“Just what is going on here?” Jake asked.
Sara shook her head. She couldn’t even begin to explain about the Witchblade, about the mystic forces swirling about her, imprisoning her with the promise of great power. Not now. Perhaps not ever.
“This Bakula-baka,” she urged the priest.
“A dark loa,” he said. “One of the worst. Not as powerful as his brothers, but vile and vicious and difficult for any human to control. Often the human thinks he’s riding Bakula-baka, and then discovers to his surprise that the opposite is true.” ,
Sara felt a shiver run down her spine. The exact same thing could be said of herself and the Witchblade. If Father Baltazar and his friend Paul Narcisse understood this, perhaps they knew a way to help her deal with her own mystic problem.
“So,” Jake said, frowning, “what you’re saying is that our serial killer is really some kind of demon or spirit called to earth by this bokor, who may be losing control, who may be unable to keep it from going on its own murderous rampage?”
“That could be,” the priest agreed, “the situation.” “And if it is,” Sara said, “then God help us all.”
Father Baltazar nodded.
“And this bokor, this evil sorcerer-”
”Is Guillaume Sam, of course,” Sara said.
Jake shook his head.
“I need another drink,” he said.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
V
C'lub Carrefour was as crowded as if it were Saturday night, but it was actually only Tuesday.
Sara and Jake made their way across the floor and through the obstacle course of densely packed tables. The air was hot from the press of bodies and the frenetic activity on the adjacent dance floor, redolent from the fumes of perfume and aftershave, beer, wine, and hard liquor. Many of the drinks had been made with fruity bases whose aroma reminded Sara of the odors wafting through the Guinee jungle that she’d visited in her dream.
The music blaring over the sound system was loud and punctuated by a complicated rhythm. It was salsalike, but spiced with unfamiliar Carribean overtones. It would be fun to dance, Sara thought, if she had someone to dance with. Fun to lose herself if only for a little while in the music and the motion and to forget all about death and murder and evil spirits. And whispering voices in her head.
At that thought they giggled on cue and Sara knew
they were laughing at her. She knew, also, there was nothing she could do about it. "
Jake put his mouth close to her ear and spoke just loud enough for her to hear him. “So, how do we go about proving that Guillaume Sam is a bokor summoning evil spirits to do his murderous-bidding?”
Sara would have smiled, but she didn’t find the question all that amusing. It was a serious problem. New York State wasn’t about to bum someone at the stake for witchcraft. It was, after all, the twenty-first centuiy. If they accused Guillaume Sam of sorcery it was more likely that they’d lose their jobs than that Guillaume Sam would be bought to justice.
“We’ll just have to find evidence proving the green card racket. Or any of the other rackets he’s undoubtedly got his dirty hands in. That would probably be enough to bum him.”
Jake nodded. “Easier said than done.”
Sara looked at him, and did smile this time. “Jake, if it was easy, anybody could do our job.”
His retort was silenced as someone came out of the crowd and slipped an arm around his waist. He looked down, surprised, to see Juliette from the voodoo shop smiling at him.
She looked stunning. Her hip-huggers, riding low on her waist, looked painted on. Her T-shirt looked even tighter, clinging to every curve and angle it covered. The shirt’s neckline was rather more demure than the one they’d first seen her wearing. But more than making up for that were the numerous horizontal slits in the fabric, running from waist to neck, that gave tantalizing glimpses of the curves her shirt was supposed to cover.
“Well, it’s my big policeman,” she said in a purring, melting voice. “Why haven’t you been back to visit your little Juliette?”
“Been out bringing criminals to justice,” Jake said with a smile. “Without my constant vigilance the city just isn’t safe.” ;
“How ’bout using some of that vigilance on me, honey?” 'V
Jake shrugged. “I suppose I can entrust the safety of the city to my partner for a few minutes. Let me have a word with her, and I’ll be right with you.”
“Don’t be long,” Juliette said with a teasing tone in her voice.
“Uh-huh.”
She headed toward the dance floor, looking back with an imploring smile. He leaned over and spoke again in Sara’s ear.
“I should really follow this up. I think she may know something.”
Sara nodded with skepticism. “I’m sure she does. I’m not sure if what she knows has anything to do with this case.”
Jake grinned. “Hey, let me enjoy myself for at least a few minutes. What’s it going to hurt?”
He started off after the girl, who was backing onto the dance floor, beckoning him with open arms and hips undulating to the music. Sara caught his forearm.
“Jake,” she said, “be careful. Nothing in this case is what it seems.”
He shook his head, laughing. “Sure.”
“I mean it!” Sara insisted.
Jake paused for a moment, his face serious. “I know, partner, I know.” He spoke almost reluctantly. “You know,
it wouldn’t hurt you ,to relax for a bit, to loosen up a little. You’re wound tighter than a yo-yo string, and some day you’re gonna snap.”
Sara had nothing to say. Jake nodded gently and stepped onto the dance floor with Juliette. Within seconds they disappeared in the mass of boogying humanity, lost to Sara’s sight in a sea of waving arms and gyrating torsos. 1 '?
He’s right, of course, Sara thought, but what could she do? She wasn’t in the sixth grade. She couldn’t go out on the dance floor by herself and dance the night away with a pretend partner. That would be just too—
Almost as if on cue a voice said, “Well. Detective Pezzini. How nice to see you again,” and Sara turned, a smile on her face. A smile she quickly lost when she realized who was standing beside her.
“The last time we saw each other we were pointing guns. I’m glad that this time we’re in more congenial surroundings.”
It was Gene. There could be no doubt that he was one of twins, because next to him, her arm around his waist and his around hers, was his sister Jean.
