All of the theories, all of the techniques she had so carefully studied were futile now. A little girl's sanity, her mother's, and Althea's own all were under attack by forces from a realm outside her understanding. The mysterious, mystical man who had wandered into this world seemed their only hope.
Danube did not represent reason, yet he was the only one who appeared able to make sense of the assaults. She had promised herself she would fight for Gabrielle and Heaven, but her training—her answers—were not enough.
It was frustrating to realize that, frustrating to think the fears and superstitions she had fought so hard over the years were the alternative. She wondered if this might not still prove to be some sort of delusion. But that thought did not tarry in her Consciousness. She knew what they had experienced was real, all of it.
After soaking a while longer, she pulled herself from the tub, using a thick towel as a wrap. Then, taking a second towel from the cabinet beneath the sink, she tied it around her head. Her bed looked inviting, but she had to get back to Heaven and Gabrielle. And she did not want to be alone.
Not a good idea after Jake Tanner and the reverend. Lately people died when they were alone. Having survived last night's episode, she should feel invincible, but she did not.
Pulling open the louvered closet door, she selected a soft pants suit and carried it over to the bed. If she let her hair dry en route, she would look presentable if a little unkempt. That was the least of her worries. She wouldn't bother with makeup. This was a no-frills day. She had to get back to Gabrielle.
She was about to disentangle the towel, knotted between her breasts, when the arm slid around her neck. Before she could capture a breath to cry out, a hand, wrapped in gauze and reeking of the sickly sweet smell of dried blood, closed across her mouth.
Before her eyes another hand appeared, this one clasping a long golden dagger with a wavy blade. The blade glistened in the glow of the overhead light, its tip visibly sharp, honed to a point perfect for piercing flesh.
"Let's be very quiet." The hiss came from behind her, hot breath touching the back of her neck, making the hairs stand up in spite of their dampness.
With a twist, she felt herself being spun, and then, just for an instant, she was facing the blond-haired man with the pointed features. Then she flew backward, bouncing onto the bed.
In the next instance, he was on top of her, his weight pressing down before she could think about struggling, and she closed her eyes, reliving the terror she had known as a child. Her flesh burned, as if aflame with fear of violation. She was about to be subjected to a different torture.
She felt the smooth skin on his face as his lips pressed g against her ear. "Be calm." She found herself looking into cold eyes. A scowl was carved into his features, but she detected no sign of lust in his expression. She realized she was also feeling no indication of his manhood even though his loins were pressed close to hers.
She managed to swallow despite the dryness of her mouth. He was either going to do something more hideous than violate her or he had some other purpose.
Summoning calm she had learned from years of practice, she forced herself to analyze the circumstances. He was not pawing her.
"What do you want?" she asked, containing the quiver in her voice.
He laughed softly. The bandaged hand was placed before her eyes, and, he unfurled the gauze to show her the jagged stump where his finger should have been. She almost gagged as the smell of it hit her. Raw flesh shining slightly. It had not been stitched after the amputation, but it was sealed. It appeared to have been cauterized, badly, with an open flame.
"You're partly responsible for this," he said.
"How did I do that?" Althea asked. Could he be the victim of some former patient somehow blaming her? He was obviously disturbed. She would have to deal with him on those terms.
"You were with the woman and her girl. You helped them drive the demon back at me."
Her heart contracted. He was the one, the one who had conjured the demons, the sorcerer. With new fear, she looked into his cold, emotionless eyes. He might want something she couldn't offer.
Chapter 18
Danube rode the silent elevator to the sixth floor, where Martin rented a suite. As the doors hissed open, he stepped off into the carpeted lobby and found a slender woman in her mid thirties at a receptionist's desk.
"Can I help you?"
He asked for Martin.
"Do you have an appointment?" "No."
"Your name?"
"Danube. It's in regard to Gabrielle Davis and her daughter, Heaven. You might call it a matter of life and death."
The receptionist's eyes widened, and she spoke softly into the mouthpiece, trying to keep her words from Danube's ears.
After a moment she nodded. "He'll see you briefly."
Danube walked past her desk before she could speak further.
"I'll show you back," she offered.
"I can find it."
Martin waited behind his desk, coat buttoned in place, tie perfect, hair neat. He looked ready to meet the "60 Minutes" cameras.
He was a man used to taking the offensive.
"Heaven Davis almost died last night," Danube said.
"I haven't seen Gab in months, let alone her kid, and I don't believe I know who you are."
"For now you can consider me her protector. I can sense magic." He raised his hands, setting his fingers in a careful arrangement, aiming them toward Martin. "You have been in the presence of magic."
Martin began to shift about, although his eyebrows continued to dip down, forming a valley just over the bridge of his nose.
"You have been near magic without calling upon it yourself."
He stood. “Are you crazy?"
Danube just moved closer, keeping his hand raised as his eyes scanned the air. He was searching for vibrations, exaggerating the technique to make Martin squirm.
Only after several moments did Danube let his eyes wander back to Martin's face. "You have been in contact with someone who uses magic," he said. "You know what's been happening to the child."
"I don't know anything, and you can't prove what you say," Martin said. “Get the hell out of my office."
Danube made no move. He was now more interested in studying the businessman's eyes and demeanor. Martin's flare-up confirmed the suspicion he'd had contact with a magician.
Danube offered a frozen stare. "You must call this off."
The businessman's face and neck had gone scarlet. He loosened his collar and glared at Danube. "I told you, I don't know what you're talking about."
"The fire could have destroyed you. You will regret what's happening. I can promise that. I have known many who turned to the darkness to fulfill their desires. The results are always horrendous."
"I'll call security."
Danube threw up his hand. "Unnecessary."
He walked slowly backward, eyes on Martin, fingertips still pointed toward him. The businessman continued to squirm as Danube found the knob behind him and eased the door open before stepping into the hall.
~*~
When the red-haired man disappeared, Martin slumped back in his chair, relieved. He had been like some mad Gypsy, but he had been right about one thing. Dabbling in magic was horrendous. Simon was strange, and now another strange man had shown up. He had sensed something unsettling about Danube, even odder than Simon, and that was a hard thing to be.
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 wor
k 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.
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.
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