An Affair Of Sorcerers

Chapter 20

I took Madeline to the nearest hospital, where she was immediately admitted through the Emergency Room. An intern cleaned and bandaged my shoulder, and even managed to find me a shirt left behind by some boy. Then I was allowed to sit with Madeline while the cross-shaped wound was washed, and pressure pads applied. The medical staff's best plastic surgeon was called in to do the stitching. It was the only logical thing to do; but I knew that the best plastic surgeon in the world wasn't going to be able to leave Madeline's forehead free of a scar she'd carry with her for the rest of her life.

I could think of nothing to say to Madeline except a simple "Thank you."

The surgeon indicated she'd be under the knife and needle for an hour or two. I told Madeline I'd stay close by, kissed her on the cheek and went out into the waiting room.

As with the sensory deprivation, there was none of the exhilaration I felt I should be experiencing after narrowly escaping being carved up and barbecued by the coven. What I did feel was a deep gratitude to Madeline for saving my life, sorrow and regret at the price she'd had to pay. Underlying it all was a profound sense of dissatisfaction at things left unfinished. But I knew there was one piece of business that had to be taken care of right away. I got up and went to a pay phone by the entrance.

Garth was still at the coven's headquarters, but I convinced the station's desk sergeant that my brother would want to talk to me right away. I was patched through to his car radio.

"Mongo! You all right? We got a call-"

"I know, Garth. I was there, but I'm all right."

There was a pause, then: "Well? Where the hell are you now?"

". . Taking care of some business," I said, feeling like The Fool in the tarot deck. Stepping off a cliff. Except that I was no innocent.

"How'd you get away?"

"Dwarf cunning," I said, hating myself for the smart-ass reply, but thinking of the woman a few rooms away having her face sewn back together. "Listen; Sandor Peth's dead, and you've got what's left of the coven there-except for Esobus." I swallowed hard, trying to rid myself of a sour, seaweed taste in my mouth. "Uh. . you didn't happen to pick up anyone in the street outside the building, did you?"

"No." Now Garth's voice was strained. "Tell me what happened."

I did, omitting only Madeline's role in helping me escape. I finished up by saying, "You'll find all the evidence you need in the books of shadows they keep in their cubicles."

"Sorry, Mongo," Garth said tightly. "We didn't find anything-and we probably couldn't hang on to it if we had. Whoever called said the coven was about to kill you; it wasn't exactly the kind of situation where I felt like waiting around for some judge to swear out a search warrant. We could conceivably be in trouble, if they want to press it."

"Krowl and the others. . weren't dressed in ceremonial robes?"

"No robes, Mongo."

They would have been consigned to the gas fire, along with the books of shadows and any other incriminating evidence in the coven's possession. I felt sick.

"Well, you'll just have to make do with my story. I'm telling you they're behind the whole thing. That factory is the coven's headquarters. What the hell did they say they were doing with a mini-crematorium in the center of the floor?"

"Hey, brother, I believe you. The point is that we don't have any physical proof. Krowl swears that the complex was started as an adjunct to his Mystic Eye Institute, then left unfinished when he ran out of money."

"Then what were they doing there?"

"As far as the law is concerned, it doesn't matter what they were doing there. Krowl owns the place. Anyway, it would help if we could find the woman who called in. She probably knows a lot. You don't have any idea who it was, do you?"

"No," I lied. I was beginning to feel light-headed and nauseated again, and I knew the feeling had nothing to do with antirabies shots. "Like I said, you'll just have to make do with my testimony."

"Right now I'll make do with just finding you. Where are you, Mongo? I'll come around and pick you up."

". . I'll be at the station house in a couple of hours."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. When Garth finally spoke again, his voice was hard and cold. "You're holding out on me, Mongo. What the fuck do you think you're up to?"

"I'll talk to you later, Garth," I said, and hung up.

Feeling as if I were wrapped in a bale of wet cotton, I went to a canteen down a corridor from the Emergency Room and got a cup of coffee from a vending machine. I sat down, lighted a cigarette and stared down into the brown depths of the coffee. The steaming liquid reminded me of the hole I'd seen in the floor of my mind, and I recalled how I'd gone over and over the facts of the case in an attempt to keep from falling into that hole. Now, with the coven experience behind me, there were more elements to add. I was convinced that if I stared hard enough, mixed everything together and stirred hard enough, the rest of the answers would break free and float to the top, like clots of rancid cream.

The cigarette end burned my fingers. I stubbed the butt out in a standing ashtray while continuing to stare into the coffee, thinking. I was still staring when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Madeline. Her entire forehead was bandaged, but her lovely blue eyes were free of pain. To me, she still looked beautiful; she wouldn't look so beautiful to others when the bandages were removed.

"Hello, babe," I said softly. "Shouldn't you at least be staying here overnight?"

