by Bill Bennett
He smiled. ‘Of course, detective.’
Marley’s patience was waning. She didn’t care what powerful friends this doctor had, or what kind of influence he could pull. If he’d palmed his niece off to a distant relative so he could get on with his life, and if something happened to Lily, then she’d make sure this Dr Frederick Maguire was made accountable. He didn’t seem to realise the seriousness of what was in play here.
‘I wish to speak to her. What’s the number there?’ Marley asked.
‘There’s no phone where she’s staying. No range, no communication at all. You’ll have to go up there if you want to speak to her.’
‘Then that’s what we’ll do.’ She stood, closing her notebook. Olivier stood too.
Freddie got to his feet. ‘I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.’ He shook hands with them both. ‘Martha will show you out.’
He nodded to Martha, who stepped out onto the terrace and gestured for Marley and Olivier to follow her.
Olivier turned to Freddie. ‘Doctor, are you aware that a Professor Henri Duprey was killed in Paris three days ago?’
‘Yes, that’s just come to my attention. He was a good friend of mine, and to be quite frank I’m still in shock. Why do you mention it?’
‘Have you heard of an organisation called Cygnet?’
Freddie shook his head slowly, as if considering it. ‘No. What is it?’
Olivier studied his every nuance. He smiled. ‘It’s not important. Thank you, doctor.’
He turned to leave, then turned back again. ‘Oh, by the way. What’s happening in New York?’
Freddie, almost caught off guard, hesitated. ‘New York? I don’t know. Why – are you planning to visit?’
Olivier didn’t respond. He just stared.
‘Try Google,’ Freddie said. ‘It’s very popular here in America. It’s an internet search engine. All you do is type in: “What’s happening in New York?”, and you should get a lot of suggestions.’
Olivier blinked, and blinked again. His smile fixed. ‘That’s very helpful. Thank you, doctor.’
‘Not at all.’ Freddie smiled genially and watched as Martha showed them out.
__________
Standing outside Freddie’s high-walled mansion, Olivier turned to Marley, trying to control his temper. ‘That patronising bastard. As if I didn’t know what Google was . . .’
‘He was baiting you, darling. Trying to get you riled. And it worked.’
‘He’s a witch,’ Olivier said. ‘He’s a goddamn witch. I don’t know if he’s Baphomet, but he certainly knows there’s activity in New York. And why would he send the girl all that way to his great-aunt? To hide her? He knows much more than he’s saying.’
‘Yes. I got that too.’
They walked over to Marley’s six-year-old Honda Civic. She stopped, and looked at him across the roof of the car. ‘How’d you like to spend some of your vacances at the Chalk Mountains?’
Olivier slowly began to grin. ‘This is why I love you, Marls.’
They both hopped into the car and drove off.
The next night Lily met her greatest challenge.
She was sitting cross-legged, coming out of a deep meditation, when she opened her eyes and there in front of her stood Kevin Johnstone. He wore an impeccably tailored suit with a fine silk shirt, several buttons undone that were enough to reveal the hint of his muscled chest. He was looking at her, and when he smiled, his teeth shone impossibly white in the dark. He held out a hand to her and said in the softest, gentlest voice, ‘Let’s dance.’
And so she danced with him.
He held her with tenderness and they circled, dancing to music that wrapped itself around her heart. She looked into his eyes and saw herself in the reflection; but she was older, and dressed in elegant expensive clothes, wearing jewellery fit for a princess. At that moment she knew she could have everything she ever wanted and more than she could ever dream, if only she gave herself to him.
He moved her to the mouth of the cave.
He smiled, and her heart skittered.
‘Dance with me outside in the moonlight,’ he said, his voice like music, his eyes never leaving hers. His hand in the small of her back gently guided her towards the entrance.
After all this time in the dark, after all the hardship, all she wanted now was to dance under the moon in the arms of Kevin Johnstone, this gorgeous boy who could take her heart . . . take her soul . . .
She stepped back from him.
That’s what he wanted – he wanted her soul.
He smiled.
