Unleashed

NINE

“MASON, THIS IS MORGAN,” THE MESSAGE RAN. “Sorry to bother you, but I had this weird dream…” Her voice trailed off and I heard a muffled curse as she put her hand over the phone. She took her hand off. “Okay, I didn’t realize how lame that was going to sound. But considering, I thought we could at least talk. Call me when you get a chance.”

Most of the messages I get aren’t anything I want to hear, but this wasn’t so bad. Not bad at all. I flopped down on the bed and picked up the phone.

“Morgan? Mason,” I said when she answered.

“Oh, God. I’m so embarrassed. A bad dream, for Christ’s sake, and I call you about it.”

“Hey, you’re a psychic, and a real one. Dreams are important.”

“Well, this one was. Or I think it was. There are dreams and dreams, you know, and this was the other sort. Scared me half to death to be honest.”

“So tell me.”

“You were walking along a street, somewhere in the city, I think. Two people were with you-a large black man, middle-aged. And another man, smaller and very intense, or at least that’s what I got.” So far, so good. Me, Victor, and Eli. “But your dog? Louie? He wasn’t around.” That didn’t sound good. “And here’s the weird thing-the reason I almost didn’t call. There was a sense of danger, worse than the vision I had last time, way worse. But there was nothing else there. Or if there was, it was invisible.”

“Was it a specific danger, or just something general?” I asked.

“Both. Very specific, but nothing I could put my finger on. Have you ever had one of those dreams where everything is perfectly ordinary, but for some reason you’re terrified? Like in the dream, you know if you go into a house, something dreadful will happen?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Well, this was like that. I have no idea what is waiting there-it might not even be something physical-visions rely on metaphor, you know. But whatever it is, it’s bad, really bad. How ridiculous is that?”

“Not ridiculous at all,” I said. “I know who you’re describing. Those two others are friends of mine, and if we were out together, it’s a good bet something nasty was waiting around the corner.”

“But why couldn’t I see it?”

“A good question,” I said. “Don’t worry. Between the three of us, there’s not much we can’t handle. But thanks. It’s always good to be on guard.”

After she hung up, I considered what it might mean. Despite my assurances that we could handle anything, I was disturbed. If her vision showed some awful thing awaiting us, where was Lou? He wouldn’t let me go off alone like that. And why couldn’t Morgan see what was threatening us? Bad enough to be searching for a monster, but an invisible monster just wasn’t fair.

But what was it? An invisible beast was possible, I supposed-anything was. But that seemed unlikely.

I pulled out my guitar and ran through some tunes, standards that I know so well I don’t have to think about them. It’s a form of meditation for me-it requires a conscious attention to detail, but at the same time, part of my mind is able to wander and free associate. Sometimes it works; I’ve gotten some brilliant ideas that way. Well, some useful ones, anyway.

But this time, nothing came. Lou sat in the corner, listening. That’s the way I like to imagine it-I doubt very much if he has any ear for music other than the occasional drawn-out howls from his canine brethren. But he usually sits there attentively, so who knows? Who knows anything about Ifrits, anyway? But after a while with no success, I gave it up and went to sleep.

When I woke up next morning, though, an idea did come to me as I was pouring my morning coffee. Nothing brilliant, something rather obvious, but an idea is an idea. The only real clues, the logical place to start, was with the murdered victims. So if I could find out more about exactly how those hikers had been killed, it might reveal something about what had killed them, or at least point us in a direction.

The cops weren’t releasing a lot of details to the papers, just using phrases like “mutilated” and “torn up.” And if those were the phrases they were using to prevent panic, the reality must be far worse. Specific information wouldn’t be easy to come by-you can’t just call up the cops and ask what the real scoop is. Only, sometimes, you can.

A few years ago there had been a rash of burglaries over in Cow Hollow. There were never any signs of a break-in; apparently the victims had simply neglected to lock their doors when they left their apartments. But after a while, that theory started to look unlikely. The residents there became so paranoid that many installed additional locks, and a few even changed their locks out completely. Still, the thefts continued.

The cops were baffled. For a while they focused on a locksmith who ran a small key-and-lock store on Chestnut Street, but that didn’t pan out. Somehow Victor got wind of this and we did some investigation of our own. It turned out that the person responsible was a teenage kid with a flash of talent. Usually we find out about these kids early, before they get into any real trouble, and mentor them. Sherwood in particular was good at this. She spent a lot of time working with these kids, and almost without exception they loved her. And were scared of her. Sherwood has enough talent to be scary indeed to a novice, and none of them wanted to cross her.

But once in a while, one slips through the cracks. Jenna, the teenage girl we’d taken off the streets over a year ago, was one of those, although that hadn’t worked out well for anyone, especially her.

These untrained talents can’t control their abilities most of the time. They accidentally find something they can do, and it never occurs to them they might be capable of more. The parlor trick they’ve learned is all they know and all they do. But interestingly, sometimes they stumble onto something that even an experienced practitioner can’t manage.

