by J. L. Doty
McGowan spoke carefully. “Clark and I are not here to play games. I want my daughter, now.”
Karpov stared at him for a long moment, then slowly raised a hand into the beam of the headlights above his head and gestured forward with a few fingers, though his eyes never left McGowan’s. McGowan heard a car door open and close, and he heard Katherine snarl, “Get your hands off me, you pig.”
When she stepped up beside Karpov, one of his thugs was holding both her arms tightly behind her back. McGowan waited. Again he and Karpov stared at each other for several seconds. Then Karpov said something in Russian to the thug and he released Katherine. She yanked her arms away from him and marched toward McGowan. As she did so Devoe stepped several paces to the side to insure a clean line of fire past her.
When Katherine reached McGowan she snarled, “They’ve got Paul. And they’ve already beat him up and they’re probably going to kill him.”
McGowan looked past her at Karpov. “So, Vasily, you lied to me about the young man.”
Karpov grinned. “You’ve got your daughter, old man. Be content with that.”
McGowan nodded and said, “Fair enough.”
“No,” Katherine shouted. “We can’t abandon Paul like that.”
McGowan gripped her upper arm, gripped it almost painfully and started marching her toward Devoe’s car. She protested loudly, but he had to keep up the ruse. “Conklin’s not worth it. We’re going home and he’ll have to take care of himself.”
She spit and cursed and snarled all the way to the car, continued snarling as he shoved her into the passenger seat and climbed into the driver’s seat next to her. He’d drive, leaving Devoe free to cover their backside as they drove away.
When the doors of the sedan were closed, when he’d turned the car about and hit the accelerator, only then did he shout, “God damn it, where the hell do you think Colleen is?”
That shut her up, and for the first time, she glanced around and took a head count. Then her eyes brightened. “Of course, you sent Colleen to rescue him.”
She lurched across the seat and wrapped her arms around him. She jogged his arm and the car swerved wildly. He barely missed taking out the kiosk at the parking lot’s entrance as she gave him a big kiss on the cheek. “Father, I’ll never doubt you again, you sneaky son-of-a-bitch.”
Paul jogged for six blocks in a diagonal zigzag pattern along streets all but deserted. He didn’t want to be anywhere near the warehouse when Karpov returned. Any time a car’s headlights lit up the street he halted and stepped into the shadows of an alley or doorway. Better paranoid than dead.
A large jet passed overhead flying low and accelerating hard for takeoff. That meant he was somewhere north of the airport, probably in South San Francisco. He still had his wallet and some cash so he could hail a cab, if he could find one, which was unlikely in this neighborhood at this time of night. He decided to head for the South San Francisco BART station instead, and started jogging north.
Belinda found it easy to follow the young man. When he ran she couldn’t keep up and he opened the distance between them. But he stopped to hide from every car that came down the street, whereas she had her spells to keep her hidden. So each time he hid she caught up with him easily. And as she followed him she began formulating a plan.
He was clearly attracted to the Old Wizard’s daughter. The girl was certainly beautiful, and it was human nature to be attracted to someone who saved your life. And there was no doubt he wanted guidance from someone experienced in the arcane arts. And now he’d been cut off from all that, so she decided to give him another beautiful woman who saved his life, another powerful witch who could share his danger, someone to guide him, to help him navigate this strange, new, frightening world into which he’d been thrust. It might take a spell or two, but amazingly enough he was completely unprotected, no wards, no spells, not even a rudimentary awareness of such. She had a nice little spell that would draw his attention to her, though not in an overt or obvious fashion, but it would provide the emotional attraction she’d need. As to physical attraction, she could provide that without resorting to witchcraft.
She had another spell to disarm any native skepticism he might harbor for a stranger who approached him. She’d also prepared a powerful illusion that would provide the excuse for them to meet, and for her to be his rescuer. And finally there was the obsession spell that would create in him a need for her, and bring him to her bed willingly, almost desperately. It was a subtle spell that would build on the initial attraction of the other spells. Not too much at first, but it would grow and eventually ensnare him so deeply he’d willingly surrender to her, and then to her master when the time came.