Mad shook her head, and winced. "The blood made the wound look worse than it really is. I'm all stitched up, and the plastic surgeon says there won't be too much of a scar." She smiled and made a small curtsy. "I'm betting it will look sexy. How about getting me a cup of coffee?"

I brought her coffee from the machine, sat down across from her. "Thank you again for saving my life."

"You're welcome again. Now let's forget about it, okay? Having you around is worth a little slice on the forehead. Remember what you said? We're the only two people who have anything to say to each other at those boring faculty parties."

"Why did you run the way you did, Mad? Didn't you know Esobus was there?"

She grinned wryly and gently touched her bandaged forehead with her fingertips. "I knew; I guess I'm just a damn fool. Call it the curiosity of the scientist. I wanted to see who Esobus was."

"Did you get a look at him?"

Madeline shook her head. "He was dressed in a crimson robe, like the others, with a hood over his head. He was just running out when I came up. He was tall-over six feet, I'd say. I didn't see the knife until it was too late; it just kind of flashed out at me. His hand was big, and I think he was wearing a diamond ring on his index finger."

"Mad, how did you know they had me? How did you know where I was?"

She blinked rapidly, and her eyes went slightly out of focus as she absently touched her cheek. "Didn't I tell you?"

"No, you didn't."

"I received a telephone call. This voice-"

"Was it a strange voice? Distorted, like Esobus'?"

"Yes," Madeline said, sounding confused. "How did you know?"

"It doesn't make any difference. Go ahead."

"The voice told me where you were," Mad continued in a quiet, subdued tone. "It said that the coven planned to kill you. I was told to call the police right away, and even told where the window would be open. When I called Garth, I was told he wasn't there. The police said I'd have to give my name before they'd listen seriously to anything I had to say. I gave them the information and told them it was a life-and-death emergency, but I just couldn't give my name. Then I panicked and came myself." She paused and sipped at her coffee. "Do you have any idea who might have called?"

"It was the same person you heard leading the ceremony tonight," I said tightly. "Esobus."

"The man who slashed me?"

I slowly nodded, still staring down into the coffee. Now my stomach was tying itself into knots of nervous tension. At last, one more answer had come boiling up from the mixture of questions in my mind; the face of this one was leering and obscene.

"Mad," I said, looking up at her, "I owe you my life, so I really don't have any right to ask you for more. But I will anyway. If you'll help me, I think I may be able to clear this whole matter up."

"You mean you think you can find Esobus?"

"Maybe," I said, pushing my cold coffee to one side. "I just may be able to produce physical evidence that will pin murder and extortion on those happy coven brothers." I paused, added, "The police are going to need it; there was nothing worth anything left in the coven headquarters by the time Garth got there."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Mad said, lowering her gaze. "Did you. . tell Garth about me?"

"No, and I don't plan to. If you'll help me, there won't be any need."

"You know I'll do anything I can, Mongo-as long as I don't get any publicity."

"I want you to go for a ride with Garth and me. Garth already knows about your involvement with the occult, so that won't be a problem. You'll eventually have to make up a story about what happened to your forehead, so it may as well be sooner as later." I lighted a cigarette, squinted against the smoke. I suddenly felt very tired. "There's another woman I'd like to ask to come along. I'll need her expertise, as well as yours."

Mad's blue eyes clouded, and she frowned. "I don't know, Mongo," she said hesitantly. "My career is so important to me. Lately, I've begun to regret that I ever became involved with the occult."

"I know. But this woman's a witch to begin with-and she's a friend of mine. You have my word that she'll keep your secret."

Mad gave a slight toss of her head, then brushed her silver hair back and smiled easily. "Your word's good enough for me. Where are we going, and what do you plan to do?"

"Let's wait on that until I get everything absolutely straight in my own head. When will you feel up to going out?"

Mad shrugged. "I'm ready to go now, if it will clear this business up once and for all."

"Tomorrow morning," I said. I rose, took Mad's arm and helped her. to her feet. "If you change your mind and want to wait a few days, let me know."

"All right. But I won't. What time?"

"I have to check with Garth and the other woman, but let's say eleven."

"Eleven it is."

I walked Madeline to her car and drove her home. Later, I called Garth and April. My stomach wouldn't stop churning.

The city was aglow with copper light, and the late-morning air was oppressively thick, dirty and hot. Black-bottomed clouds had been scudding low across the sky for hours, phantom freighters impatient to unload their wet cargo. It was going to rain soon-and hard.

Despite the impending downpour, no one had suggested that we put off the trip. Events now seemed to be moving with a momentum of their own. Garth, Madeline and April seemed to sense that; I knew it. To put off this journey would only postpone the inevitable, and it was best to get it out of the way as soon as possible. That was what I kept telling myself. I was, after all, responsible for whatever was going to happen, and at the moment I was the only one who carried the burden of knowing just how ugly was the face of the secret we hunted.