It was no longer Kevin Johnstone. It was a beast with a face of scales and eyes of flame. His tongue flicked out, a serpent’s tongue that licked the air. He hissed at her. His breath smelt of dead things, putrid and decaying. He tried to grab her. His hands were reptilian claws. She pushed him away. He roared. The sand beneath her feet trembled. She closed her eyes and thought of the warrior Goddess Artemis holding the torch to keep away the darkness and the bloodied sword to slay her foes.
Suddenly there was a wall of purple flames around her, and in one hand was that very torch, and in the other the sword. She lifted the torch high above her head, and in her white robes she was the daughter of the Goddess Artemis.
I am Artemis incarnate! Lily thought.
She seemed to grow in height, and as she grew she felt her toes, her feet, dig down into the earth. She suddenly felt strong and ready to fight. She stared down at the devil. He slunk away from her, hissing, enraged. His tongue flicked out at her and his scaly nostrils flared with fury. He vanished into the dark.
And then she was standing without flames, without a torch, without a sword, she was her own size again. She was Lily Lennox once more facing the entrance to the cave, as the sun came up and the first rays of dawn touched her face, kissed her face, blessed her soul.
She felt clean and pure.
She felt ready to become a white witch.
Outside, she heard Luna’s jeep pull up.
It was part gas station, part general store, part diner. Pitted tin roof, wide verandah, everything covered in a fine, white baked-in dust. A ma-and-pa operation, and the last semblance of civilisation before he hit the long winding climb up to the Chalk Mountains.
Kevin had managed to coax a delicious off-the-menu meal of steak and fries from the ma. He’d eaten slowly, the only person in the diner, sitting at a table covered with black-and-white checked plastic sheeting, his blunt knife making hard work of the tough porterhouse, his stomach knotted with anxiety. He’d left home with such elation and a sense of purpose, but on the long drive east that had soured into apprehension and misgiving.
What was he doing? Why had he agreed to do this? To come all this way out into the desert to meet a tiny biker chick who might well end up being insane. Or criminal. Or criminally insane. Yes, he’d wanted to get out of the stitched-up, buttoned-down sanctimonious goodness of Mill Valley, with all its organic-whole-foods, politically correct, hot-yoga, om-chanting, left-leaning, empathetic bullshit that made him feel physically ill.
And then there was his father, who didn’t give a damn what he did, as long as it wasn’t better than anything he himself had done. Kevin had left home hoping that whatever unfolded, good or bad, Dr Lindsay Johnstone, retired cosmetic surgeon and ace at everything, would sit up and take notice of his pathetic, talentless son.
And Lily. Had he come all this way like a chivalrous knight in a shining Mustang wanting to save the young maiden in distress from forces of unspeakable evil? Or was she unspeakably evil herself – made more so because she presented as sweetness and light?
He sat in the diner having second thoughts.
He should just walk outside, get in his car, turn right around and drive straight back home, forget about this craziness, get on with his life and take his anger and frustration out via his music. Kill a few virgins and babies in an eight-bar riff.
He asked for the cheque, left a hefty tip, and walked out.
He spotted them immediately. Two of them. They were sitting in the only other car outside the store, and they’d obviously been waiting for him because as he exited the diner heading for his Mustang parked under a tree, they got out to greet him. A man and a woman. They looked like cops, the way they moved – relaxed, yet with a disguised sense of purpose.
The man had a European look about him. Maybe it was the scarf, and his loose crumpled-linen suit. No American would dress like that, not out here.
As the man approached, he looked at the Mustang admiringly. ‘Nice car,’ he said in a thick French accent, then produced a badge.
‘Interpol. Special Agent Mendes.’
The woman produced her shield too. ‘San Francisco Police Department,’ she said. ‘Detective Marley Davis.’
Kevin unleashed his smile. In situations like this, it was his best defence, and offence, particularly with women. It disarmed, it hazed, it gave him cover, time to think. ‘Have I done something wrong?’ he asked.
The smile didn’t work on the lady detective though. It bounced right off her. The Frenchman, however, smiled back. He seemed more genial. More laid-back.
‘No,’ he said, ‘we were just curious. We were driving by, noticed your California plates, then saw you were from the Bay area.’ He nodded to the dealership service decal on the front windshield. ‘You’re a long way from home.’