At that time of night there weren’t that many people waiting for a train in the South San Francisco BART Station. Other than Paul there was a bum, a couple of kids with an overabundance of piercings that couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and an older, gray-haired woman. If Karpov returned to his warehouse, made an educated guess and sent his goons to check out nearby BART stations, there’d be no hiding from them. Paul’s paranoia shifted into overdrive as he waited for the train; he was watching everyone suspiciously, even the old woman, constantly scanning every entrance or approach to the train platform. But even if he’d been half asleep he couldn’t have missed the goddess that came down the escalator.
She had dark olive skin, almond shaped brown eyes and full red lips set in an oval face with high cheekbones. She’d fashioned her black hair in a tightly curled style of wild disarray that cascaded down past her shoulders. Medium height, she wore a classic tan-colored trench coat, unbuttoned and open in the front because the night air held no chill. Beneath the trench coat she wore a dress that might be dark blue silk, or some other material with a shimmery quality to it. The dress was cut just above her knees, and her long legs ended in black, medium-height high heels. She showed a little cleavage like most young woman, and there wasn’t a man in the world who wouldn’t appreciate her physical charms. Certainly she was beautiful, but there was nothing overtly unusual about her appearance, nothing to draw a man’s attention in so compelling a fashion. And that made her even more attractive, sensual rather than sexual, for had she looked like some stripper or porn queen, it would’ve cheapened the effect.
Even the boy with the piercings had stopped molesting his girlfriend to stare at the new arrival. His girlfriend turned to see what had drawn his attention, stared for a few seconds at the goddess, then shoved him away angrily.
The goddess stepped off the escalator, stepped to the same side of the platform as Paul and waited patiently for the train. From South San Francisco there was only one train going into the city. When it arrived she got into the same car as Paul, and sat down a few seats from him in one of the seats facing the rear of the train, facing Paul. She pulled out a magazine and began reading.
Paul had decided to hide out for a few days at his parent’s place in Castro Valley. He’d spent so little time there it was probably still safe, and he had most of his special ammunition stashed there, though he’d have to change trains somewhere in the city.
The train would get into the downtown area in a little less than half an hour. Paul’s seat had him facing forward toward the goddess, and he was careful not to stare. She looked up once from her magazine and their eyes met. She gave him a shy little smile and returned her attention to the magazine.
A few minutes later she looked up again, and again their eyes met. If she’d given him another shy little smile it would’ve been a bit of innocent flirtation. And while a hint of smile did cross her lips, it quickly turned into a frown, cancelling any flirtatiousness in the look she gave him. She glanced about the car almost suspiciously, as if to reassure herself there was no danger present, then she lowered her eyes back to her magazine. It had been the oddest look. Something had bothered her, though apparently not something about Paul, but rather something nearby.
Before they got into the city she glanced up th
ree more times, and each time her frown deepened as she looked about the car. It began to bother Paul so he scanned the car quickly, but other than the two of them it was empty. And then he realized he’d become overly paranoid, and he was acting like an idiot. So he turned and focused on his reflection in the window.
The tunnel through which the train sped was dark, with an occasional dim light at random intervals. Paul got a vague impression of pipes and conduit racing past behind his reflection, but it was hard to focus on anything but his own image. And while, in one short week, so much else had changed, the fellow he saw reflected in the window looked to be the same man he’d seen in the mirror every day, though he did look like he’d been in a nasty fight, and lost. Then his image shifted and Suzanna appeared in the window. She shook her head and said, Be careful, Paul. She’s dangerous.
The only woman in his life right now besides Suzanna was Katherine. Did she mean Katherine? Katherine wasn’t dangerous. Well, yes, she was quite dangerous, if she wasn’t on your side. She was a witch, and he’d seen her do a couple of scary things. But dangerous, in a way that would lead Suzanna to warn him about her?