The tires on Garth's car whined as we went down the entrance ramp and entered the maw of the Lincoln Tunnel. There'd been little conversation; everyone was waiting impatiently for me to explain what we were supposed to be doing, and the atmosphere inside the car was tense. Garth was driving his Pontiac, and Madeline sat with him in the front, staring moodily out the side window. April sat in the back with me, holding tightly to my hand. Her palm was wet and clammy. I was slouched down in the seat, wishing I were even smaller than I was. I puffed mechanically on a cigarette, blowing the smoke out the side vent.

"Are you sure you're all right, Doctor?" Garth said quietly to the woman sitting next to him.

"Yes, thank you," Madeline said evenly. "I'm just paying for my own stupidity. If I hadn't been so impatient and yanked on the chart, the rack wouldn't have fallen on me."

Garth inclined his head back. "Are you all right, Mongo?" he asked with heavy sarcasm. "Are you alive, Mongo?" Anger and hurt hummed in his voice.

"I'm alive."

"You're being very mysterious, brother, even for you."

"Lay off for a bit, will you, Garth?"

"Come on, Mongo!" Garth snapped. "The party's under way, and you're the host. It's time you told us where we're going, and why we're going."

We passed out of the tunnel, into New Jersey. I flicked my cigarette out the window and straightened up in the seat. I'd run out of time. "We're going to Philadelphia to look for Frank Marlowe's book of shadows."

"What the hell?" Garth said, accidentally hitting the brake and almost sending us into a skid. Madeline had turned in her seat and, like April, was staring at me with astonishment. Garth started to pull over to the shoulder of the road.

"Keep going, brother," I said curtly. "At the moment, I'll feel better if we're moving."

"Where in Philadelphia?" Garth asked, accelerating up past the speed limit and moving into the passing lane. The anger in his voice had been replaced by curiosity.

"To April's house-with her permission, of course."

April gasped and put her hand to her mouth. "Robert? I didn't take Frank's book of shadows!"

"Of course you didn't," I said to April, squeezing her hand. "I think your former husband put his book-or at least, the bulk of it-in your attic. That's what we're looking for."

"Explain, brother," Garth said quietly.

"Frank Marlowe wasn't working on a 'book of shadows' in the witchcraft sense of the term. This was his big book-the one he'd always wanted to do. And it would have been big; maybe it still will be. A coven: witchcraft, murder, extortion and sex-it had everything, up to and including some very big names in show business and politics. That was his book of shadows; he was probably even going to call it that. He'd been working on it from the first day he became involved with the coven."

The rains came; or, rather, they attacked. The sudden cloudburst was a thick wall of water falling on us with the force of a giant wave. Sheets of rain swept over the car, instantaneously reducing visibility to zero. Huge droplets banged against the roof and windshield like the foot slaps of millions of running soldiers; their supporting artillery could be heard close by-laser rockets of lightning, explosions of thunder, their percussive vibrations felt through the body of the car.

Garth immediately turned on the wipers, but, despite the fact that he had them on at high speed, they had little more effect on the blurred windshield than someone swishing his hand through the water of a pond looking for something on the bottom. Garth slowed the car to a crawl as dozens of taillights, glowing like red wounds in the day, suddenly appeared on the road before us.

A few minutes before, I would have been glad for any excuse not to talk. Now I resented the storm's interruption, the way in which it had wrenched my audience's attention away from me. My certainty, and the words it generated, were building up with inexorable force, like poison in an infected wound.

After fifteen minutes of creeping along, watching Garth hunched over the wheel, I could stand the pressure no longer.

"April," I continued, raising my voice so as to be heard over the snare-drum beat of the rain and loud flop-flop of the wipers, "you were the one who told me Frank used to periodically drop manuscripts off at your home for storage and safekeeping. That's what he'd been doing with his book. The early parts of his research-the meat of what we want, including the names of the coven members and records of their activities-is probably still up there in your attic. That shopping bag you brought me was the last thing he brought up. I'm sure that, if we really look around up there, we'll find more than enough to put Krowl and the rest of the coven away permanently."

April shook her head. "I don't understand. You said that Frank told Kathy his book of shadows had been stolen."

"Only part of it-the sections he had in his apartment. The main work had been done, and I'm betting he was just researching background material on witchcraft in general in order to flesh out the book. Those sections didn't have anything in them to identify the members of the coven; but when they were stolen, Frank knew his secret was out and that he was in deep trouble. It was those minor sections that Daniel stole."

"Daniel?" April whispered breathlessly.

Garth was concentrating hard on the road, but at the same time listening intently to the conversation. I nodded to April and leaned forward so that my brother and Madeline could hear me over the roar of the storm.

"It had to be him. Kathy said her father told her that either Esobus or Daniel had taken his book of shadows. Well, let's assume he knew what he was talking about. I know the coven didn't take it, because Krowl asked me where it was. Admittedly, since Esobus has obviously been playing some kind of double game, it's possible that Esobus took it and didn't tell the others; but I don't think so. My money's on Daniel, and if April will take us to his house after we search her attic, I think that's where we'll find the missing sections."

