Evil Ways (28 page)

"At the risk of starting another argument," Colleen said, "what's the matter, Dale? You've hardly said ten words since we left Boston."

Fenton had been staring at his shoes for the last ten minutes. Without looking up, he said, "You happen to notice how I paid for those airline tickets of ours?"

"No, I can't say I was paying attention. I assumed you used the credit card the Bureau gave you for business travel."

"You assume wrong," Fenton said tonelessly. "I used my own Amex card."

"Why? I mean, you can get reimbursed, after filling out a small mountain of paperwork, but why go to the trouble?'

"I won't be asking for reimbursement, because I don't want any official documentation connecting us with this little trip."

"But we had to show picture ID before they'd issue the tickets," she said. "That's standard procedure, to stop people from avoiding the No-Fly List by traveling under an alias."

"Yeah, I know," Fenton said. "Nothing we can do about that. But nobody should have any reason to check the passenger manifest for our names, as long as we don't let them know that we were within five hundred miles of Coeur d'Alene, Idaho. Far as the Bureau's concerned, you and I are still in Massachusetts, following up some leads we got from that scumbag in Walpole."

"Well, they won't hear any different from me."

"Do you know why I did that, Colleen?"

"Yeah, probably, but I guess you're going to want to tell me, anyway."

"I did it because I'm pretty damn sure that something bad is going to happen, once we get to Idaho. It's gonna be bad, and it's probably gonna be illegal, and we're gonna be involved in it up to our necks."

Colleen gave her own footwear a certain amount of study before saying, "Yeah, I expect you're right. On all three counts."

"Can't act officially. If we tried to get a warrant to search Grobius's property based on the evidence we've got, the judge would not only turn us down, he'd have us committed. And as for an arrest warrant…" Fenton just shook his head.

Colleen nodded solemnly. "Yep. Right again. And yet, here we are. More to the point, here
you
are. How come?"

Fenton gave his shoes another thirty seconds or so of analysis before saying, "You know that line from Shakespeare, Hamlet I
think, that goes, 'There are more things in heaven and on earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio'?"

"Yeah, I believe I've come across it," she said.

"It's kinda like that for me, I guess. Starting with that hairy business last year that Van Dreenan and I got sucked into, I've seen too much shit that can't just be explained away as hallucinations, or hysteria, or fucking swamp gas."

"It says a lot for the openness of your mind, Dale. Most agents of the Bureau…" She let the sentence trail off.

"Yeah, well, most of 'em don't have a witch for a partner. Even of the 'white' variety."

"That's most likely true."

"By the way, someday you and me are gonna have a conversation about the racial prejudice inherent in the terms 'white magic' and 'black magic.'"

"It's got nothing to do with race, it's from… Oh. You're messing with me, aren't you?"

"Gotta do something," he said. "And that's better than screaming, which is what I
really
feel like doing. See, Colleen, it's not that I believe that Grobius and Pardee are actually gonna call up Satan tonight out there in Coeur d'Alene. And if they do manage to pull that trick off, I don't believe that they won't be able to control him, he'll get loose, and as the saying goes, lay waste to the world. I don't believe that, okay?'

"Okay. Then why are you
—"

"I'm here because I don't fucking
disbelieve
it. And if that shit's a possibility, I mean if it's even a one percent chance… then I gotta go do what I can to stop it."

She reached over and squeezed his shoulder for a moment. "You and me, Dale. You and me."

Morris scanned the nineteen faces, to see if he knew anyone present, but they were all strangers to him. Their ages, at a rough guess, went from late twenties to mid-fifties, and their attire ranged from blue jeans to business suits. He had known better than to expect anything unusual in their appearance. Witches, whether white or black, look like anybody else. It is only their deeds that are, sometimes, extraordinary.

One of the women stood as Morris came in, and went over to him. She was one of the older witches present, which in her case Morris guessed to be a vibrant-looking fifty-five. Her sharp green eyes studied him as she approached.

Morris extended a hand. "Eleanor Robb, I presume?"

