This had gone beyond what he'd expected. He'd wanted to lash out at Gabrielle in some way, make her suffer because he had suffered. He had everything, so much to offer, and she had walked out, giving him the excuse about his being too possessive.
And nothing would change her mind, not all the money nor all the power. He could snap his fingers and some other young girl would fall into line, but Gab wouldn't pay any attention to him, wouldn't think about looking back or giving him another chance.
He had suffered for a while. It had been hard to concentrate on his work because he believed he loved her. He had tried going out with other women, had dated a couple of really young girls his friend Harper had fixed him up with, then an older woman, one closer to his own age, all of them poor substitutes for what he had felt for Gabrielle.
Slowly his feeling of loss over her walking out had turned to a simmering anger. Why hadn't she been willing to give him a chance to make things up? She had caused pain without allowing him any prospect of alleviating it.
He had begun to consider some way of giving that pain back, but he'd had no way to hurt her the way she had hurt him. She did not love him, and his pain was born of love.
Then he had thought of her daughter. She did love the child. At first it had been only a passing idea, a notion he had thought it impossible to act on. Kidnapping was too extreme. Yet the thought had festered in his mind. He could not actually do something to the child. The risk was too great, but there were other ways.
Then he had spent some time in New Orleans, and a friend had taken him to a party with magic rituals performed by voodoo priests. It had been a show, a tourist attraction with snakes and flames, but Martin had been impressed.
Someone talked of people who had suffered under curses, not those inflicted by voodoo but other bizarre magic rites. He laughed at first, but then…
He had returned to New Orleans and had sought out a dark priest, but the man had been unwilling to perform his task.
"Too much danger of angering the demons," he had said. "Powerful magic would be needed. Too risky."
But the priest knew of another man who practiced a different magic. This man feared nothing, they said. He was a powerful dark mage. He collected forbidden works and worked spells that others were too frightened to perform. He had come to New Orleans to look for the writings of the madman Matthew Laird and had stayed to study other rituals.
Finding Simon had not been easy, but finally Martin had located him in a musty old shop in the French Quarter. The mage had bargained hard, demanding front money for his bank account.
Only when that had been deposited did he agree to talk about what would be required. They had sat down in a dark little room decorated with Mardi Gras posters, two of its walls lined with shelves supporting jars of obscure substances and crumbling books.
There, with faint light creeping in through the curtains, Simon had interviewed him. Questioning him about Gabrielle's habits and then about the child, he had determined what was possible, had outlined a plan.
"She is an open vessel," he warned. He had then taken up a musty book and had shown Martin the symbols of darkness. “I have been waiting for a chance to try these."
It had seemed incredible, yet so easy, so simple.
Now he felt like a fool, an old, twisted fool driven to some madman. Now he needed no revenge. He had gotten beyond that, yet what was he to do? Could he make Simon leave?
Magic had been a perfect way of punishing Gab without being captured. Who would believe he was attacking her child with magic? They would think her the crazy one. Except it hadn't worked that way. Simon's magic had gone too far, and now Gab had found an ally, someone who believed her. Dammit that was not supposed to happen. Worse, somehow the man had figured out he was involved. There was no explanation for that because he had been careful to make no contact.
He picked up a spindle and slammed its point into the wood on the surface of his desk. It fell onto its side and rolled off onto the floor.
Martin snatched up the receiver, tapping out the phone number.
After several rings he slammed the handset down. It was time for this to stop. He had to find Simon. Whatever the mage was doing, more suffering could be the only result.
Danube stood outside Martin's building, looking through the rainy drizzle at the office window. He searched the morning air for vibrations of magic, but he could detect none. Whoever Martin's sorcerer was, the mage was not present.
That was fine if it meant the wizard was somewhere, recovering from the exhaustion of conjuring. It was another matter if he—or she—was preparing for more evil.
There was a chance this morning's visit had frightened Martin, but Danube could not rely on that. If Martin was not frightened by dealing with the dark forces of evil, there was little that threats and sideshow performances could do to throw fear into him. He could not be afraid of prosecution. No laws dealt with casting spells against another person. What recourse could Martin expect other than eternal judgment or the wrath of God?
No one could threaten him with those. Eternal judgment came only in the end, and Danube had learned the Almighty worked in His own time. While other forces might be manipulated by the will of men, He acted only when He chose.
Danube was left to wonder what action he should take. He knew the source of the conjuring now, but not how to attack it. If Martin had somehow located a powerful dark magician to fulfill his needs, the task of defeating such a person might be formidable.
He was torn between waiting there and trying to follow Martin to his contact or heading back to Katrina's to prepare Heaven and Gabrielle for further struggles.
He would have to be ready for whatever came next. Another assault like the one of the past night would kill the child if he had not prepared her with blessings and prayers.
He looked up at the bleak, gray sky. Was there a chance for blessings? He felt alone, lost and more isolated than ever.