"I'll take you anywhere you want to go, Robert," April said. "But why would Daniel take Frank's notes?"

"A good question, and I think I have the answer. Daniel wanted to scare Frank off the project. Hypothesis: Esobus and Smathers were the seminal force behind the formation of the coven. Smathers was the front man, and Esobus provided the name that-theoretically-would attract the best ceremonial magicians. Like Michael McEnroe-and Daniel. Daniel was certainly one of the first men asked to join, but he turned the invitation down. All the real heavies-at least, all the ones Smathers knew of-turned it down."

"But then, Daniel would have known about Smathers' involvement from the beginning, wouldn't he?" April said.

"Not necessarily. Smathers was the front man, but I think the original contacts would have been made through unsigned letters; Smathers wouldn't have wanted to be too up-front. Besides, the fact that the writer knew the identities of the ceremonial magicians in the first place would have lent the project-and the invitations-a certain air of legitimacy. Only if they responded-say, to a post-office box number-would Smathers come out of the closet. As I said, Daniel probably ignored the whole thing."

Suddenly the taillights before us became brighter brake lights, an unmoving, twin smear of crimson stretching off into the blurred distance. Garth brought the car to a halt and pulled the emergency brake. There was no way of telling what was causing the solid tie-up, but it was undoubtedly an accident-and a big one. The situation had a feel of permanency about it, and I cursed under my breath. My nerves were raw with anticipation, guilt and anxiety.

"But Daniel would have known about the coven from the beginning," Garth said thoughtfully, absently shutting off the wipers and ignition. "That would be dangerous information to have."

"Right," I said tightly. "Knowledge of the coven-and, later, information about what they were up to-probably made Michael McEnroe nervous enough to skip town by taking an extended trip to India. Now, considering the fact that we've been dealing with a bunch of crazies who make a fetish out of ritualistic behavior, Kathy's poisoning could begin to make some sense-if that's the word for anything these people did. It certainly didn't in the beginning: They'd already killed Marlowe, so why bother with Kathy? I got the definite impression from Krowl that there was a double betrayal-Marlowe's and someone else's. Who else did the coven think betrayed them? I think it was Daniel. The coven poisoned Kathy to get back at Daniel-to punish him in the most evil, devastating way they could think of. They were torturing him, while at the same time warning him that they could do the same thing to anyone he loved if he betrayed them again."

Madeline had been half-turned in her seat, staring at me intently. Now she turned around and stared at the rippling, shifting sheets of water on the passenger window. "How did Daniel betray them?" she asked distantly, her voice barely audible.

"He didn't, Mad. They only thought he did. But he anticipated the problem and tried to head it off by taking those parts of the book that Frank Marlowe was working on in his apartment. Daniel probably didn't know that he didn't have all of it, and by the time he found out it was too late anyway."

"Sorry, brother," Garth said, shaking his head. "I've lost you somewhere."

"I understand," April said in a breathy whisper. "Oh, my God."

"When Marlowe was first approached, the coven didn't even know his real name," I continued. "He was initiated as Bart Stone, the Western writer. Somehow, the coven finally found out that he was researching their entire operation for an expose. About the same time, they found out his real name. From there, it was only one small step to finding out that Marlowe had been married to a witch who came from generations of occultists, and that his ex-brother-in-law was a famous ceremonial magician. . who'd ignored their invitation. They figured Daniel had turned Marlowe on to them."

There was a prolonged silence, filled only with the wash, bangs and roar of the storm. Finally, Garth said, "I like it, Mongo. It could be the way you say it is-but you're only guessing."

"True. But I've had a lot of time to think about this-above and under water. The problem has always been finding an overall theory that will fit the available facts; this is it. Daniel eventually found out about the research project when Frank Marlowe approached him directly for information. Daniel immediately knew there was going to be a problem for him if they ever found out what Marlowe was up to, and he tried to warn Marlowe off. When that didn't work, he stole Marlowe's book of shadows as a warning."

"I still don't understand why Daniel didn't come to the police after his niece was poisoned," Garth said.

"He was afraid they'd drop the other shoe," I said. "On April. His only chance was to find them himself and convince them they'd made a mistake."

"Yes," April said very softly, slowly nodding. "But there's more to it than that, and you'd understand if you'd known Daniel. He was a priest-and he behaved as a priest. Besides, if Robert's right about the bulk of Frank's book being in my attic, my brother really had nothing to tell the police; involving them could only make matters worse."

"Assuming you're on target all the way," Garth said to me, "do you think we'll find Esobus' real name in Marlowe's manuscript?"