‘You too, Special Agent,’ Kevin said coolly. ‘Interpol. That’s based out of Lyon, isn’t it? Beautiful city. I’ve stopped in there a couple of times on my way through to your fabulous ski field in the Alps.’ He smiled again. ‘So what brings you all the way out here?’
Olivier stared back at him, as if momentarily flummoxed by his guile. Marley quickly stepped in.
‘Let’s have a look at your licence and registration,’ she said. Then she nodded to the Mustang. ‘Expensive wheels. The car’s yours?’
Kevin laughed. ‘Yes, of course it is, ma’am.’
He pulled his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans, dug out his licence and handed it to her, then he leaned over and reached into the glove compartment to get his registration papers.
Something caught Olivier’s eye. Kevin’s sports bag, on the back seat. It was unzipped, open – and on top was the ebony case containing the knife that Kevin had taken from his father.
‘Do you mind?’ Olivier asked, as he took the case from the bag, and turned to show it to Marley. They stared down at the silver clasp – two twirling goat horns. He glanced up at Marley.
‘Baphomet,’ she said softly, her body stiffening, her gaze hardening.
‘That’s mine!’ Kevin made a grab for the case but Olivier quickly pulled it away from him. Marley held him back as Olivier slowly opened the lid. They looked down at the ceremonial athame, with its rune-etched double-edged blade and its handle studded with semi-precious gemstones.
‘Where did you get this?’ Olivier asked, looking up at Kevin with eyes that were now flint hard and fixed.
‘Why?’ Kevin asked guardedly.
‘Do you know what this is?’
‘It’s a knife.’
‘It’s much more than a knife, Kevin. This is an expunger.’
‘A what?’
‘An expunger,’ Olivier said. ‘There are only a few of these in existence. You stab a person through the heart with this knife, it expunges their soul.’ He clicked his fingers loudly. ‘Pfffft,’ he said. ‘Gone.’
Kevin wrenched himself free of Marley’s grip, stared down at the knife, then up at Olivier, confused.
‘Now where did you get it?’ Olivier asked again.
‘It’s my father’s,’ Kevin said, hesitantly. ‘I borrowed it.’
‘So your father is a witch?’ Olivier asked.
‘Excuse me?’
‘This here,’ he pointed to the silver clasp, and the two goat horns, ‘is the sign of the Golden Order of Baphomet. Do you know what that is, Kevin?’
He shook his head blankly.
‘The Golden Order of Baphomet is an ancient organisation of witches. Let me make this easy for you. They are not nice people, Kevin. They do very bad things. Your father is obviously a member of this Order.’
He pulled out a photograph of Kritta. ‘Do you know this woman?’
Kevin stared at the photo and hesitated long enough for both cops to know that he was lying when he said, ‘No. Why should I?’
‘Because, Kevin,’ Olivier said testily, ‘she is part of this Golden Order too. She also is a witch. A very dangerous witch. Her specialty is dismemberment and decapitation. You do not want to get mixed up with her, Kevin, because if you do it will end up messy. Very messy.’
Kevin stared at Kritta’s vicious face.
Marley glanced down at his driver’s licence. ‘So you’re school age, Kevin.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Why aren’t you at school?’
‘Medical reasons.’
‘Which are?’
‘That’s confidential. Between me and my doc.’
Marley looked up at him, searching his eyes, reading him like a polygraph. ‘What school do you go to?’ She poised her pen over her notebook.
‘Mill Valley High.’ Kevin knew there was no point lying. They could check with one phone call.
‘So you’d know Lily Lennox then.’ Her eyes flicked up to his and held him like a wrestler pinning him to the mat, giving him no place to move.
‘Lily Lennox . . .’ Kevin chewed it over, as if trying to recall. ‘I think she’s a year below me. But I’m not sure.’
Olivier suddenly grabbed the knife out of the case and thrust the pointed blade at Kevin, pinning it to his chest. ‘You think we are fools? You are here for the girl, no?’
Kevin could feel the tip of the blade pressing into his skin, above his thumping heart. He tried to edge away but Olivier pushed him up against the car.