"You presume correctly, Mister Morris. Normally I would go around the room and introduce my Sisters, but I gather that time is important. However, if you prefer introductions…"

"No, that's fine, you're quite right." Morris raised his voice a little, so that all could hear him. "Howdy, ladies, and welcome. I hope to meet each of you and offer my thanks individually, once this is over. In the meantime, I hope you won't think it rude of me to forgo introductions."

Morris walked quickly to the front of the room, and invited Ellie Robb to join him.

"I assume Ms. Robb explained to you what's going on, or you wouldn't have put your busy lives on hold to rush out here," he said.

"We haven't got a lot of time, but if any of you have questions, I'll try to answer 'em."

One of the witches, a thin woman of around thirty, asked, "If all the action is going to be in Idaho, what are we doing in Washington?"

"You probably would have flown into Spokane, anyway," Morris told her. "It's the only big airport in the area. So what we've got right here is what the military calls a 'staging area'
—a place to get organized before moving into… the area of interest." Morris had been about to say "battle," but he didn't want to sound like some macho nitwit who thought he was George Patton. Besides, he didn't want to scare any of them who might already be developing cold feet. "We don't want to show up in Coeur d'Alene until it's almost time to begin the work that you've come here to do. It's a small place, and the presence of twenty or so strangers would be noticed, and probably reported to Grobius, or one of his…" Morris searched for the right word.

"Henchmen?" another woman said, and there was nervous laughter around the room.

"That's not quite the term I was going to use," Morris said. "I didn't want you folks to think we'd all wandered into the middle of a Batman movie."

Louder laughter this time. Morris was glad to hear that. It would help to reduce the extraordinary tension they must all be feeling. Who wouldn't? You get a phone call from somebody who says, "We'd like you to drop whatever you're doing and come out to Idaho immediately, to help prevent the end of the world."
No pressure, or anything. No, siree.

Once the laughter died away, he said, "Anyway, if we used Coeur d'Alene, or anyplace nearby, as our base, Grobius would probably hear about it, and we don't want him knowing we're in town, until it's too late. Besides, I understand that this many of you all in one place might be sensed by some of those on the other side."

There were some nods. Morris turned to Ellie Robb, "I assume you've been putting out a cloaking spell to shield this room from the bad guys' radar?"

Ellie gave him a crooked smile. "That's not exactly how it works, but, yes, the room is well shielded. None of those from the Left-Hand Path should become aware of our presence."

Another woman, a pert-looking twenty-something, raised her hand. "So, when do we leave here?"

Morris looked to Ellie again. "You said their revels should start at nine, right?"

"That's right," she said. "It's traditional. Three hours to do… what they do, and it all stops at midnight."

"This year, the party's going to break up early," Morris said.

Someone from the back asked, "How are we gonna get there, anyway?"

"I rented three Ford Econoline vans. We leave at eight sharp, so please be ready, with all the gear you think you'll need."

A Latino woman grinned at him. "Gear? How do you know we call it that?"

"One of your Sisters is a good friend of mine." There was something in his voice that told some of the more discerning Sisters just how worried for Libby Chastain he was.

"Three vans, Quincey?" Ellie Robb asked. "Not my business, but I'm pretty sure we could all fit in two, if they're the big ones."

"I'm sure you could," Morris told her. "But with three, if one of them has mechanical trouble or a flat tire on the way, we can just stop the caravan and transfer its passengers to the other two vans. We won't lose much time, that way."

Ellie pursed her lips, then nodded slowly. "Not bad. Not bad, at all. I begin to see why Libby speaks so highly of you."

"Thanks," Morris said. "And if everything goes just right tonight, maybe she'll have the chance to do it again."

She had not been greatly worried about Pardee's threat to have her raped, whether by humans or demons. The only one Pardee wanted hurting Libby Chastain was Pardee himself. And he intended to hurt her very badly, indeed.