The rain was still stinging his face a few moments later when Martin exited, wearing a raincoat and carrying an umbrella. As he headed around to the parking lot at the building's side, Danube stepped from the doorway and slipped along the sidewalk to the corner. A gray cab was parked there, a large black man in the driver's seat. His massive frame seemed wedged behind the wheel, and he wore wraparound sunshades in spite of the haze. He folded his newspaper when Danube tapped on the glass.
"A car will be coming out of that lot in a few moments," Danube said. "I want to follow it."
The man gave a grim nod. He was wearing a black muscle shirt which revealed his thick biceps, and a gold chain was stretched around his wrist.
"Whatever you say," he growled. "You wanna play James Bond, I can kick ass."
Danube settled into the back seat. "Try to be inconspicuous."
"Will do."
Just as the old car's engine was rattling to life, Martin's Lincoln eased out of the parking lot.
"That the one?"
"It is."
He yanked the gearshift and slid onto the street, setting a slow pace that kept him a few car lengths behind the Lincoln.
"So, you a DEA agent or something?"
"Concerned citizen," Danube said. He was leaning over the seat, keeping his eyes focused ahead as the windshield wipers labored to push the rain away. He noticed the cabbie's license identified him as Joe Wilson.
"Last time I did a deal like this, it was a woman trying to catch her cheatin' husband. We got the motherfucker too."
"You did a good job?"
He tipped his hat. "Trailed him out to a cheap hotel. He never even knew we were on his bumper."
The car skirted out along Wagner Street, which connected with Quinn Extension. The traffic was heavy, so they spent a good deal of waiting for lights to change, then waiting for the cars in front of them to gradually begin moving.
"You picked a good time of day for this," Wilson muttered.
Finally the Lincoln pulled off Quinn and shot along a side street into a parking lot.<
br />
The lot bordered an apartment complex, two rows of units stretched back from the roadway, the galleries decorated with elaborate ironwork.
Wilson parked the cab on the street, letting the motor idle while they watched Martin climb from his car and hurry up the outside stairs of one row of apartments.
He stopped in front of 206 and banged on the door. When he didn't get an answer, he fished into his pocket and produced a ring of keys which he used to open the lock.
Danube leaned over the seat, peering out through the passenger window. He saw Martin disappear into the apartment. A moment later he exited, still moving in a rush. He bounded down the outside stairs and rushed back to his car.
"Want to keep followin'?" Wilson asked.
"No," Danube said. "I'm going to have a look upstairs. You can go on if you want."
"Hell, no. You need a lookout." Wilson pulled his glasses off and stared into Danube's eyes. "Remember, I'm inconspicuous."
"You don't even know what I'm up to," Danube said.
"Way you're acting, way that guy was acting, way your eyes are moving, I'd say you're after somethin' bad. Might get yourself hurt, ruin my reputation."
Danube handed him a fifty. "Cough if you spot trouble."
The big man shut the engine off and followed Danube up the stairs. They walked slowly along the upper corridor, carefully looking over their shoulders. No one seemed to be watching them as Danube stood in front of the door he sought.
It was locked, but blocking the door with his body, he worked on it only momentarily before the bolt was sprung.
As he stepped into the darkened living room, goose pimples rose on his flesh. Leaving Wilson outside to keep watch, he stepped across the floor.
The feeling of magic, bad magic, filled the air, but the place was almost barren. The living room was devoid of anything besides the furnishings that came with the place, and the kitchen was unused.
In the bedroom closet, Danube found clothes, and the bed was rumpled from use. It was in the spare room, however, that he found interesting materials. The bed frame had been collapsed, and the mattress leaned against one wall.
In the center of the floor, chalk had been used to draw various symbols. Squatting, he studied them, recognizing the markings as gates, signs for summoning or for opening the veil of the beyond.
Some would have been easy to learn. Others would have been more difficult to obtain. He found nothing terribly complicated, but he was able to determine that the rudimentary conjuring had been performed here. Straightening, he looked over at the closet. The door was closed tightly, and as he approached it, he could feel strong vibrations of magic dancing around the frame. They were almost like an electrical field. A spell had been placed around the closet.
He paused. If a spell was necessary to protect it, he needed to know what was inside. Stepping back he bowed his head, praying for blessing. Then he stepped forward, gently touching the doorknob.
The force of the cold shot through his fingertips and jolted up his arm, knocking him back several steps. The hair on his arms stood on end, and his face throbbed. He steadied himself, shaking his head as waves of coldness continued to sweep over him.
He felt a bit nauseous, and the chill bit deep. The sensation lasted almost a full minute, letting him know how powerful the spell must be since he had not firmly gripped the knob. That much force would not have been contained in a simple incantation, which indicated the help of a demon must have been obtained.
Reaching into his coat pocket, Danube withdrew a crucifix. Holding it in front of him, he stepped toward the door. The knob began to glow as he held the cross close.
“In the name of the Lord God I command you to be gone," he whispered. "You have no right to this realm."
The glow continued, becoming brighter and brighter. He was forced to turn his eyes away as it flared, becoming almost a blinding white burn.
The explosion came in a rush of icy wind, the impact hitting him like a solid blow. He rolled with the force, going to the floor, using his shoulder to absorb the impact. Then he bounced back to his feet to face the image flickering before him.
