[Wizard of 4th Street 04] - The Wizard of Rue Morgue

by Simon Hawke - (ebook by Undead)

  "You expect me to believe that?" said Rienzi bitterly.

  "It's the truth," said Max. "So help me God."

  "What about what happened with Suzanne? I was there! I saw you with the knife!"

  "That was a stupid mistake," said Max. "After I was released on bail, I went back there because I wanted to explain what happened to Suzanne, but the moment she saw me, she became hysterical. She grabbed a knife from the kitchen. It was one of your own knives. She lunged at me and I managed to get the knife away from her and that's when you came in. Ask her if you don't believe me."

  "I can't ask her!" said Rienzi. "She's gone! You came back and took her!"

  "No," said Max. "No, I didn't. I swear it. When did you discover she was missing?"

  "Sometime this evening," Rienzi said. "I was moving some of our things into our new apartment and when I came back, she was gone and I found this tacked to the door."

  He took a slip of folded paper from his pocket. Several thaumaturgic runes were drawn upon it in what appeared to be blood. They were the same runes that had been carved into the bodies of the murder victims.

  "You shouldn't have touched it," said Francois. "You should have left it where it was for the police to examine."

  "What good would the police do? There's the killer!" He pointed at Max. "And they've released him twice!"

  "I've been right here since this afternoon," said Max.

  "You're lying!"

  "He's not lying," said Francois. "Some of us were here with him, getting ready for the party. We had lunch together and Max has been here since shortly after noon."

  "They're your friends," said Rienzi, though he seemed to be weakening in his conviction. "They're covering for you."

  "Do you really think we'd all protect a murderer?" said Francois. "Do you really believe that the police would have released him and dropped all charges if they were not completely convinced of his innocence?"

  "I . . . I don't know what to think," Rienzi said, looking confused.

  At that moment, the police arrived. Two uniformed officers came up the stairs and stopped when they saw the group gathered on the landing.

  "What's going on here?" one of them demanded.

  "Nothing, Officer," said Max. "We were having a party and there's been a slight altercation, nothing serious."

  "We've had a report of shooting at this address," said the other policeman.

  "I'm afraid there's been a mistake," said Max. "There's been no shooting. Just a small argument, that's all."

  Francois carefully positioned himself to cover the bullet hole in the wall.

  "You know how it is," Max continued apologetically. "A few drinks, tempers flare, a couple of blows are exchanged. Really, that's all it was. It seems one of my guests became alarmed and called the police. Evidently, there was some exaggeration. I'm really very sorry about it."

  The policemen glanced around at them with disgust. "We have better things to do than to waste our time with this sort of thing," one of them said. "We ought to cite you for creating a disturbance."

  "Yes, you're absolutely right," said Max contritely. "It was all entirely my fault."

  "Well, let's try to keep things under control, shall we?" said Officer Michaud. "We have better things to do than respond to false alarms."

  "Of course," said Max. "Please accept my apologies. And thank you for being so understanding."

  "Merely doing our job, monsieur," Michaud said, touching the visor of his cap. "Let's move it back inside and try to keep some order, shall we?"

  "Certainly, Officer," said Max. "And thank you once again."

  Michaud nodded and as they left, they all went back inside.

  "We should have told them about that young woman's disappearance," said Francois.

  "I didn't want to risk them finding out about the gun," Max said. "There was no reason for this man to be arrested. He was distraught and clearly not responsible."

  Rienzi looked at Max with anguish.

  "You stood up for me," he said. "And I was going to kill you."

  "Forget it," Max said. "Come on, have a drink. It will help steady your nerves. We'll call Renaud and tell him what's happened, then you and I will go back to the Rue Morgue and search through the entire neighborhood."

  "I'm coming with you," said Francois.

  "Me, too," said one of the other artists.

  "Count me in," said another.

  Rienzi glanced around at them all. "I ... I don't know what to say," he said, his voice breaking. "-I almost made a terrible, terrible mistake."

  "We all make mistakes," said Max, clapping the man on the shoulder. "I've made more than my share. We'll call Inspector Renaud and then we'll go look for Suzanne."

  "We won't find her alive," Rienzi said in a hollow voice. "She's lying dead somewhere, I know it."

  "We don't know that yet," said Max.

  He stared at the piece of paper with the runes on it, being careful to handle it only by its edges, though he knew his fingerprints were already on it. That would probably mean trouble.

  "Why would the killer have left this behind?" he asked. "Joelle was killed in her apartment. The same thing with Gabrielle. Why would he have taken Suzanne away when he could easily have killed her then and there?"

  "Who knows what a maniac might do?" Francois said.

  Max frowned. "First Joelle, then Gabrielle, and now Suzanne. All in the Rue Morgue, all in the same building. Why?"

  "You think perhaps the killer is someone who also lives there?" said Francois.

  "No," said Rienzi, shaking his head. "That's not possible. The only other people who live there are two elderly women and the proprietor of the shop on the first floor. He's almost seventy years old and has to walk with aid of a cane."

  "Perhaps it's someone in the neighborhood," Francois said. "We can ask around, surely one of the neighbors must have seen or heard something. They might not tell the police because they're afraid to get involved."