All metals are difficult to work with, and especially iron. Trying to affect an iron lock, for example, using magical talent is almost impossible, even for the strongest practitioner. But this kid could unlock any door, defeat any lock, with only minimal effort. He was a one-trick pony-like an idiot savant who can instantly tell you the day of the week for any date in history, but that’s all the math he can do. Even so, that’s a feat outside the realm of the possible for even the most brilliant of ordinary mathematicians.

So this kid would wait until he saw the resident leave, defeat the lock with a snap of his fingers, unlock the front door, and stroll in to take whatever he wanted.

That was how we first met Macklin. He was in charge of the makeshift task force the cops threw together to solve the rash of burglaries-this was Cow Hollow, after all, not Bayview, and thus worthy of police notice. And although we obviously weren’t about to turn the kid over to the cops, we did take him off the streets and the burglaries stopped. Also, we were able to help Macklin out by doing some magical forensic work on an unrelated burglary, one where a cool half million in jewelry was taken. It helped to solve the case, and although he couldn’t figure out how we’d come up with the information, he was glad to have it just the same. So he was well-disposed toward us, as they say. But he was never entirely sure about who we were.

He was a sharp guy, and he knew there was something not quite right about Victor and me. I think he decided Victor was some sort of government black op. I have no idea what he thought I was about, but we got along.

It also turned out he was a jazz buff, and we ended up keeping in touch afterward. Not exactly friends, but more than casual acquaintances. He liked hanging with musicians, and for my part, well, having a cop as a friend is never a bad idea. Besides, he was a good guy.

I hadn’t bothered to call him before, because for one, Victor didn’t like the idea of having a sharp cop becoming interested in us and our doings. Besides, I’d thought I already knew what was killing those hikers-the fake Ifrit. But I’d been wrong. And civilians were dying-so getting some useful information was worth the risk of making him curious about us.

When I called his extension he picked up on the first ring.

“Burglary.”

“I want to report a crooked cop.”

“Which one? We got hundreds to choose from.”

“Some guy named Macklin. A real thug, if ever there was one.”

“I know him. A bad apple. We’ve been trying to get rid of him for years.” He laughed. “What can I do for you, Mase? Played any good gigs lately?”

“All my gigs are good. The audience occasionally sucks, though.”

“You want a tough audience? Try being a cop sometime.”

“No, thanks. I don’t possess the people skills or the superb intelligence necessary to do that job.”

“Hold on a second. Let me find my shovel.”

“I mean every word.”

“Oh, I see. You want something.”

“Of course. Why else would I flatter a stupid-I mean, not at all, Inspector, but now that you bring it up…”

“Shoot.”

“You know those animal attacks? The ones that have everyone in a panic?”

“I seem to recall hearing something about them,” he said dryly.

“The paper just says the victims were all torn up. I know you’re not directly involved, but cops talk. Have you heard anything else about them?”

“Why the interest?”

“Let’s just say I’m a concerned citizen.”

“Sorry, Mason, but you know I can’t talk about an ongoing investigation. Wish I could help, but them’s the rules.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “I understand. Thanks anyway.”

We talked another couple of minutes about other stuff and I invited him down to my next gig before hanging up. Thirty seconds later, my phone rang.

“That was quick,” I said.

“Cell phone. It’s not a good idea to talk on department lines, I assure you.”

“I know, but I couldn’t find your cell number.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. So what’s your interest here?”

“Just an idea I had. But I need a description of what really happened to those hikers.”

“I don’t have access to any official reports, but I can tell you this. If the state of those bodies was common knowledge, there’d be more than just panic.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, from what I’ve heard, they weren’t just mauled; they were completely eviscerated. And the internal organs were missing-heart, liver, kidneys-even the brain. The heads were all cracked open and it looks like some animal just scooped them out and ate them.”

“Are you sure it was an animal?”

“What makes you ask that?” he said, his tone sharpening as the cop sense kicked in. Then it softened. “No, it’s an animal, all right. One of the victims was seen being attacked. His friends were hiking with him and they were lagging back a ways, which is probably what saved their lives. They saw something come out of the bushes and drag him off. It happened so quick they couldn’t give a good description, just that it was large and dark in color, but they swear it wasn’t a mountain lion. But it certainly wasn’t a person. Whatever it was tore the boy apart, just like the others. The wildlife guys are saying it can’t have been a mountain lion, either-about the only thing that could do that to a person would be a bear. But there aren’t any bears around these parts. And even if one escaped from captivity, bears don’t act like that anyway. The whole thing is just spooky.”

“Hmm,” I said. “Interesting. Well, thanks for the info.”

“No problem. Does any of it mean anything to you?”

“Not really.”