"I don't know." I paused and lighted a cigarette; my hands were trembling. "Frank might have spotted her if he'd hung around the warehouse long enough, but I'm not confident about that. I'll bet Esobus missed an awful lot of coven meetings-the real ones as well as the phony ones. Esobus is a very busy woman. In any case, I'm hoping she'll confess of her own free will."

April put a trembling hand on my elbow. "She?"

I reached into my pocket and took out the paper I'd removed from Esobus' cubicle. My stomach muscles fluttered as I read it aloud. " The search for truth is neither moral nor immoral: it is the prerequisite of a civilized society.' " I slowly crumpled the paper and jammed it back into my pocket. "Mad," I said softly, "I found that little homily tacked up inside Esobus' cubicle. What do you make of it?"

"It sounds strange," Madeline said in a choked voice. "On the surface, it sounds a little academic. For the leader of that coven, it sounds incredibly self-serving."

Madeline breathed a deep sigh and rested her head wearily against the side window. Up until that moment, I'd hoped I was wrong and that I'd simply misread all the clues.

But now I realized with a sudden, sickening jolt that I was right, and I groaned inwardly. Garth hissed through his teeth and quickly glanced at Madeline. April was staring at me, her eyes wide.

"You're Esobus, Mad," I said softly, feeling short of breath. "You knew it had to come to this one day. 'The Wizard of Oz is dead'; remember when you told me that?"

"Facts, Mongo," Garth said tightly. "Where are your facts?"

"I don't have any facts, and there's still a great deal that I don't understand. Madeline is going to have to fill us in on the details."

Mad shook her head; her silver hair rippled and cascaded over the back of the seat. Then slowly, like a tree toppling in a forest, Mad fell sideways until her cheek came to rest on Garth's shoulder. Garth started to bring his arm up to put it around her shoulders, then uttered a startled grunt. There was a swirl of movement in the front, with Madeline sliding back across the seat and flinging open the door. Suddenly the roar and spit of the storm was in the car. Garth grabbed for Madeline and missed as the woman leaped out of the car and was swallowed up in the deluge.

"She's got my gun!" Garth shouted, scrambling across the seat and diving into the storm after her.

"Stay here!" I snapped at April as I opened the door on my side and stepped out.

I was soaked through to the skin within moments after getting out of the car. The fury of the wind and rain was even greater than I'd imagined listening only to its voice; a sudden gust of wind threw me against the car's trunk, spinning me around and momentarily disorienting me, robbing me of precious seconds. By the time I got around to the other side of the car, neither Garth nor Madeline was in sight.

Shielding my eyes from the driving rain with my hands, I could see that I was at the foot of a fairly steep embankment that rose off the right shoulder of the turnpike. There was a flash of lightning, and in that moment I could see the tops of trees whipping violently back and forth along the top of the embankment.

Suddenly I felt a hand grip my arm. I spun around and found April standing next to me. Her hair was matted to her cheeks and the top of her head, and tiny rivers of water cascaded down her face, blurring her features.

"Get back in the car!" I shouted, spitting water.

"No! She'll need me!"

"She's goddamn likely to shoot you, woman! Do as I say!"

"No, Robert! No matter what you say or do, I'm going to help search for her. Even if Dr. Jones is Esobus, she's not evil. She saved Kathy's life-and yours. She's a woman; I'm a woman. I'm going to her. You can't stop me, so take me with you!"

There was no time to argue. April's voice rang with determination, and I couldn't have her wandering alone in the storm. Nor could I drag her back; the decision to expose Madeline in this manner had been mine. What was happening was my responsibility, and I couldn't leave Garth and Madeline alone in the storm.

I started to scramble up the embankment, gripping April's hand tightly and pulling her up after me. The force of the storm was tearing away loose patches of sod, turning the face of the hill into a checkerboard of ice-slick patches of grass and slimy, clinging squares of mud. We slipped often, breaking our slide by digging our fingers into the ground. We would rise again, resume climbing; within seconds, the rain would strip the clots of mud from our clothes and bodies. It was a difficult climb for anyone, not to speak of an injured fifty-year-old woman. Logic dictated that Madeline had not attempted it, that she had run parallel to the highway. Somehow, I knew she hadn't. I sensed instinctively that, driven by desperation, Mad would want to be alone, to seek the natural sanctuary of the trees-and that she had made it. Madeline was too intelligent to believe she could get away; there was no place to go. And I did not believe that she intended to shoot us. Instead, I believed she had something else in mind-a ritual; an epilogue to the strange book of shadows that was her life. For some reason, that thought frightened me more than the idea of being shot myself.

But I could be wrong. At that very moment, Madeline could have Garth-or us-in her sights, pressing her finger on the trigger. .

Perhaps Garth had caught her. Garth was young, strong. But he was also a logical-thinking policeman. If he had not seen her start up the hill, he would be searching up and down the turnpike.