  "I think we should go over there and have a look around," said one of the journalists, smelling a story.

  "We should call the police first," said someone else.

  "Charles, you call them," Max said. "Ask for Inspector Renaud. Tell him what's happened. I'm going over there."

  "I don't think that would be wise, Max," Charles replied. "You've already had more than your share of trouble. Stay out of it. Leave this to the police."

  "I can't, Charles," Max said, shaking his head. "I have a personal stake in this. Whoever this man is, I've spent time in jail because of him and I was almost shot. I've had enough. I can't simply stay here and do nothing."

  "Don't be a fool, Max. Stay out of it. You're making a mistake."

  "No, Charles," Max said grimly. He took out his handkerchief, wrapped the piece of paper in it and handed it to Charles. "The killer's the one who's made the mistake. He's out there somewhere and I'm going to find him if I have to search every single street and alleyway in Paris."

  Chapter

  TEN

  Renaud hung up the phone and swore softly.

  "What is it?" asked Piccard.

  "Max Siegal again," he said in a weary voice. "The damn fool seems determined to get himself in trouble. That was Charles Martine, a prominent businessman and art collector who also happens to be a personal friend of the commissioner. He was calling from a party at Max Siegal's studio. Suzanne Muset, the first victim's older sister, has apparently been kidnapped from her apartment in the Rue Morgue. A piece of paper was left on the apartment door, covered with those same thaumaturgic runes written in blood. Her boyfriend, Stefan Rienzi, evidently believed that Siegal was responsible and went to his studio to confront him. It seems there was an altercation, but Siegal and his friends convinced him that he had nothing to do with it, only now they've gone back to the apartment to investigate and search the neighborhood for any sign of the missing girl. And Marline says they have a gun. He said they were in a surly mood and, worse yet, some journalists were with th
em. I'd better send some people over there before they get themselves in trouble."

  "Didn't Jacqueline go over there?" asked Raven.

  "Yes, but she hasn't returned," Renaud said. "I hope she had sense enough not to go with them." He sighed. "That's all we need now, a bunch of angry vigilantes roaming the streets, accompanied by reporters, no less. We'd better nip this in the bud right now, before somebody gets hurt. My men out there are edgy. All we need is for some innocent bystander to get shot and this whole thing will blow up in our faces."

  "I think I'll commandeer a unit and get over there," Piccard said, getting up and putting down his container of coffee. "What's the address?"

  Renaud gave it to him. "I'll have another unit meet you there," he said. "I'd appreciate if you could avoid placing any of them under arrest, but I want those people off the streets."

  "I'll take care of it," Piccard said, leaving.

  "Jacqueline struck me as having better sense than to get involved in something like that," Raven said.

  "Frankly, I wouldn't put it past her," said Renaud. "She never has been one of our more law-abiding citizens," he added with a grimace. "This whole thing has me extremely nervous. I haven't slept in two days and I'm so keyed up, I'm not even tired."

  He looked around at the command post they had set up for the task force. The room was a bustle of activity as communication clerks kept in constant touch with the officers of the task force on the street.

  "Anytime you have civilians involved in something like this," he said, "the odds of something going wrong are dramatically increased. I wish there could have been some way to avoid it."

  "I know how you must feel," said Raven, sipping her coffee. She, too, had gone without sleep for two days. "Unfortunately, there's really nothing we can do about it. I'm still trying to get used to the idea that we're faced with an inhuman enemy, immortal necromancers who are more powerful than any adept alive. And the worst thing about it is that we don't even know how many of them are out there."

  "For me, the worst thing is the waiting," said Renaud. He drummed his fingers on the desk, then glanced at his watch. "They should be going down into the sewers about now. Do you have to do anything to get ready?"

  Raven shook her head. "All I need to do is sit here and be receptive," she said. "I don't need to go into a trance or anything like that. It doesn't work that way. Merlin will simply contact me when he's ready."

  "Police work by telepathy," said Renaud, shaking his head. "Wouldn't it have been simpler for him to just carry a radio set?"

  Raven shook her head. "I doubt we'd be able to get a clear signal from down there," she said. "Besides, under the circumstances, the last thing we'd need is anyone monitoring our conversation. It's far safer this way. Besides, it isn't actually telepathy, but a form of astral projection."

  "What's the difference?" Renaud asked.

  "The principle is essentially the same," said Raven, "but it won't be mind-to-mind contact so much as spirit-to-spirit."

  "Sounds very metaphysical," Renaud said.

  "It is, actually. You've heard stories about people separated by great distances who suddenly had the inexplicable feeling that something traumatic had happened to a relative? A mother suddenly feels certain that something's happened to her son and then finds out the next day that he'd had an accident and was in the hospital. A daughter dreams that her father comes to say good-bye, then finds out the next day that he had died that night. That's a form of astral projection.

  The theory is that it's an ability inherent in everyone, but especially so in people who possess thaumaturgic potential, or as we now know, people descended from the interbreeding of humans and Old Ones thousands of years ago. A very advanced adept has the capability to do it at will, but it requires a great deal of energy and concentration."