If she had been wrong about the rape, Libby could have used some other techniques the Sisterhood had taught her, to lose consciousness at will, and thus avoid at least the immediate horrors of sexual assault. But rape would have caused her another problem that could not be overcome through meditation and self-hypnosis, so Libby was doubly glad that her estimate of Pardee's character had proved accurate.

The shackles securing her had been made far too strong, first by the manufacturer and then by Pardee's magic, for Libby to have any realistic hope of freeing herself. Her only chance, slim though it was, would come when she was on the altar of sacrifice, in the seconds between when Pardee removed her clothing (to humiliate her and make her disembowelment easier) and pulled off her gag (to hear her pleas for mercy, followed by her screams when mercy was not forthcoming) before plunging his blade into her body. Libby made herself visualize the scene, Pardee's likely behavior, and her own desperate actions, which could be varied depending on the specifics of the situation.

When the time came, Libby would have to be very quick. But if she managed somehow to be just quick enough…

The knock on Morris's door came as he was sharing a hastily ordered meal from room service. He hadn't been especially hungry, but was concerned that low blood sugar later in the evening could make him slow and stupid just when he needed to be quick and smart.

He opened the door to admit Eleanor Robb. "Sorry to be late," she said, "but I thought a bit of a pep talk might… Oh. Am I interrupting?"

"Not at all. We were just having some pre-operational chow," Morris said. "Ellie, meet Hannah Widmark. Hannah, Ellie Robb, who I've told you about."

The woman in black had stood, and Ellie approached her slowly. "Hannah Widmark," she said. "If half the stories I've heard are true, you must be a remarkable woman."

"Oh, I am," Hannah said, deadpan. "Absolutely." She extended her hand.

"You know," Ellie said, "as a member of a sect that embraces life and opposes violence, I cannot say that I approve of you."

Hannah said nothing, but lowered her hand.

"But as someone who has seen the evil wrought in this world by those whom you hunt, I cannot say I disapprove, either." She smiled and extended her own hand. "Pleased to meet you, Hannah."

Once they were all seated, Morris offered Ellie something to eat. She declined, but did accept a cup of coffee.

"As I started to say, I just finished spending a few minutes with each of the Sisters," Ellie said as she added Sweet 'n Low to her coffee. "They are brave women, or they would not have come
—I did not lie to them about the dangers involved. But still, they fear for their safety, even if none of them have said so aloud."

"Hannah and I were just talking about that," Morris said. "Certainly, once Grobius or his people realize what your Sisters are doing, he'll try to stop them. Will he have Pardee use magic, do you think?"

"I doubt he'll have any to spare," Ellie said. "What they are trying to accomplish"
—she shook her head at the sheer insanity of it—"will require all the magical power that can be brought to bear. Even then, it may not be enough, be we can't count on that, of course."

"Hannah and I had thoughts along the same line," Morris said. "But Grobius has security people, and we know they have weapons. There are licenses on file for his corporation's purchase of rifles, pistols, and shotguns. Whether their arsenal includes anything illegal, like automatic weapons or grenades, I'm afraid we're only going to find out the hard way."

"You
must
do what you can to protect my Sisters, Quincey," Ellie said. "They know they are risking their lives, bless them, but I will
not
have those lives just thrown away, no matter how great the cause."

"They won't be," Hannah said. "The ones throwing away their lives will be those who try to harm your Sisters."

Ellie Robb looked at her, then back at Morris. "This is one of those matters that I would prefer not to ask about," she said. "But in this instance, I'm afraid I must."

"We'll explain it all," Morris said. "But there are two other people who should be joining us shortly. Their plane landed about twenty minutes ago, and they called me from the Avis counter at the airport. They'll be here pretty soon, and we'll all work out the details of the plan that Hannah's come up with."

"It's a simple plan, really," Hannah told her.

"She's right," Morris said. "But then, a broken neck can be described as a simple fracture. Are you sure you wouldn't like some salad, or something, Ellie?"

They were almost done with the remains of the coffee when someone knocked at the door of Morris's room. He opened it to welcome an African-American man and a white woman. Ellie rose
—to meet the man, and to embrace her Sister, Colleen O'Donnell.