The manifestation was a smoky white face covered with whiskers that seemed to be rimed with frost. Laughing, it seemed to draw a deep breath and spit at him.
He jerked the crucifix up in front of him just as the misty white cloud approached. As it touched the holy symbol, the cloud dispersed in a burst of molecules that headed in all directions.
"I rebuke you," Danube said. "I command you to leave this realm. You were summoned here, but your summoner is gone. Return to your home in the pit."
The being hesitated, and in the air was a sound like an unnatural growling. Danube straightened, keeping the crucifix leveled in front of him. Flickering, the image before him slowly began to swirl. Then in a burst of noise almost like a small clap of thunder, it seemed to implode. The room reverberated for several seconds before it was still.
Danube paused for a moment, letting his heartbeat slow. It had quickened to a threatening pace, and for a while it continued to hammer in his chest, driving a rush of blood through his system. Finally, almost reluctantly, he stepped forward.
The door sagged open now, the latch shattered. He touched the wood this time, pulling it open. The chamber was almost empty, except for some books resting on the shelf above the hanger bar.
They were basic texts on sorcery, the spells within them not elaborate. Equivalent spells might be found in mainstream books on the occult that could be purchased at any bookstore. There should have been no need to risk the dangers of conjuring a demon if that was all the closet concealed.
Danube knelt, searching the floor carefully, and he noticed the carpet had been ripped up in one corner. Peeling it back, he found the crumbled edges of brittle, brown pages. Something had rested here in concealment until recently. He picked up a few fragments, studying the markings. Most of the pieces were too small to reveal anything, but one was a corner piece from a page. He held it to the light and noticed the glowing aura around it.
He could make out just a fragment of an image, the tail of a symbol. That fraction was enough, and he dropped the paper quickly, unwilling to hold it longer.
The forbidden symbols had been taught to him only for the sake of recognition. For a moment he could not believe what he was seeing, but there was no denying it. The vibrations of the magic which emanated from it were too strong. It was definitely evil magic, the most evil.
The symbol was one of the dark runes. It came from The Red Book, the book that long ago had been stolen.
Stolen from hell itself.
Chapter 19
Slowly, Simon let Althea sit up on the bed. With his hand still at her throat, he looked into her eyes, his own gaze boring into her soul.
"Do you know who I am?"
"I have an idea."
"I am the one who brought the demons. I am the one who controls the darkness. I could feed you to the demons right now if I chose."
Althea looked back at him without flinching, showing him she would not give in to his intimidation.
Her defiance only made a grim smile spread across his features. "You think you can stand against me?" He tilted his head toward her. "What do you fear most?"
She didn't answer.
His continuing smile showed that he didn't need her reply. He loosened his grip, caressing her throat with his thumb.
"You fear violation."
She couldn't keep her eyes from betraying her.
His smile continued. "Your experiences, they were harsh. You never enjoyed the love of your husband." Realization spread through his eyes. "Each time he filled you, you recalled what happened. It was more agony than pleasure."
She shook her head.
"I can show you what it would be like in other worlds," the magician said. "Would you like that?"
"What the hell are you talking about?" she shouted.
"You've seen the Gnelfs. There are others that might also
touch you, caress you, enjoy you."
"No." She felt hot tears flowing.
"Dark angels, the love of dark angels."
“You bastard."
"Imagine an eternity of it, or just an hour.”
“Damn you."
"Prepare yourself. You can endure it for as long as you can, or you can help me."
Tears filled Althea's eyes. She wanted to spit at him, to curse him more, but her fear was taking over. She couldn't face the abuse he was threatening. Not even the stamina she had built up over the years would allow her to stand up against worse tortures than she had endured before. She couldn't go through it.
She wept, trembling, her arms drawn up in front of her chest. "I won't help you," she said.
At a wave of his hand, the shadows in the corner of the room seemed to flicker, and slowly the small stooped figures began to step forward. Their mouths gaped open in grins that revealed yellowed teeth on which their tongues played, and their eyes were filled with lust.
Simon's laugh provided sick background music for their approach, and as one of the Gnelfs reached out for her, Althea relived the moments from her childhood, cowering from an unwanted touch, whimpering as it drew near her.
She felt the oily hand brush her arm, and then, without warning, her face was jerked to the side. Simon's hand had shot up to her jaw, closing over it, to sharply turn her head.
"Do you want them to go away?"
She nodded, swallowing, feeling her throat muscles press against his palm.
He only seemed to blink, and the oily fingertips were gone.
"I can bring them back at any time," he warned. `Understand that?"
He shifted his weight off her and slid to his feet, roughly gripping Althea's arm and pulling her up as well. "Get dressed," he demanded.
She hesitated, and his eyes almost seemed to glow. His anger was evident. She had worked with many people on the brink, and she sensed that he was dangerously close to losing control, to dipping over into total madness.
The cab driver cruised to a slow stop in front of Martin's house. It was a red brick with large columns in front and a driveway that wound across rolling green lawn to a hidden carport at the back.
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