cream.”

“Okay. Hello? Yeah, I’d like to place an order for pickup . . . Montero . . . 555-8011 . . . yes . . . bacon cheeseburger with fries . . . a Monte Cristo with fries . . . two Brooklyn egg creams . . . Dessert? Sure, what the hell, a piece of chocolate mousse cake and—” He looked over at me.

“Key lime pie.”

“And a slice of key lime . . . right . . . thanks.” He hung up. He sniffed. “What did you do, get one of those Christmas scents for your car?”

“It’s holly. And it’s in the backseat. It’s a tincture in a spray bottle.”

“Oh, boy. You don’t need to tell me what that’s for.”

“You know already. Just like you knew most of what Reed touched on last night.”

“So?”

“So I know your maternal grandmother was a Candomblé priestess. A real one.”

I kept my eyes on the road, but out of the corner of my eye, I could see his head swivel slowly toward me.

“How the hell do you know about that? Not even LAPD knows that.” His voice was taut. “Did you run a background on me?”

“I run a background on everyone I know.”

“You’re a son of a bitch sometimes, you know that?”

My hands tightened momentarily on the steering wheel. “Be careful what you say, Steve.”

“Fuck careful. Stay out of my private life. My
abuela
is none of your business.” He batted the doll again.

Normally, I would have let it go. He was right. His private life and his grandmother were none of my business.

After my encounter with Kanga and his spirits, however, I could not fail to remind him of his background if that helped me explain our predicament. As long as Hamilton remained ignorant of the man’s true powers, and was unwilling to take defensive measures, he was a dead man when Kanga decided to attack.

“Your
abuela
was a special woman.”

“She was. Would you please leave it alone? I don’t want to talk about her.”

“I’m sorry, Steve. I know you loved her very much.”

“You know shit,” he said in a low voice.

Manuela Nieves had died two years before at ninety-seven, peacefully in her bed, surrounded by family. Hamilton had flown back to Puerto Rico to be there.

According to the file I had compiled, Hamilton’s grandmother had tried to teach him about spirits and magic, but he had rejected the idea. That was puzzling. Children usually believed in ghosts and monsters, and if an adult they loved and respected told them that magic was real, they would accept it. But he had not.

And now he was a police detective, a man of scientific thinking. I decided on a more oblique approach.

“Do you know what a
ti bon ange
is? Or a
ka
?”

“God, Sebastian, not again. Yes, I know about spirit travel, and the different parts of the inner soul.
Abuela
was always talking about that stuff and how to influence people and special herbal cures and lots of other things.”

I made a U-turn and pulled to the curb in front of Jerry’s Famous Deli. We grabbed our food, climbed back into the car.

“Hand me that Brooklyn egg cream,” I told him. “You have to drink those cold.” He pulled them out, handed me one. I took a sip, set it between my legs. “Could your
abuela
influence others?”

He set the bags on the floor, leaned back, and took a drink.

“You’re just not going to let it go, are you?” I waited. “You know, people did come by all the time to ask for my
abuela
’s advice. Like she was a priest. You know the societies where they have village elders? She was like that.” He looked out his window. “I had forgotten.”

“She gave more than advice.”

“Yes.”

I turned onto Murietta and parked in front of his building. We piled out. As he was picking up the bags of food, I reached behind my seat into the bag Bey had given me, grabbed some charmed bones and an onyx amulet, and stuffed them in my pants pocket.

Hamilton lived in a one-bedroom he had decorated in cop casual. The kitchen was on the left as we came in. The foyer had a small table piled with old mail, pens in a cup, water bottles, and a Toshiba notebook computer. He dropped his keys there.

The living room contained a couch and two mismatched chairs, three end tables, and an assortment of lamps. Opposite the couch was a spindly, pressboard entertainment center with a tube television and a portable radio/cassette player. There was only one hanging picture: a black-and-white modern art print of a woman’s bare ass. In the corner nearest the kitchen was a small dining table with three metal-legged chairs. A mountain bike leaned against one of the chairs, with a red helmet hanging from the handlebars. The whole place was neat and clean, and there were no dishes in the sink.

We sat in the overstuffed chairs on opposite sides of a low coffee table and unpacked our food. Once we had everything sorted out, he picked up a remote and pointed it at the radio. Beyoncé sang softly about what she would do if she were a boy. Try as I might, it was not possible to picture her as a guy. I mentioned it to Hamilton.