He looked into Suzanna’s eyes, and was about to ask her if she meant Katherine, when her face began to twist and swirl. He’d seen it before in his apartment when his own image in the mirror had morphed into the bat-like monster. But this time it happened so fast it caught him totally unprepared. The black snout, goat-slitted eyes and pointed, leathery ears formed in an instant. Paul jerked back from the window, but wasn’t fast enough to evade the clawed hand that reached out from the window and gripped his throat.
As the monster struggled to claw its way out of the window Paul desperately searched the seat behind him with his hands, trying to find the bundled towel in which he’d hidden his gun. And then suddenly a small, delicate, olive-skinned hand, with fingernails painted dark blue, gripped the monster’s wrist.
A female voice shouted, “Be gone, servant of the nether life. I banish you back the darkness.” And where her hand gripped the monster’s wrist, a thunderclap of an explosion erupted, knocking Paul on his ass into the aisle between seats. It had felt not too different from one of Joe Stalin’s open-handed slaps. Paul knew he needed to get up, to run, but all he could do was sit there while his head spun crazily.
“Are you ok? I’m sorry. There was no time to protect you.”
Paul looked into the face of the goddess from the subway platform. “It’s gone,” she said. “I banished it. You’re safe now, but we need to get off this train.”
She helped him struggle to his feet as the train pulled into a station. He had the presence of mind to grab the bundle with his gun as she dragged him onto a busy and crowded station platform. She stopped and turned to him as people rushed past them to get on the train. “Why did it manifest here? You didn’t summon it. I would’ve sensed that.”
Standing there, staring at her, with their lives dependent upon clear, unfettered thinking, all he could think of was that she was one of the most exotic creatures he’d ever looked upon. The trench coat had spilled open, and like a schoolboy he stole a glance at her breasts, and an inviting bit of cleavage there. Her dress was made of a thin fabric that hugged her figure closely, almost as if she was standing there naked before him. He could see the shape of her breasts clearly, her nipples protruding visibly through the material. They were medium sized breasts that stood up like those on a young teenage girl, and Paul imagined caressing them, running his tongue up and down her—
It took a conscious effort to tear his eyes away from her breasts.
She looked into his eyes and frowned with concern. “You’re still stunned, aren’t you? I’m sorry. There was no time to protect you from the side effects of my spell. We have to get out of here.”
She took his hand, led him toward the exit, and he followed without question. After all, she’d rescued him from one of those monsters.
They emerged from the Powell Street Station into a busy San Francisco night, with a line of tourists trailing more than a block up Powel Street in the hope of taking a ride on the famous trolley. Still holding his hand tightly she hailed a cab on Market Street. She let go of his hand as she climbed into the cab. He hesitated, standing beside the open cab door, wondering if it was really wise to go with this stranger to some unknown location. He leaned in, and as she turned to face him, blink . . .
He’d seen something in her face, though he wasn’t sure what. As doubts began to leak into his thoughts he asked her, “Where’re we going?”
She said, “To my apartment. It’s warded. You’ll be safe there.”
“But I don’t really know you,” he said, his apprehension growing.
“I saved your life, and I can protect you.” She sounded almost hurt at the thought he might not trust her, and as she spoke she reached out and touched his cheek.
It was almost a caress, and where her fingers touched his face he felt a slight tingle. He felt guilty at the hurt in her voice as he considered her words carefully. She had saved his life, rescued him from one of those bat-thing monsters. She took his hand, touched it to her own cheek. “You can trust me,” she whispered.
Yes, he could trust her.
He climbed into the cab beside her and his doubts fluttered away like butterflies lost in the night.
When Katherine and her father returned to his house, Colleen was seated in a wingback chair in his study. And when Katherine saw that Paul was absent she hoped he was in the bathroom, or getting a drink, or resting, or something. She wanted to hear anything but that Colleen had failed to rescue him. “Where’s Paul?” she demanded.
