Black Magic Woman (37 page)

He had, it was true, briefly considered sending one of the servants to buy a dog, so that Grobius could kick it to death. But he had abandoned the idea as unseemly and undignified.
That
was what counted.

He had always responded to setbacks with greater determination to succeed, and this time would be no exception. He viewed the end of the world as he would any other business project; the scale was simply bigger, that was all.

He picked up the telephone next to his chair. As soon as the voice in his ear said "Sir?" Grobius said, "Tell Pardee I want him."

He hung up without waiting for the "Yes, sir" that would be immediately forthcoming.

Adjustments needed to be made, that was all. The project would succeed. The Great Cleansing would take place.

A few moments later, Walter Grobius picked up the telephone again.

He had changed his mind about the dog.

Marcia LaRue answered the door, looking about ten years younger than she had the last time Morris had seen her.

In the living room, Walter LaRue was already standing to greet them, his wide smile a duplicate of his wife's.

"Good to see you again, both of you," he said, shaking hands.

"Yes it is," Marcia said, coming over to stand beside him. After a long moment, she asked, "Is it really over?"

"Yes it is," Libby told her. "Once and for all."

After they were all seated, Morris said, "After all you've been through, Libby and I thought we owed you a full report of what we've been doing since we saw you last."

"More than anything else," Libby said, "we wanted you to understand that this ordeal you've been through really
is
finished. We thought you should know exactly what that means."

"Well, we're eager to hear about it, that's for sure," Walter LaRue said, and his wife nodded.

"Well, here's the way it went," Morris said. "After we left you last time, Libby and I headed off to Boston…"

Twenty-three minutes later, Libby Chastain concluded with, "And I was able to use some of the residual energy from her spell to heal my injuries from the car crash. And so, here we are."

The LaRues sat silently for several moments. Finally, Walter LaRue said, "You've been through quite a lot, on our behalf."

"All part of the service," Morris said, with a smile.

"No, I think I'd call it above and beyond the call of duty," LaRue replied. He reached into his shirt pocket for a piece of paper, unfolded it, and placed it on the coffee table in front of Morris and Chastain. It was a check for twenty thousand dollars.

Morris looked at it, then raised his head, frowning. "That's not why Libby and I came here. I told you before that we had been paid in full."

"I know," LaRue said. "And I accept that. But, from what you've described to us, you two have racked up incredible expenses. Your plane fare alone must have amounted to at least a third of this."

"This really isn't—" Libby began.

"We both agree that we want you to take this," Marcia LaRue said. "There's no amount of money that can pay for what you've done for us, and for the kids, but it's a gesture of appreciation. Let us make it—please."

Morris and Libby looked at each other for a long moment. Then Morris picked up the check and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. "Well… for expenses, then. And thank you."

Marcia LaRue said she had brewed a pot of decaf coffee, and asked if anybody wanted some. She also mentioned a cheesecake that was sitting in her refrigerator. Morris and Libby agreed to some of each.

"Libby, can you give me a hand with the coffee cups and plates, please?" Marcia LaRue asked.

"Sure." Libby rose and followed her into the kitchen.

A couple of minutes later, Libby was slicing wedges of cheesecake when Marcia said to her, "I'm really glad you and Quincey agreed to take the money."

Libby shrugged amicably. "It was kind of you -and Walter to offer. I'm sure we'll find a use for it."

"Thing is, there was kind of an ulterior motive involved. On my part, anyway."

Libby looked up, eyebrows raised. "Oh?"

Marcia nodded. "You're accepting the money makes it a little easier for me—emotionally, I mean—to ask you for kind of a special favor."

Libby put the knife down carefully. "What did you have in mind, exactly?"

"Well, do you think sometime, when you're not too busy chasing after demons and zombies with Quincey and all, maybe…"

"What, Marcia?" Libby's voice was gentle.

"Maybe you could, you know, teach me the basics of how to do white magic?"

Libby picked up the knife again and returned to slicing the cheesecake. "Sister mine," she said, "it would be my pleasure."