To Kill a Sorcerer (32 page)

Hamilton and I knelt on the carpet so we could better see the image.

“Yes. They’re black pentagrams.”

“Correct. Look carefully at the one on the left. If you’ll notice, at the lower right of the symbol, you will see it is incomplete. That little line on the point is missing on this one, compared to the one on the right.”

Hamilton and I leaned toward the screen. I looked back and forth.

“Yes, if the one on the right is a complete version, the one on the left looks unfinished,” I said. “What’s that mean?”

Reed came back onscreen. “The ritual he was attempting to perform could not have worked.”

It appeared my intervention had made a difference.

“So he didn’t finish,” Hamilton said. “How does that help us?”

“It doesn’t,” Reed said. “But he did not just fail to finish. This ritual generates a tremendous amount of power. That energy would have to go somewhere.”

“Where?”

“Probably into the soul of his victim. And Kanga lost that power—and control of her soul—because he took the time to torture her with the cigar, something that was not a part of the ritual. Then he was interrupted by our unknown intruder.”

“Good,” I said.

“Wouldn’t that be ironic,” Hamilton said, “if her cigars spared her soul?”

“Well, I don’t know if that spared her anything,” Reed said. “She’s still in a strange place, probably confused and trying to find a way out. I wish her luck. I also have a follow-up report on our Mr. Kanga. Specifically his efforts to become a Thief of Souls.”

“Yes, go ahead.”

“One fact I have come across numerous times now is the control he would exercise over the souls of his victims. I mentioned that in our last meeting, but now I’m sure he would have an extreme level of command and be able to use them to attack specific targets. And these imprisoned entities would be formidable due to the ceremonies performed to capture them from their host bodies.”

Hamilton and I exchanged a knowing look.

“You’re a little behind the times, although your analysis is excellent. Kanga has already attacked Hamilton and me with his spirits. And yes, they are strong. Bey’s provided us with protections.”

“I’m glad to hear it.
Merde
, but this is bad. With three murders under his belt, he may proceed to the final stage of the ritual. And tonight is the perfect night to do it.”

“Because of the conjunction?”

“Yes. Oh!” He reached for something off-camera. “We agreed that a magical object would be necessary for him to achieve the true mystical abilities promised in the
grimoires,
right?”

“Yes.”

“I have found only two that seem powerful enough for this level of supernatural strength. Both are nearly the stuff of myth, but I could not find a single reference to ownership of the objects by any verified historical figures.”

“So,” Hamilton said, “are you going to tell us what these things are, or are you writing a thesis?”

“The first object is an enchanted robe, or jacket—the Samaritan’s Shield. It magnifies the effects of ceremonies revolving around ritual sacrifice and protects the possessor against all supernatural attacks. The other possible is the most powerful magical object in existence, the Key of Akasha.”

“Well,” I said, “do you have an opinion? Which is it?”

“I think it’s the Key of Akasha.”

“Why?” Reed and I had never discussed the key before. His resources impressed me.

“The ancient tales of the key always relate to purity, especially virgins.”

“Virgins,” Hamilton said, voice low.

“Did Watanabe confirm Amanda Meyer was a virgin?” I asked Reed.

“Yes,” he answered. “And that her heart was ripped out with teeth.”

I make no claim to psychic gifts, but I knew at that moment the three of us were thinking the same thing. And it was illegal.

“What else do we know about the key?”

“Very little. The only picture I found was a line drawing in an old book. It looks like an old-fashioned skeleton key. There is no description of its composition, though there are rumors it’s made of pure gold.”

“Everything always is.”

“Yes, funny, isn’t it? This drawing is an unimaginative, literal interpretation. For all we know, the real Key of Akasha doesn’t even look like a key.”

“Why Akasha?” Hamilton asked.

“The Akashic Records,” Reed replied. His image went fuzzy, and his voice crackled. “The book that details everything about the universe and can only be read on the spiritual plane.”

“Everything about the universe?”

“The past, present—even the future, if you can find the right page.”