Colleen shook her head and Katherine’s heart lurched. “I missed him,” Colleen said. “But the good news is he’d already escaped on his own.”
“Damn!” McGowan swore as he poured whiskey into three glasses. “He’s in too much danger to be out on his own.” He handed each of them a glass and sat down behind his desk. “What happened? Tell me about it.”
Colleen took a sip of whiskey, then said, “As you predicted, Vasily took most of his hoodlums with him to your rendezvous. With the exception of Alexei, there were no practitioners present, just thugs. And Alexei was in no shape to do anything but whimper piteously.”
Colleen described spelling the guards at the door, then skulking through the warehouse to the room in the back. She described the room in detail, along with the blood-encrusted food processor. “I think Alexei intended to torture Paul, but got a taste of his own medicine instead.”
Katherine’s anger grew with every word. “Those fucking Russians are maniacs.”
McGowan added, “Dangerous maniacs.” He looked at Colleen pointedly and frowned. “You’re leaving something out.”
She looked down into her drink, swirled it a bit and refused to meet his eyes.
He persisted. “I’ve known you long enough to recognize when you’re holding something back.”
Colleen took another sip of whiskey; her hand was shaking, the whiskey in the glass trembling ever so slightly, and Katherine could see she was stalling for time. Clearly, her father was right, but McGowan’s phone started ringing, rescuing her from having to answer. It was his private line, so with a quick apology to the two women he answered it.
He listened for a second then said, “What can I do for you, Vasily?”
McGowan cringed, pulled the handset a few inches away from his ear, and even Katherine, standing on the other side of the small room, could hear the faint sounds of the Russian’s angry shouts.
McGowan shouted into the handset, “Calm down, damn it, and speak so I can understand you. I don’t speak Russian.”
The sounds of the angry Russian disappeared; McGowan pressed the handset to his ear and listened intently. After a few seconds he said, “I don’t believe it.”
Again McGowan was silent for several seconds, then said, “I still don’t believe it.”
He listened further for quite some time, then said good-bye and hung up.
He closed his eyes, put his face in his hands and rubbed at his temples tiredly. “Karpov says Conklin fed on Alexei, fed like a demon.”
Katherine couldn’t believe her ears. “That’s insane,” she shouted. “Those Russians are just pissed off, and looking for some excuse.”
McGowan spoke tiredly, “Karpov may be a sociopath, and a brutal, homicidal thug, but he’s a powerful practitioner and he knows his stuff. He says he left Alexei alone with Paul, with Paul tied in a chair, that Paul miraculously escaped and Alexei is exhibiting all the symptoms of a demon feeding. And Alexei says it was young Conklin who fed on him. Karpov’s a lying shit, but he’s not lying about that. It may not be true, but he certainly believes it is.”
Katherine wanted to be calm about this and lower her voice, but the fact that her father might believe this garbage angered her no end. “Maybe something fed on Alexei, but it couldn’t have been Paul.” She looked to Colleen for support. “What about you? Do you believe any of this crap?”
Colleen hesitated, and that she would do so frightened Katherine no end. “I’m sorry, child,” Colleen said. “Just after I first entered the warehouse I sensed something akin to a demon-feeding, and it triggered certain protective spells I’d prepared to warn me of such an occurrence.” She looked at McGowan. “But it didn’t trigger them fully, old man. And if a demon had fed, it would have.”
McGowan stared into his drink and swirled it about for a long moment. “We’re going to have to move more carefully with Conklin. If he’s a demon, or perhaps just possessed by one, then he’ll be a serious danger to us all. We need to confine him to protect ourselves, and to do that we need to find him. Any thoughts on that?”
Colleen said something, but Katherine had turned her attention inward. The locator spell she’d concocted from their saliva and hair was less than twenty-four hours old, was still strongly active and would remain so for at least another week before it weakened and dissipated. She could find Paul with only a little effort. And while her father meant well, he didn’t know Paul the way she did, really didn’t understand him at all, might choose to kill him in a misguided effort to protect everyone else.