“Right. Like you said, just a concerned citizen. And speaking of which, I do remember hearing about another guy asking very similar questions a while back, offering to help. Homicide was very hot on him for a while. They thought he was just a bit too curious. But that was before the animal was actually seen. Turned out he was just another nutcase.” Warning bells went off in my head. Macklin might think it just an odd coincidence, but I didn’t.

“Huh,” I said. “Curious. You don’t remember his name, by any chance?” Now warning bells were definitely going off in Macklin’s head.

“What’s going on here, Mase?” he said.

“Nothing. Just thought it might be someone I know-a lot of my friends have been discussing this case.”

“Yeah? Well, I can’t remember his name, but it was something like Rocky or Rambo.”

I almost blurted out, “Ramsey?” but caught myself in time. One more coincidence and Macklin would start paying me serious attention, animal sighting or no. Cops hate things that don’t add up. I guess all of us do, for that matter.

“Well, it’s not important,” I said. “Thanks for the help, though.”

“Anytime.”

After I hung up for the second time, I did some serious thinking. What was Ramsey doing sniffing around the cops? Was it just his general clumsy attempt at investigation, or did he want to find out how much they knew? Maybe Ruby had put him up to it, but she had to know how lame and ineffective he was. The only thing he’d accomplish would be to draw unwanted attention. I’d have to check with her.

The information from Macklin was interesting, but it hadn’t really helped at all. Instead of narrowing down possibilities, it opened up even more of them. Such as, what if the killings had nothing to do with any theoretical entity wandering around? Nothing kills just because it’s evil. Everyone and everything acts from motive, even powerful beings with unknown abilities. Power. Fear. Simple hunger.

And missing organs? That smacked of a more human agency-a black practitioner gone bad, for example. I had no idea what those organs might be used for, but it wasn’t a random happenstance. But the witnesses had seen an animal. Or something not human.

I thought some more, then pulled out the scrap of paper with Ruby’s number on it and called. After a few pleasant ries, slightly less juvenile than the ones I’d traded with Macklin, I got down to business.

“Have you talked to Victor lately?” I asked.

“I have-in fact, I’m on my way over to his house later this afternoon. I’ve got some ideas I want to run past him.”

“Does that include any ideas from the cops?”

“Beg pardon?”

“The cops. Did you know Ramsey’s been bugging the cops about these murders, stirring up interest?”

“Oh, fuck. I’m sorry. I’ll talk to him.”

“You do that. He can cause trouble for us all, you know.”

“I know. He’s been helpful, but he’s beginning to wear on me anyway. It might be time to send him on his way.” She paused. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t have to tell Victor about that, though. It makes me look like a flake.”

“Tell Victor about what?”

“Thanks,” she said. “Why don’t you come by, too? We can run some ideas past each other.”

“That would be great, if I had any. But sure, I’ll be there.”

“About one, if that’s okay? If I can get some other stuff done by then.”

RUBY WAS STRETCHED OUT ON THE COUCH IN the study when I arrived at Victor’s. She unwound herself from the couch, slinked her way over to me, and held out a cool and dry hand, giving me a little squeeze as she did. I think she knew the effect she had on me and enjoyed teasing me, but not in a mean way.

“Ruby’s got an interesting take on this,” said Eli. “She doesn’t think there’s a creature out there at all.”

“Why not? We didn’t dream up the fake Ifrit,” I said.

“Or the Wendigo, either.”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” she said. “I’m talking about there being another creature.”

“Well, something’s been killing people, and it’s not the two we know about.”

“Something or someone.”

“Like a black practitioner, you mean?” Her face took on a grim expression.

“That’s exactly what I mean. I’ve been casting some scry ing spells, ones designed to locate uncanny things. Something Giancarlo taught me. That’s how I tumbled to that Ifrit creature, the one you’ve been hunting. I can’t use my talent to actually locate it, but I can feel its presence.

“And there’s another being I’ve felt as well-I had no idea what it was until I heard about your ‘Wendigo’-although I don’t think that’s really what it is. But here’s the thing-nothing else like that is out there. If there were, I could feel it, I’m sure.”

“Maybe it’s invisible to you,” I said, thinking about Morgan’s vision.

“No, I’d still sense it, even if I didn’t know what it was. But if it were a practitioner, now…” She shook her head. “That wouldn’t register. But what I don’t get is why any practitioner would do such a thing.”

“Well, it’s worse than that,” I said. “I did some digging, called a cop friend. You remember Macklin, Victor?” He nodded. “He told me that not only were the victims torn apart but all their internal organs were missing-heart, liver, kidneys-everything.” Ruby spun around and smacked her hand on her forehead.

“Of course. The organs.” She grabbed my arm. “The skulls. What about the skulls? Were they cracked open?”

“They were. And the brains were sucked out as well.”

“Son of a bitch.” She started pacing back and forth, muttering, until Eli stuck out a large hand and corralled her.

“This means something to you, I’m assuming.”