“How does this help Kanga?”

Reed’s on-screen image cleared, and his voice returned to normal.

“After three sacrificial killings—assuming the conjurer has done them correctly—he must travel to the ether, go to a certain page of the Akashic Records, introduce the key during a specific hour, while under a ‘heavenly meeting,’ and perform a final, dangerous ceremony. Then, according to the legends, a ‘lock’ will appear. And if he has done all of
that
just right, the key will activate, and the conjurer will be infused with ‘the power of the ages.’ Not sure what that is, but it sounds like bad news.”

“Very bad news,” Hamilton agreed. “It sounds like a helluva lot of conditions, though.”

“This is ancient, ultra-secret knowledge, and it requires more than just nerve to carry these rituals out. Kanga has undoubtedly been preparing to commit these murders for years. The way he’s pulled them off shows he planned them in meticulous detail. He has been waiting for this week, knowing tonight is the kind of night when extreme magical events can occur.”

“When tonight?”

“The exact time of the conjunction is seven oh-two. Considering his precision so far, he will probably begin the final ceremony pretty close to that.”

“Agreed.”

My phone chimed. Picture mail. I clicked View and held it closer. The photo was a long shot taken with a camera phone, and I couldn’t make it out. Finally, I got it. A woman on her knees. She was leaning forward, her head hanging. Her arms were shackled behind her back and chained to a brick wall. She appeared to be naked.

There was something familiar about the figure. A gleam of thick golden hair caused my heart to stop.

It was Aliena.

Friday, December 24, 3:37 p.m.

Information below the picture indicated it had been sent a minute earlier, from Aliena’s cell.

“What’s the matter?” Hamilton asked.

“Nothing.” I turned to the computer display. “Thank you, Mr. Reed. We’ll be in touch.”

“Sure.” His image disappeared.

I was trying to recover from the shock of seeing Aliena chained to a wall. How could a picture come from her phone in the middle of the afternoon? Of course, just because it had been sent during the day did not mean it had been taken during the day. But then who had sent it? What did it mean? I realized Hamilton had been speaking for a while.

“Sorry?” I said.

“What do we do now?”

“There’s nothing to do for a few hours. Are you going in with the SWAT team?”

“Of course. Don’t you want to?”

“Yes, I do.” I didn’t, not now, but I did not know what else to say.

“The staging area is a few blocks from the house in Encino. Six fifteen.”

“Right.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine. I’m fine.”

“Okay if I use your computer to file a report?”

“Sure.”

He sat in the club chair, unplugged the computer, and dropped it on his lap.

I lit a cigarette and stepped onto the patio, my head a whirling storm of emotion, the picture of Aliena starkly stamped in my mind.

My phone rang. I realized I had been expecting it to.

Moving as if underwater, I fished it out of my pocket and glanced at the caller ID. It was from Aliena. And that was not possible with the sun in the sky.

“Yes?”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Montero.”

I closed my eyes. My worst nightmare had become reality.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Kanga?”

“The exact right question. You saw the picture?”

“Yes.”

“For this Christmas, I would like seven pints of your precious blood.”

His request did not surprise me. Blood is the most powerful of magical ingredients. Kanga wanted a supply of my unique plasma for potions and ceremonies. I had already decided such a donation was out of the question.

“And why would I give you that when I would rather introduce you to the business end of a sharp knife?”

“That is hardly the Christmas spirit. However, I did not count on your charity or your willingness to assist me in my endeavors. So I abducted your lady vampire friend.”

If it wasn’t for the picture, I would not have believed he had Aliena. “Why do you want my blood?” Negotiation was my only course, but my mind repeated that I could not give a man such as Kanga one drop.

“That need not concern you.”

“I have to think it over.” With Aliena in his possession, I could not wait long.

“Yes, of course. Take all the time you like. If I get bored waiting, I can always amuse myself with the vampire.”

I felt sick with hatred. “How did you want to do this?”

“A simple exchange. You bring me what I want, and I release your friend to you.” He gave me an address in the hills off Laurel Canyon Boulevard.