April and I reached the top of the embankment and fell to our knees, leaning against each other and gasping for breath. Rain cascaded and swirled around us, making it impossible to see more than a few feet in any direction. It was difficult to breathe, almost as if the air were filling with water and we were drowning.

There was a loud, sharp crack, and I cringed, thinking it was a gunshot. But it was only thunder.

Suddenly, as if a switch had been thrown, the wind began to subside. Through the translucent sheets of rain I could make out a thick growth of tall grass and brush a few feet in front of us. There was a low retaining fence; beyond that was the wooded area I'd glimpsed from below.

"Robert," April gasped, "she couldn't have come this way. She must be down on the highway."

I shook my head. "No. She's somewhere near." I half-turned, put my face very close to hers. "Go back, April. Please. I'm afraid for you."

"I can't, Robert. Don't waste time arguing."

I pulled April to her feet and led her toward the fence. I held the wire strands apart for her to climb through, then followed. The foliage and trunks of the trees provided some cover from the lashing elements, and we ran ahead. I shouted the names of Garth and Madeline, but my words were sucked up and extinguished by the storm.

The stand of trees was only a few hundred feet wide; on the other side of the wooded strip, thick factory stacks speared the black sky. Between, forming a buffer zone perhaps a half mile wide, was an ugly no-man's-land of rolling, lumpy landfill, garbage dumps and occasional oases of grass.

Madeline, her figure barely visible through the curtains of rain, was kneeling in one of those oases which formed a small basin a hundred yards away from the foot of the embankment. Her body was bent forward at a sharp angle, and both her hands were pressed hard into her stomach. For one horrible moment I thought she had shot herself. But she was sitting too still, too steady. Her stiff immobility was statuelike, as though she intended to kneel there in the open, exposed to the pelting rain, for as long as it took to cleanse herself-perhaps forever.

With April clinging to my arm, I began to move down the slippery face of the hill, heading toward the basin where Madeline knelt. Suddenly, April drew her breath in sharply and squeezed my arm. I looked in the direction she was pointing and saw Garth emerge from the woods, perhaps fifty yards away. He immediately took in the scene, motioned to us with a single, terse wave of his hand, then began moving down himself, angling to his left in an attempt to approach Mad from the rear.

But Madeline wasn't going to be taken by surprise. Suddenly, as if sensing our presence, she lifted her head. I winced when I saw that the rain and wind had stripped the bandage from her forehead, exposing the cross-shaped wound. Blood oozed from the raw flesh between the crusted stitches, mixed with rain and covered her face in a pink wash. Shaking, I raised my arms-more as a calming gesture than to show I was unarmed-and continued moving toward her, keeping my body in the line of fire between Madeline and April. Garth had almost reached the bottom of the embankment. He stopped to wait for us, and we cautiously converged on Madeline together.

When we were about ten yards away from Madeline the wind abruptly abated even further, until there was only the steady drumbeat of the rain, much lighter now. I had an eerie, chilling sensation that the storm was no more than a special effect; the tens of thousands of buildings, the millions of people, the hundreds of square miles surrounding us, were a backdrop for a movie. Our movie. All the master shots had been made, and now we had arrived at center stage. The camera was moving in for an Extreme Close-Up. I shook off a chill.

"Please don't come closer," Mad said evenly. Her voice was soft, but could be heard clearly in air that now, almost stripped of wind, suddenly felt too thin, drained of oxygen.

April, Garth and I squatted in a semicircle before Mad.

"Give me the gun, Dr. Jones," Garth said quietly. "You're hurt. Let us take care of you."

There was no answer, and Garth started to reach out toward her. Madeline tensed and straightened to show us that the barrel of the gun was turned inward, pressed against her stomach. Garth slowly sank back down on his haunches.

"That's a.38 Police Special, Dr. Jones," Garth continued in the same quiet, even voice. "If you shoot yourself like that, you're going to put a big hole in yourself. But you may not die right away. Don't do it; don't gut-shoot yourself. You'll suffer terrible pain, and there'll be nothing we can do to help you."

"Please, let's go, Dr. Jones," April said. "Come back with us. This is a bad place. I feel it; you feel it."

Madeline looked at April for a long time. "It's the right place, April," she said at last.

"Talk to us, Mad," I said. "Get it out of your system."

"You talk," she replied in a dark, stranger's voice.

"Can we go someplace out of the rain? We're cold."

Madeline shook her head and seemed to tighten her grip on the gun.

"I'll talk, Mad," I continued quickly. "I think you want me to." I took a deep breath, wiped the water off my face and formed a shield over my eyes with my left hand. "You saved my life last night-for the second time. The first time was when I was floating in Smathers' fish tank. You also saved Kathy's life-after you found out what had been done to her."

"I don't understand, Robert," April said in a shuddering tremolo. "If Dr. Jones is Esobus, wouldn't she have known everything the coven was doing from the time they planned to do it?"