“It does. It’s typical, I’m sorry to say, of a very specific type of spell work.”

“Black practitioners? Again?”

“Not necessarily. It’s a spell used to extend life. Through the ages there have been more than one practitioner who’s tried it, and they weren’t all dark arts guys-mostly older practitioners, though, ones who thought they could cheat death that way. You take the organs and the life force from young men and women, transfer it into your own chi, and gain a few years of youth and vitality. Theoretically you could continue that way forever, although each time it takes a little more to get the same effect.”

“Is that possible?” I asked, glancing over at Eli for confirmation.

“Supposedly,” he said. “I have read about such things in my researches, but it’s all been speculation. It would take a strong practitioner. I’ve never met anyone who’s run across an actual case.”

“Well, I have,” Ruby said. “Or at least Giancarlo has-it was before my time.”

“Maybe,” said Eli. “But it seems an incredible coincidence that something like this would surface at exactly the same time as the fake Ifrit and the Wendigo. Are you saying there’s no connection?”

“There are coincidences in this world. But maybe here’s the connection. Consider this: When Mason found the Wendigo, it knew his name. Now, sure, it could have found out with a little research, or even by just hanging around. But until Mason showed up at Muir Woods, it would have had no reason to know he even existed, am I right? But not only did it know Mason’s name; it was almost as if it was waiting there for him.”

“Exactly. So?”

“So, maybe a practitioner told it about him-as soon as he and Victor figured out the fake Ifrit wasn’t responsible for those attacks, you’d start looking around for another suspect. A preemptive strike, perhaps.”

“Maybe,” said Eli. “But consider this: Mason, before you ran into the Wendigo, who or what did you and it have in common?”

“Rolf?”

“Rolf never saw him, didn’t even know what he might be, much less where you would be.” I thought for a few seconds.

“Well, there isn’t anything else.”

“Are you sure? How did you know where to find him?”

“Through Morgan’s vision, of course. But…”

Now, that was interesting. She’d seen me; she’d seen Lou; she’d seen the woods. And although she hadn’t seen the Wendigo, she’d certainly felt his presence.

“Exactly,” Eli said, seeing the look of dawning comprehension on my face. “Morgan saw you in the vision. She saw where you would be. She sensed the Wendigo. And the Wendigo has showed himself very comfortable in dimensions of the mind, places that are both of the spirit and of the flesh, places not exactly one or the other. He had no trouble finding Sherwood, remember.

“Visions, true ones, operate on a psychic plane outside of our ordinary space and time. And clearly, that outside perspective is something very familiar to our Wendigo. So when she saw him, and you, he also saw her. And you. And he knew what she knew-your name, for example.”

“And the Wendigo isn’t the only thing she’s had a vision of,” I said, slowly. “She’s seen something else-actually, she didn’t see it, but she sensed it, and it scared the crap out of her, far worse than the Wendigo did. No offense, Ruby-she couldn’t see what it was, either, but unlike you, she could feel it.”

“So either way if there’s something else out there, it’s not only aware of you; it’s aware of her as well,” said Victor. “That’s not good.”

“No, it’s not,” Eli said. “I think this woman might well be in need of some protection.”

“She’s going to be thrilled about that.”

“Can’t be helped. The least we can do is ward her house, so she’ll have a safe haven. Even if it turns out to be a rogue practitioner after all, it can’t hurt.”

“And we’d better get on it,” Victor said. “Ruby, do you want to come along?”

“No,” she said. “I’ve got things to do. But I’m sure you guys can handle it. I still think it’s a practitioner-no matter what this woman saw in her vision, if there were a monster prowling around, there’s no way I wouldn’t feel it. Still, I guess I could be wrong, and it certainly couldn’t hurt to give this woman some protection.”

She left, looking thoughtful and worried.

THE PHONE CONVERSATION WITH MORGAN WAS as awkward as I’d expected. Not surprisingly, the idea she might be in mortal danger didn’t sit well with her. She wasn’t upset with me, however. She was mostly mad at her mom.

“If she hadn’t started spouting off about my being psychic, I wouldn’t have done a reading for you and I wouldn’t be involved with this now,” she said.

“True, but a very close friend of mine wouldn’t have been rescued, either,” I told her. She was less than impressed.

“Good for her; not so good for me,” she said.

She did like the idea of making her home safe, though. Who wouldn’t? When she gave me her address, I was surprised to learn it was over in Bernal Heights, not so far from my own place.

“I thought you lived on the other side of town,” I said.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t so sure at first I wanted you to know where I lived. I picked a coffee shop over in my old neighborhood to meet.”

“And I reassured you?”

“Not really, but Louie did. That’s one of the things he’s good at, right?”

“Yes, it is,” I said. “We need to get this done right away.

We’ll be over in an hour or so, if that’s all right.”

“You and Louie?”

“Me and my friends. They’re very good at this sort of thing.”