“Do you know where that is?”

“I can find it.”

“I understand a SWAT team has been dispatched to that little house you visited. I have no problem with that. The police may flex their meaningless muscles. However, if such a team were to find me here, I could not prevent loss of life while defending myself. You understand that, Mr. Montero?”

“Yes.”

“If you would like to bring Mr. Hamilton to negotiate that part of it on behalf of LAPD, you may, but only him.”

“I understand.”

“Excellent. I presume you will want to wait until nightfall to take your friend with you.”

“Yes.” I tried to keep my voice even when I asked him, “Was she naked in that picture?”

“She has her panties on.” It sounded like he was smiling, and I was suddenly sure he was staring at her while we spoke. “Stunning physique. You are rather fond of her, aren’t you?”

My face grew hot. “Let her get dressed when she wakes up.”

“No.”

“If you want my—”

“The vampire’s nudity is hardly your concern at this point, Mr. Montero, and in the next couple of hours, it would serve you well to remember what is. Sunset is at four fifty-one.”

I went inside and grabbed another cigarette.

“Almost finished,” Hamilton said without looking up.

I nodded, returned to the patio.

In spite of what Kanga had said, I did not know if I could take Hamilton with me. He would insist on bringing the SWAT team with him. Kanga’s threat to kill some or all of them if that happened was not an idle one. With the power he undoubtedly possessed after the murder of Amanda Meyer, he could easily handle an LAPD Special Forces team and inflict serious damage on any unit sent in to take him.

Even if I could convince Hamilton that going alone was our only option in order to save Aliena, there was the problem of her being a vampire. The only way Kanga could possibly be safe around her after dark would be to use magic on her, probably charms and spells surrounding her. Hamilton would see this and wonder why the enchantments were there.

And if he then heard the negotiation between Kanga and me, that would raise questions in his mind about the significance of my blood. It was not hard to imagine him connecting that with the strange, powerful blood recovered at the Leoni crime scene.

As these things rolled through my mind, I came to realize none of them mattered. He had to come with me even if it meant he discovered things I’d prefer he didn’t know. If I went alone and something happened to me, and Kanga still intended to kill Hamilton, the detective did not stand a chance. It seemed fair that I give him the opportunity to help me, since he was probably dead if I failed.

I returned to the living room, sat on the couch, and waited for him to finish. He continued typing for a few more minutes, set the laptop back on the table, and reconnected the power cord.

“At least now Reyes knows we’ve been working on this,” he said.

“Did you report that you were attacked by invisible entities at the Meyer home?”

“You know better than that.”

“Why not? Afraid it will make you sound like someone who was abducted by aliens?”

“It would be premature to report what happened,” he said, eyes flashing. “My memory may be subjective and not accurate.”

“Talk about denial. What’s subjective about you being lifted off your feet and carried through the air by forces neither of us could see? What about—”

“Okay, okay,” he said, holding his hand to his chest and grimacing, just as I had after the damned things attacked me. “I didn’t want to sound like someone who saw a UFO, all right?”

“And that is why there is so little credible evidence for these events. People like you do not step forward for fear of harming your professional reputations.”

“What’s with you? Are you really that upset I didn’t report this?”

I took a deep breath. “No, it’s not that, although I do find it ironic after what we talked about just last night.”

“Then what is it?”

I still hesitated. “That was Kanga who called me just now.”

“What? Are you serious?” He looked flabbergasted. “Why the hell would he call you? I don’t suppose he wants to surrender to us?”

“Not exactly. He wants to meet with us.”

He leaned forward. “How did he get your cell number? What is this guy?”

“He’s a sorcerer and a powerful one. You heard Reed, and you felt those spirits.”

“What does he want?”

“He wants us to leave him alone.”

“And why would we do that?”

“He has Aliena.”

Friday, December 24, 4:26 p.m.

Hamilton’s face blanked. “How does she figure into this? Why grab her?” He paused. “Do you know—is she a virgin?”