‘I don’t understand,’ Kevin said, trying to stay on top of his rising fear. ‘Let me go. I’ve done nothing wrong.’
Olivier pressed in harder with the knife. Kevin squirmed. He started gasping for breath.
‘Olivier, let him go,’ Marley said quietly. ‘He’s just a boy.’
Olivier stared into Kevin’s eyes, then he pushed him away. Kevin staggered back, rubbing his chest, breathing deeply. ‘What is wrong with you?’ he shouted.
‘You think it is a game you go to the dark side with these crazy people,’ Olivier said. ‘Let me tell you, it is not a game if you go to prison and die an old man. This is not like a movie from the comic books, Kevin. This is real, and if I were you, I would turn that fancy car of yours around and I would drive home very fast, and hope like hell that my father was not one of those crazy people too.’
‘If I find you up on that mountain,’ Marley said to Kevin, her voice as cold as a bear-trap in winter, ‘I’ll arrest you for conspiracy to commit an indictable offence, and I’ll make sure you go to jail for a very long time. Your life as you know it will be over. Do you understand me?’
Kevin nodded. ‘Yes, I understand.’ Then added, firmly, ‘Now, give me the knife back.’
Olivier glanced across at Marley, undecided.
‘If you don’t give it back to me,’ Kevin said, ‘I’ll get my father to make a formal complaint to the chief of police, and he can decide if you’ve got the right to be here and take it off of me.’
Kevin quickly whipped out his phone and took a photo of Olivier and Marley, Olivier holding the athame case.
‘Delete that photo,’ Olivier said calmly, stepping forward.
‘Give me the knife,’ Kevin said, stepping back.
Marley sighed. ‘Give it to him, Olivier.’
He hesitated, then handed Kevin the case. Kevin held up his phone, so that they could see him deleting the photo.
Olivier smiled, conciliatorily. ‘You have a choice, Kevin,’ he said. ‘Right here, right now, you have a choice that will affect the rest of your life. Are you going to go up that mountain and become one of
those crazy people? Or are you going to go home and give this knife back to your father, who is evil, and get on with your life? You are not an evil boy, Kevin, I know that. You have a good heart. Don’t become like your father.’
Olivier held his gaze at Kevin, then he and Marley turned and walked back to their car. They hopped in, and without giving him another glance they drove off, heading towards the Chalk Mountains.
Kevin watched them go. Standing beside his Mustang, he felt his legs start to shake. His chest begin to tighten. He reached for the side of his car to steady himself. He felt dizzy. His world was starting to spin. He could now barely breathe. A wave of fear swept over him, so overwhelming he felt like he was going to vomit. He slumped into the driver’s seat of his car. He held onto the steering wheel with both hands, his knuckles white with the force of his grip.
He would ride this through like he’d done with his previous panic attacks, he thought, and he’d come out of it okay – but what was he going to do? Should he go up the mountain anyway and meet the biker girl? But she’s a witch, the cop said. A dangerous witch that cuts people up. And if he went there and the cops caught him, then what . . . they’d charge him. He’d have a criminal record. Maybe he should just get the hell out of there and head home, like the cop said. But his father was at home. And his father was a witch too. With a knife like that – an expunger – he was probably a high-level witch. Would he use that knife on him? His son?
He heard an alert. A text alert. He looked down at his phone screen. It was a message from the tiny biker chick, Kritta.
Where are you? I need you!
Where is the boy? she wondered, and threw her phone away in disgust. He should have been here by now. After their failed attempt in the cave, he was now probably her best chance of snatching the girl. Probably her only chance.
Kritta was on edge. The Hag had taken her time finding the right spell to neutralise the snake’s poison. It was more than a snake, Kritta knew that as soon as she saw it. It was an entity that had been waiting in the cave to guard the girl. Was it the Chalk Witch herself, in the guise of the snake? Possibly, because its poison was powerful. It had taken the Hag several attempts, and a lot of energetic effort, to cast the spell that finally rid it from her body. Then again, maybe the Hag had prolonged the whole procedure just to make her suffer more. If so there’d be a time very soon, Kritta thought, when she would get her revenge.