HER HOUSE IN BERNAL HEIGHTS WAS RIGHT ON Holly Park Circle, across from Holly Park itself. Bernal was once a working-class neighborhood and in many respects still is, although houses there, like everywhere in San Francisco, are now out of the price range of true working people. Way out of the range of a working musician.

At one time Bernal Heights was a favored spot for motorcycle clubs and other counterculture types seeking to keep a low profile. It hasn’t been yuppified as much as the Mission, but it’s getting there. Jimmy’s bar, one of the sketchiest in the city, is located there, as well as the Wild Side West, perhaps the oldest lesbian bar in the city, although it’s hard to tell anymore since the clientele has become so diverse.

There was frantic deep-pitched barking from inside Morgan’s house when I rang the bell. Lou looked interested. The door opened and a huge Rottweiler pushed its way into the doorway, guarding its turf, growling softly. Lou bounded over to sniff noses and it jumped back three feet.

“Beulah, calm down,” she said. Beulah whined and sat down. Morgan sighed. “I originally got her for protection, but that turned out to be a joke. She’s a sweetie, but she’s afraid of her own shadow. Small dogs make her nervous, and she’s terrified of cats.”

Beulah whined again as Lou greeted her. He’s very good with real dogs. He actually enjoys playing doggy games on occasion, and it’s the rare dog who realizes that he’s not really one of them. After the appropriate amount of sniffing, both tails began to wag.

“Morgan, this is Eli and Victor,” I said as we walked inside.

“I recognize you two,” she said. “You’re the ones-” She broke off and glanced over at me.

“The ones you saw in the vision,” I finished. “They’re here to help set up wards around the house, for protection.”

“Oh. How does that work, anyway? Will I feel it, like an electric fence?”

“Not at all,” Eli assured her. “You won’t even be able to tell the wards are there. But they will keep out things that shouldn’t be allowed in.”

Eli and Victor continued their walk-through, examining the back door and the windows. The house was a two-story wooden structure, probably built in the twenties or thirties. Inside, art deco furniture and original artwork crammed every room.

“Very nice,” I said.

“It is, isn’t it. I wish I could take credit for it all, but I inherited the place from my aunt Aida about five years ago.” That explained how she could afford such a place.

“She had excellent taste,” Victor said, looking around approvingly.

“Didn’t she? Not a very nice person, actually, although since she left me the house I shouldn’t say that, but she did have a great eye for things.”

We walked through the house to the kitchen, where the back door opened out onto a wooden deck and stairs ran down to a garden below. Victor was the one who would set up the wards-lots of practitioners can contribute, but the actual warding tends to be a one-man job. Everyone has their own style in setting up protection, and often two people working together don’t mesh. Two differing approaches can result in discontinuities, and the warding often ends up weaker than it would with either person working alone. Victor was the logical choice to do it; his talent is better suited and he’s a stronger practitioner than I am anyway. Eli’s expertise is invaluable, but he doesn’t always have the power to implement his own ideas.

Sometimes practitioners can work together. Victor’s mansion is the best-protected house on the West Coast, a fortress of interlocking grids of energy. Nothing gets in or out unless he wants it to. It has to be that way, since he’s made serious enemies in his day, practitioners who bear him no love at all. That’s what happens when your job is chief enforcer of magical behavior, and your moral code leans toward the ethically rigid.

Quite a few practitioners worked on the warding of that house, and it now looks like a power substation when viewed on the psychic plane. But they’d had weeks to work on it, plenty of time to fine-tune and check every magical seam and rivet where there was a possibility of conflict.

Victor started on the front door, throwing out a line of energy that limned the edges of the doorway with pale green. Of course it wasn’t really green; it wasn’t strictly a color at all. Green is just a metaphor for what could be perceived on the psychic plane. He wove in several other lines, mostly in blacks and grays, then moved on to the windows. Around the back, upstairs, and finally the fireplace in the front room, something I might have overlooked if I’d been doing it.

Morgan followed him around, wide-eyed, although of course she couldn’t see anything of what he had done. Except, she could.

“Why are most of those lines black?” she asked. Eli looked at her sharply.

“You can see them?”

“Well, not really see them, not with my eyes. More like what happens when I get a vision.”

This was unexpected. She was a psychic, to be sure, but she shouldn’t have been able to see the wards. Unless she had more than a touch of the talent herself. This was an interesting development.

“When this is settled, we’ll need to have a talk,” Eli said.

Victor finally finished sitting up the wards and sat down heavily at the kitchen table. Warding an entire house on short notice will take a lot out of you, even if you’re Victor.

“Is it safe now?” Morgan asked.

“As safe as I can make it,” Victor said. “Nothing’s getting in here.”

“Nothing?”

“Well, nothing of the magical variety. No practitioners. No creatures. You’ll still need locks against burglars.”

“What about Mason? Can he come in if I want him to?”