  "So you mean he projects his spirit out of his body in order to contact someone else?" Renaud said.

  Raven nodded. "Under normal circumstances, it's a spell-assisted process. The adept picks a safe and quiet place and concentrates, projecting his astral self outward—similar to meditation, only much more powerful and focused. He doesn't actually leave his body, although in rare instances that's possible—as Merlin did when his physical self died—but a portion of his consciousness is liberated to travel out along the astral plane. Have you ever had a dream where you felt that you were floating up above your body, looking down at yourself?"

  "Yes, once or twice," Renaud admitted.

  "You were subconsciously performing a mild form of astral projection in your sleep," said Raven. "It's not uncommon. That's a particular experience that a lot of people have, though they don't really understand it for what it is. It is, in a sense, your spiritual level of awareness flexing its muscles."

  "I can grasp the concept," said Renaud, "but what I don't understand is how Merlin can manage to do this while his physical self is actually moving about beneath the streets of Paris with the others. If the process requires such a great deal of concentration, how can he function on both the spiritual level and the physical level, if I'm phrasing it properly, doing two different things at the same time."

  "You mean like walking and chewing gum?" said Raven with a grin. "Actually, I'm being facetious. You're quite correct. Under ordinary circumstances, that would not be possible. An extremely powerful and talented .adept could split his awareness to a certain degree, such as functioning through his projected astral self while at the same time remaining aware of his or her own physical surroundings, but to split awareness on the level that we're talking about wouldn't be possible if it weren't for the fact that Merlin is, in a manner of speaking, two completely different people. He has his own discreet personality, but he is a spiritual entity sharing consciousness with another individual. Billy. And while Merlin can concentrate on projecting his spirit on the astral plane, Billy can actually take care of making their body function on the physical level. Or, to use my joking analogy, Merlin does the walking while Billy chews the gum."

  Renaud shook his head. "It's simply mind-boggling," he said. "Most of the time, I think of him as Merlin, even though when I look at him, I see a scrappy young teenager. And then Billy starts speaking and I have to completely readjust my frame of reference. It's confusing enough for me, I can't imagine what it must be like for them."

  "I know what you mean," said Raven. "Merlin's personality is so strong, you tend to forget that you're talking to a boy. Though in a sense, you're not. You're really talking to both of them. Just as when you're talking to Wyrdrune, Kira and Modred, you're also communicating with the spirits of the runestones, though they don't choose to express themselves the way that Merlin does. Perhaps they can't. I honestly don't know. It's a level of thaumaturgy I've never encountered before."

  "This whole case is like nothing I've ever encountered before," said Renaud with a sigh. "The very idea of the Dark Ones frightens the hell out of me."

  "It should," said Raven.

  "What happens if the runestones can't defeat them?" Renaud asked.

  "Don't even think about it," Raven said.

  At that moment, Jacqueline returned. "Has there been any contact yet?" she said.

  "Not yet," Renaud replied, "but your friend, Siegal, is becoming something of a headache. I should have kept him in jail, for his own good."

  "What do you mean?" Jacqueline said with a frown. "I just came from there. He was having a party. I spoke to him."

  "Yes, and apparently, right after you left, Stefan Rienzi showed up," said Renaud. He briefly told her about Martine's call. "And now it seems they've gone out there to see if they can find Suzanne," he finished. "And Martine said that at least one of them had a gun."

  Jacqueline sighed. "Damn," she said. "I'd better get back over there."

  "No, you stay right here, where I can keep an eye on you," Renaud said. "I've already dispatched a unit and Piccard is on his way there, as well. Let's not add to the confusion."

  Raven suddenly sat up. "He's making
contact," she said. "They're going down."

  They had decided to wait till nightfall to go down into the sewers. Renaud had arranged for wet suits to be delivered to their suite, as well as some flashlights and weapons which he had unofficially obtained for them, so that they could save their thaumaturgic energies for when they really needed them. Modred preferred to carry his own spellwarded 10-mm semiautomatic in a shoulder rig, while Wyrdrune and Billy each had police-issue 9-mm semiautomatics with lightweight polymer frames and laser sights procured from the special tactical force. They all had spare magazines in belt pouches. Kira would carry a short, pump-action police riotgun with a pistol grip and lightweight stock, with the same small laser sight mounted on the barrel rib. Piccard had offered them the use of some machine pistols, but Modred had balked at using fully automatic weapons. The last thing they needed in the close confines of the sewers was bullets ricocheting all over the place.

  "Be sure to let us know where you're going to come up," Renaud had said before he left to get back to the task force headquarters. "I'll have my officers out in force, watching every alleyway and sewer entrance. We wouldn't want to have any accidents."

  "Ambrosius will remain in touch with Raven," said Modred. "Just make sure your people don't indulge in any heroics. Have them radio in for backup the moment anything happens. Tell them not to take any chances. We don't want any loss of life if we can help it."

  "They've been fully briefed," Renaud had said. "They're edgy, because they're not quite sure what to expect, but they'll follow instructions. They've been told that we're going up against some sort of murder cult that may or may not involve adepts, so they won't do anything foolish. I'd still feel better if you'd let me send some men down with you."