"Knowing Mad as I do, I don't think so," I replied to April, at the same time watching Madeline carefully-very conscious of the gun in her hands. "In fact, I think that, of all the members of the coven, Madeline-or Esobus-knew the least. Like I said, she is a busy woman, traveling all over the world in her role as a leading researcher in cosmology. I think Mad began this coven business as some kind of experiment. One day she discovered it had all gotten out of hand, but she didn't know what to do about it. Am I right, Mad?"

Madeline said nothing; instead, she raised her face to the sky-as though she were looking or listening for something. She made no sound, and the rest of her body didn't move; with all the water on her, it was impossible to tell for certain, but I was sure she was crying.

"You see," I continued, "Esobus' image was an all-powerful, mystical and supersecretive inspiration. But Esobus was a leader only in name, not a person the other coven members could sit down and plan things with. The coven meetings Esobus attended probably consisted almost entirely of ritual-there was no practical business discussed. Besides, Esobus was a fraud-not a ceremonial magician at all. But only Madeline and Smathers knew that."

A giant chill squeezed me in its icy hand and shook me. April held me tightly until it had passed.

"In Mad's mind, she was probably conducting an experiment in witchcraft that would finally reveal some kind of truth about the occult to a very suspicious scientific community," I continued, forcing the blurred words out through stiff lips that felt paralyzed. "These were the same people who'd laughed at her because of her ideas about astrology. Madeline's obsessed with the occult; in setting this whole thing in motion, she saw herself as a kind of pioneer. She's been looking for the lost Atlantis of the mind, if you will, but she found that she couldn't control it. Maybe she couldn't even decide if she should control it, considering the fact that it was an experiment; for a little while, she may have had trouble deciding whether to remain an aloof scientific observer, or intervene. Fortunately for Kathy and me, the human being in her won out over the dispassionate scientist. But right up until this morning, she was still trying to hedge her bets and get out of this whole."

The wind was rising again, as if the storm had regrouped its forces and was returning for another major assault.

"I'm so sorry," Madeline whispered softly. Incredibly, her voice could be heard clearly in the rising cacophony, as though her words had slipped through cracks in the wall of wind. "So sorry."

"A big question," I said, raising my voice in order to be heard. "I doubt that you were originally interested in witchcraft. What's the connection between you and Smathers? How did you find out that Smathers was a ceremonial magician, and how did you get him to set up the coven for you?"

"He was my. . lover," Madeline said in a voice that was suddenly strangled. "I was his mistress for months before I found out about. . the other things. Then I became intrigued with the question of what would happen if a coven of ceremonial magicians was formed-and with the problem of how I could become a part of it. Vincent was. . amused by the idea; we planned the Esobus thing together. You've guessed the rest. Vincent took care of all the planning. I really didn't know about …" Her voice trailed off.

"Smathers was a madman," I said, making no attempt to hide the disgust I felt. "And he was a pervert. How could you ever get involved with a man like that?"

"Powerful," Mad said distantly, her voice still mysteriously overriding the wind. "Vincent was … so strange and powerful. You wouldn't understand, Mongo."

But I thought I did. The darkness beyond the light of science, the void of night that Mad had been trying to explore, had finally swallowed her up.

Madeline slowly rose to her feet, and we rose with her. For a moment I thought-hoped-that it was finished, that a catharsis had been achieved and Madeline was ready to give up the gun and come with us. It was a false hope. She still held the gun in a reverse position, its barrel pressed even more tightly into her stomach, one thumb resting against the trigger. Again she raised her face to the sky and cocked her head, as though listening to voices in the storm that only she could hear.

"I've seen a lot of things in the past few weeks, Mad," I said quickly, driven by a sudden, terrible need to fill the space between us with words, as if I could filibuster away the dreaded sound of a gunshot muffled by Madeline's flesh. "Maybe most of the things I've witnessed are beyond scientific measurement. People like you and Krowl have strange talents, and most of us don't know how to deal with them. But some of these things bite if you don't handle them correctly, and you finally came to realize that. As much as you kept telling yourself you were simply being a scientist by keeping a foot in both camps, you wanted out; you wanted to be saved from the coven you'd created. You had a nervous breakdown because of your guilt-right after you'd made the recording that saved Kathy's life. My God, you've been dropping clues on me all along with those references to the Wizard of Oz. You once told me you were interested in the pursuit of knowledge, not personal power; it started to come together for me when I saw that sign in Esobus' cubicle. But you were never willing to come all the way out. You kept hoping right up to the end that you could run around putting Band-Aids on something that had to be amputated."

"Shut up, Mongo," Garth snapped. "You're being too hard on her. She's also helped a lot of people."

Madeline shuddered with cold, slowly shook her head. "No. Let Mongo finish. He knows I. . need to hear it all."

The catharsis would come, I thought, and felt immense relief. That was what Mad seemed to be telling me: say it all, get it out in the open, and she would come back with us.