“Sure, as long as you invite him in. The wards are attuned to you.”

“You mean like a vampire movie? He can’t come in unless I invite him?”

“Not the metaphor I would have chosen,” I said. “But, yes, basically.”

“That’s kind of cool, actually.” She looked out a window at the backyard. “What about the backyard? I spend a lot of time out there, in the garden. Do I have to stay in the house all the time?”

“It’s hard to properly ward an open area,” Eli said. “We could make it safer, though, strong enough to slow something down and give you time to get inside.”

Victor looked over at me.

“Do you think you could handle that?” he said.

I was stunned. First, that he was admitting, at least implicitly, that he was worn-out. And second, that he would even think of trusting me to do something like that. Luckily, both he and Eli had taught me a lot about warding last year when my own place had needed serious protection. And since the yard was a separate area my work wouldn’t interfere with Victor’s house wards.

“Sure,” I said.

I wasn’t sure at all, but it wouldn’t help Morgan’s peace of mind if I hemmed and hawed. I walked down the back stairs, and I liked what I saw. A tall ivy-covered fence surrounded the entire yard, no breaks, nice and even. On either side, the fence came right up to the house. I could attach the wards in the yard to the warded house, and the even height of the fence made warding the rest of the yard an easy task.

Most of my talent is the improvisational sort, but I have learned some other skills. I didn’t have enough power to properly ward the entire fence, so I laid a tiny line of force around the top of it, like a guide wire. I poured all the energy I had into one corner and bound it up with the ivy growing on the fence. It sat there quietly glowing. So now, although the rest of fence was basically unprotected, the minute anything tried to climb over or break through, the bound force would travel along the guide wire to the appropriate spot and stop it cold. In effect, the entire fence was now protected as strongly as the small section where I’d put all my focus. Eli was observing, and he smiled approvingly.

“A very elegant solution. You’re learning, boy.”

Morgan was appreciative of our help, but at the same time was understandably disturbed. Eli assured her it was just a precaution.

“You don’t have to hide inside the house all the time,” he said. “Just be careful-don’t go out alone late at night, for example.”

“Like as if I had a stalker.”

“Yes, something like that. And if you’re spooked about anything, give one of us a call.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “I will.”

I WENT HOME FOR A WELL-DESERVED REST, BUT had barely managed to sit down when Ruby called.

“Good, you’re home,” she said. “I think I’m onto something. Or maybe something’s onto me. I’m sitting at a café, over on Valencia and Twentieth, enjoying a soy latte.”

“I’m not sure that counts as a grand discovery, but it does sounds nice.”

“At a table in the back, there’s a practitioner watching me. He’s been shadowing me all day, but he’s been shielding and I could never get a good look at him-until now. He’s still shielding, but just hiding his talent, so I wouldn’t spot him as a practitioner.”

“You think he knows you’re hip to him?”

“I doubt it. He’s just reading the paper, pretending to be just another Mission hipster.”

“What does he look like?”

“Quite striking, actually. Medium height, youngish, with a mass of flaming curly red hair.”

“Like yours?”

“No, his hair is dyed.”

“And yours is natural?”

“Something you’ll never find out; that’s for sure. But his isn’t meant to look natural. It’s a fashion statement, bright scarlet, but with heavy black eyebrows.”

“Does not ring a bell at all,” I said. “Maybe Victor’s heard of him, or maybe he’s new in the city. What made you pick up on him?”

“He wasn’t shielding that well-I could hardly have missed him.”

“Maybe he wanted you to notice.”

“Maybe. Anyway, you live close. I thought you might want to drop by and then we could have a talk with him.”

“Give me five minutes,” I said.

“Hold on,” she said. “He’s leaving. Got to go.”

“Wait, wait,” I said quickly. “That might not be the best idea. If he’s letting you notice him, he probably wants you to follow. People have been dismembered, remember? If your idea about a practitioner is right, you don’t want to be confronting him alone.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure you can, but it’s not worth the risk. Use your head. I’ll be down there in a few minutes.”

I got a reluctant agreement out of her, and by the time I got to the café she was drinking another latte, sitting at an outside table.

“I should have followed him,” she said.

“Not worth it. If you’re wrong, it doesn’t get you anywhere. If you’re right, it could be a big mistake.”

“I guess. But I don’t think I’m wrong about this.”

“So why do you think he was following you?”

“Well, if I’m right, and a practitioner is behind this, he’s got to be aware of me. I’ve been asking a lot of questions, poking my nose all over town. Maybe he wants to see what I’m up to, whether I’m a threat to him.”

“Or maybe he was trying to get up the nerve to hit on you.”

“Aren’t you sweet? No, there’s something going on with this guy.”

We tossed a few ideas around but didn’t get anywhere, and eventually Ruby finished up her latte and headed home. I got a cup of coffee and sat there with Lou for a while, watching the Mission denizens stroll by. The demograph ics of the Mission were changing-fewer Hispanics, more yuppies and faux hipsters. And it was a younger crowd these days, most of them younger than I was. Then I realized they were the same age as they’d always been. I was the changing demographic, growing older every day, imperceptibly but inexorably. After ten minutes or so, Lou nudged my knee, in that deliberate fashion he uses when he wants to alert me to something.

I scanned the area, and it didn’t take long to see what he had scoped out. Across the street, staring intently into the front display window of a bookstore, was the redheaded stranger. His back was toward me, and he was using the reflection of the street in the window to keep an eye on me-a trick he’d no doubt picked up from countless bad TV movies. But even though his back was turned, there was no mistaking him. He had a mop of curly red hair, dyed an entirely unnatural red. Not the ideal appearance for trailing someone on the q.t. Which meant that I was supposed to see him. Which meant… what?

Abruptly, he turned away from the window and walked away, moving at a good clip, but not fast enough to keep me from following if I wanted to. The advice I’d given Ruby was perfectly sound. There was no reason to follow him, except curiosity, since I didn’t see a practitioner being the answer to our murders. And if by chance I was wrong, the downside could be considerable. I pushed my chair back, beckoned to Lou, and took off after him.

He ambled casually down Valencia, to Sixteenth, then over to Mission. Without so much as a backward glance, he descended the stairs to the BART station. I always carry a ticket with some money left on it for just such situations, so I inserted my ticket and breezed through the turnstile, not far behind.

Lou scooted under, staying close to my feet. Dogs aren’t allowed on BART, and whenever I take the train I use a small backpack for him to ride in, layered over with a minor concealment spell to make him look like an old sweater on casual inspection.

That wasn’t an option, so I used some talent to cast an aversion spell over my feet and told him to stay close. It wouldn’t hide his presence, but it would keep people from glancing down to see him as long as he stayed close. Casting the aversion spell directly on him would have been better, but it would have taken time I didn’t have and a lot more energy. I could maintain the spell on my legs without much effort; if I had to make it a discrete spell and attach it to him as he moved along, it would have been a more difficult thing to maintain. Besides, except for the BART police, nobody cared.

The redheaded practitioner got aboard a southbound train, which was crowded as rush hour wound down. I squeezed in at the back end of the same car, Lou crowding close so he wouldn’t get his paws stepped on. One thing was now clear-this guy was playing a game with me. I had an impulse to push through he crowded car and confront him on the spot. That would throw a monkey wrench in his plans.

But that wouldn’t be the best idea, for the same reason a cop wouldn’t confront an armed suspect in the middle of a crowded subway car. A lot of things could go wrong and probably would, with serious consequences for innocent passengers. And bad guys seldom care about collateral damage.

The car was crowded, with that eclectic combination of passengers you get only in a big city. Neatly dressed Asians with briefcases. Teens with piercings, carrying skateboards. Rough-faced men with callused hands, on their way to work or on their way home. Stolid-faced women of indeterminate race. Each of them has a life, happy or sad, unknown to their fellow travelers. Eight million stories in the naked city. Or a few hundred thousand, in any case.

Right across from me sat a young Hispanic couple with a baby and a toddler. The man had one of those serious faces, with a faraway look, thinking his unknown thoughts of unknown places as the train moved along. The toddler noticed Lou and stared at him, fascinated. He looked up at me, and when I smiled at him he hid his face in the man’s lap, but he was unable to resist peeking out.

When the train reached the Glen Park station, the red-haired practitioner got off. I followed him up the escalator, not getting on until he had reached the top. I was staying well back in case he was preparing a surprise for me. I had no fear I’d lose him-he’d make sure of that.

He headed up Bosworth, away from the commercial area around the station. After a few blocks it was clear where he was headed: Glen Park itself. The park isn’t one of those manicured showplaces; it’s an urban wildlife area nestled right in the middle of a thoroughly developed neighborhood. Set in the bottom of a tiny canyon, it’s hardly a park at all-more an overgrown area choked with trees and brush, with a stream running through that provides a miniature riparian environment for frogs and snakes and small mammals and even a coyote or two.

I followed him into the park, letting him still keep a good lead, until eventually he came to the loop that runs along the far end. It was getting chilly, and apart from a few hardy dog walkers, the park was almost deserted. As he disappeared around a bend, I stopped to take stock of the situation.

He was obviously setting up a confrontation. And he had chosen the time and the place, giving him an immense advantage. You never want to fight someone on their own terms or on their own turf, unless you have no choice.

A couple of years ago I would have let it go. But lately I’d developed a macho streak, a reluctance to avoid a challenge, along with the feeling I could take care of myself under any circumstances. Looking back over the last couple of years, a case could be made for that being untrue-most of the things I’d handled had been as much about luck as skill. But sometimes, confidence is as important as ability. Unless you let it overwhelm your judgment, at which point you’re sure to crash and burn.