"You ran back to the cubicle in the factory building because you had to retrieve the tape you'd put on to cover your movement to the other end of the catwalk." I smiled tentatively and tried to establish eye contact, but Mad's gaze kept slipping away. I considered trying to knock the gun away, but rejected the idea. I couldn't assume that risk. "You took the tape off and threw it away somewhere into the darkness. A fleeing man might have stuck a knife into you, but it's highly unlikely he'd take the time-or be accurate enough-to carve a perfect cross on your forehead. No, Mad. The cross is your own, self-inflicted, mark of Cain: disfigurement as a form of expiation. It isn't enough, Mad; it's dues time for the Wizard of Oz."

"I couldn't live with it any longer, Mongo," Mad said evenly.

"I know. Now you don't have to. And Garth will tell you there are extenuating circumstances. You've saved lives."

I began to seriously doubt the old chestnut about a man's entire past flashing before his eyes at the moment of sudden, violent death. Or perhaps I wasn't really dying, because it wasn't that way at all. Quite the opposite. I was seeing things that had not yet happened, as though the thunderous explosion had blown my own book of shadows open to pages that had not yet been written.

Now Mad looked at me directly. She smiled as she said something, but she had lost control of the wind, and her words were lost. I watched her lips and thought she said, "Thank you," or "I love you"; or it may have been simply "Goodbye, Mongo."

Garth was with April, Kathy and me at the zoo, laughing at the orangutan. Ironically, Garth-the biggest and strongest-seemed to be the only one who had sustained a lasting injury. He was hobbling around with his right foot and ankle in a walking cast.

Madeline suddenly stiffened, as though an invisible metal rod had risen from the ground and skewered her. She flipped the gun around so that it was facing away from her, then raised both arms above her head. She slid up on the skewer, balancing on her toes, extending her arms even higher, bowing her head until her chin rested on her chest.

Now the camera began to grind in ultra-slow motion. Madeline's body had become a ramrod-straight, steel-tipped spear thrusting itself up into the air. She was offering herself, and I knew she was going to be taken.

My brother knew too. Garth and I leaped as one toward April.

But we were moving so slowly, divers straining every muscle to trudge along the bottom of the sea.

April and I had finished making love while Kathy napped. We lay in each others arms, watching snow gather on evergreens outside some mountain lodge. It struck me that months had passed, and we were still together.

I desperately hoped it was more than death's anesthetic dream.

Straining, but still moving in slow motion. Garth grabbed one of April's arms; I grabbed the other, and we dived.

There was an exquisite sensation of floating, totally out of control and thus free of the terrible responsibility of thinking and making decisions. There was nothing to do but ride.

As I slowly flipped over in the air, I saw the bolt of lightning poke its sharp head from its black home. It seemed to hesitate, looking around. Finally it saw Madeline and began to drift lazily down a jagged route toward the gun in her hand.

I wanted to shout a warning to my friend, tell her to throw the gun to one side and float with us away from the lightning. There was time; everything was happening so unbelievably slowly. But when I tried to yell, my voice was no more than a deep rumble, like sounds from a record being played at very slow speed. I could see the words come out of my mouth, explode and stick to my face.

Beyond my horror was a childlike fascination with how pretty everything was-the way the lightning passed through the air, firing the surrounding molecules into a lovely, shimmering white glow. The smell of ozone was pleasant in my nostrils, something like burning leaves on a cold fall afternoon.

But I was losing sight of the spectacle as I rotated in the air. Garth and I bumped into each other, then drifted apart again as we both tried to protect April with our bodies.

I was actually auditioning for an orchestra-but not the New Jersey Symphony. Too bad. It was a pickup group of extremely talented Julliard students interested in playing modern music. There was plenty of Boulez and Messiaen, but no Tchaikovsky. The incredibly complex rhythms were driving me crazy, but I was having a perfectly marvelous time. April was sitting in the first row of the auditorium, smiling broadly at me while Kathy excitedly pounded her mothers thigh.

Garth was in the back of the auditorium, grudgingly-very grudgingly-nodding his appreciation.

At least, the bone-cracking, wet cold was gone. It had been supplanted by a sharp, tingling sensation that hurt my joints, but had an overall warming, liquid feel. The electricity coursing through my body was oddly invigorating, and made me feel as though I could run for hours without getting tired.

If only I could stop floating and get my feet on the ground.

I'd lost sight of Mad during one half turn. Now, as I came out of a slow spin, I could see that the lightning had completed its journey to the barrel of the gun. Mad was softly aglow, like a fluorescent bulb; she would have been beautiful, except for the way the electricity made her hair stand out from her head, each individual strand vibrating like a sliver-thin tuning fork.

Then Madeline began to burn, and I didn't want to look anymore. I didn't want to remember her that way.

I closed my eyes. Holding tight to both April and Garth, I let myself float away into the velvet darkness behind my eyes.