So I wasn’t about to blunder ahead totally unprepared. Being able to improvise has its advantages-there is an infinitude of situations and threats, many of which you cannot possibly foresee. A well-crafted spell is useless if it doesn’t address the problem at hand. Sometimes I have to scramble, but in the end I usually come up with something that works.

But I had learned to prepare when it was appropriate. I had only enough energy to set up one prepared spell, though. Any more than that, and I wouldn’t have enough power left to deal with the unexpected. And there were two things to worry about. One was a magical attack, but since I wasn’t going to be caught off guard, I figured I could handle that. But those poor victims had been torn apart in a purely physical manner. When you deal with magic every day, you sometimes forget how deadly a mundane attack can be.

What I really needed was my shotgun, but it was resting uselessly at home. So, a magical equivalent might be in order. I looked around for a branch or other straight section of wood, and found just what I needed a few feet off the trail, a six-foot branch with the leaves stripped off long ago. I broke off the little side branches until I had a relatively smooth staff. I worked some dirt into one end, letting some energy flow out into it, forming a magical barrier. Then I squatted down by the small creek that ran through the park and dipped the other end into the water. Again, I let energy flow, but this time I kept it up. The water flowed into the staff, filling it up as it backed up against the dirt barrier. I held it there until the pressure built up to the breaking point before pulling it out. I capped the other end with a binding energy woven into more dirt. Now if I needed it, I could quickly rub that dirt off, release the energy, and the pressurized water would spurt out like a fire hose.

That may not seem impressive, but fire hoses and water cannons are what get used for crowd control. A stream from a two-and-a-half-inch hose will knock you off your feet and send you tumbling along the ground. With enough pressure, the stream can even break through a weak brick wall. And my enhancing would provide at least twice the pressure of an ordinary hose.

At that pressure, an ordinary hose would pick me up clear off the ground. It would be like trying to hold an angry anaconda. But magic does have its advantages-I’d be able to direct the flow as easily as I would a simple stick. Now I was set-a wizard with a staff, at long last.

Lou was shifting back and forth on one paw and then the other, not exactly nervous, but keyed up like a boxer before an important bout. I motioned him over toward where the path exited after looping around.

“Stand guard,” I told him. “Bark if he comes out this way.” He looked at me and moved closer to the entrance. “Other side,” I said. He ignored me.

That made me think again. Lou knows a lot more about tracking than I do, and he wouldn’t ignore me for no reason. Maybe he felt is was too dangerous to separate. He did have a point; it was a lot like those slasher films where the idiot teen says, “Let’s split up. You check out the attic. I’ll head down to the basement.”

Then I realized there was no point in leaving him to guard the exit anyway. This charade had been designed to set up a confrontation. Whoever this was, he wanted to engage me. He wasn’t going to slip out the back the minute I got close. That would have made the entire charade pointless. I nodded to Lou and we started along the path together.

It was narrow and closed in. After a short quarter mile, the path started to curve around and head back. Lou was walking a few paces ahead of me, nose twitching, acting more like an actual dog than a magical companion, seeking out danger on a practical level. When he stopped, one paw raised halfway up, I knew we’d reached the crucial place, and I gripped the homemade staff tightly, one hand on the dirt cap.

Even so, it almost got me. It burst out of the bushes and launched itself toward me with a noise like an explosion of frightened quail. Time shifted down into slow motion-not the magical kind, but the type that happens in a car crash. It stood upright on two legs, and was huge, at least six feet four. I saw dark fur and long arms with claws the size of a grizzly bear’s. I saw teeth, gleaming white. They were almost the last thing I ever saw.

I tore the dirt off the end of the staff and simultaneously pointed it in one motion. A stream of water gushed out and struck the creature full in the chest, sending it flying. My idea had been to knock down whatever attacked me, then use talent to bind and neutralize it if I could. But the water hose worked too well. It went head over heels back into the bushes, and it must have hurt it and scared it as well, because instead of attacking again it took off. I heard the sounds of crashing branches as it bolted through the tangled undergrowth. Round one to me.

Lou took a couple of steps forward and looked back at me to see if I wanted him to follow. He didn’t seem that eager. From the glimpse I’d got of the creature, I wasn’t, either. I shook my head.

“Not this time,” I said. “Let’s not push our luck.”

We made it back out of the park without any trouble. There was no sign of our red-haired practitioner. Glen Park is close enough to my flat so that I could walk home, though it took about forty minutes. On the way, my mind churned. Too many questions, which was rapidly becoming my default state of mind every time things got weird.

But I had learned something, and it was important. The question of whether these murders had been done by a creature out of the energy pool or by a mad practitioner was no longer one of either/or. It was both. But was it a creature like the fake Ifrit, but under magical control? Or was it a sentient being, like the Wendigo, working in partnership with a practitioner? And if so, why? One thing was clear-unless and until I figured it out, more people were bound to die.