They were a stunning pair. Both wore formal evening clothes, Gene, a wonderfully tailored, classic black tuxedo, Jean, a tightly clinging dress that plunged daringly from neck to waist and was cut high up the side of her thighs, exposing plenty of ivoiy-white flesh in both areas.
It was, Sara thought as she looked from one to the other, fairly mind-boggling. They looked so much alike that without Gene’s mustache and without the masculine/feminine clothes they wore, it would be difficult if not impossible to tell them apart. Yet both were beautiful, and, more so, smouldering with a palpable sexuality.
Sara had always been attracted to large, masculine men, but there was something about Gene, his superior smile, his air of utter confidence, the hard edge to his eyes that promised more strength than that found in most. Too bad, Sara thought, he was a thug. Or maybe that overt sense of danger he exuded added something to his potent aura. , *
She cleared her throat, realizing that some time had gone by without her reply.
“Made bail, then?” she asked.
Gene shrugged elegant shoulders. “It wasn’t hard. You didn’t have much of a case.” He looked her up and down, shaking his head. Rarely had Sara ever felt more scrutinized than when his and his sister’s eyes were on her. “You’d think a policewoman of your experience would have remembered to identify yourself. Why, my colleagues and I thought we were being robbed, and only acted in self-defense.”
“Thought you were being robbed,” Sar
a said, “while you were robbing a grave?”
“It’s a strange world,” Gene said blandly.
Jean took a long pull from the cigarette she’d been holding at her side and let the smoke out in a stream through her nostrils. She regarded Sara intently, her head tilted to one side.
“Corpse abuse,” she said. Her voice was husky for a woman’s, but not unpleasantly so. Not unpleasantly at all. “That was a very imaginative charge. A new one to add to your list, dear brother.” She suddenly smiled and her face became that of a charmingly beautiful carnivore who seemed undecided whether to lick you or bite you. “I should thank you, Detective. Rarely does something new like that come into our lives.”
This is, Sara thought, the strangest conversation I’ve ever had in my life. And that’s sayitig a lot.
“Would you care to dance, Detective?” Gene asked urbanely.
“With you?” Sara asked, disbelievingly.
“With both of us,” Jean said.
“Ummm—” was the best reply Sara could come up with.
“No need to be shy,” Gene said. “So you arrested me.” He shrugged again. “We both have our jobs to do. That doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy each other's company when we’re off the clock. Besides-” and here again came that wicked grin “-I admire the way your handled yourself in the graveyard this afternoon. Your exhibition of shovel-fu was most entertaining. And the manner in which you used your gun . . Gene shook his head like a gourmet remembering a particularly lavish and tasty meal.
“Um -” Sara repeated.
She was saved by a sudden commotion that diverted all their attention.
“Hey, hey! We’re here!”
“Let the party start!”
It was Rog and Jer Stem. As far as Sara could tell, they were wearing the same clothes they’d had on the previous day, as well as the same carefree, if more than slightly goofy smiles.
“Hey, momma!” One of them caught sight of Jean-Sara at this point couldn’t remember which twin was wearing what and so couldn’t tell them apart-and put his arms around her from behind. She gave her brother a knowing smile, and turned her sleek head on her elegant neck and caught Stem’s mouth with her own.
Stern said something like, “MmmmmHmmmm,” as they kissed deeply.
“Hey,” the other Stem said, “save some of that for Pappa Jer.” He pushed in from the other side and kissed her at the same time as his brother.
Gene looked knowingly at Sara, his smile sliding into a leer. Sara was suddenly grateful to see Aleksandras Gervelis standing behind the increasingly occupied brothers.
“Alek,” she said with a hearty smile. “Nice to see you again.”
Gene’s smile slipped a little, then became fixed as Alek came forward.
“Thanks,” he said to Sara. “I can say the same.” He nodded in Gene’s direction, and Gene nodded back a precise millimeter. He glanced at Jean, but she and the brothers were already slipping away to the dance floor. He looked back at Gene. “Give my greetings to Jean when she manages to extricate herself from the boys.”
“They seem... persistent," Sara said.
Alek sighed, watching them flail away with arms and legs as they did their best imitation of dancing. “If only they were so persistent with their music. Well.” He looked back to Sara from the trio as they disappeared into the maw of the dance floor. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Yes,” she said. “That would be great.”
Alek turned to Gene, whose eyes were turning icier by the second. “Gene?”
“No. Thank you. I have some business to attend to.” “All right, then.”
“All right.”
Gene nodded to Sara. There seemed something of a promise in his gesture, something that said that he wasn’t finished with her. Despite her essential toughness, she had a hard time suppressing a shiver as he walked away.
“He doesn’t seem to like you very much,” Sara said as they both watched him stalk off. ‘
“That’s all right,” Alec said. “I don’t like him very much, either. Although, he seems to like you. A lot.”
Sara shook her head. “I arrested him earlier today,” she said. % •
“Really?” Alec seemed surprised and amused. “Let’s get: those drinks and you can tell me all about it. If it doesn’t involve police secrets.”
“Secrets?” Sara laughed. “I have no-” She hesitated for a moment, catching herself in an unintentional lie. “—official secrets.”
Alek held his hand out and Sara found herself taking it without thinking. It was large, warm, and strong. It felt good in hers. They started toward the crowded bar. “So, what’d you arrest him for?”
“Corpse abuse. Among other things.”
Alek looked down at her. “Corpse abuse? Man, this should be good.”
Sara knew she should be working. She tried to tell herself that maybe, in a sense, she was. Alek Gervelis knew Guillaume Sam, had known him for years. He could be a valuable source of information about Sam’s operations. The trouble was their conversation regarding Sam was over pretty quickly. Alek really didn’t know much about him.
Sure, he’d helped Mountains of Madness in the beginning of their career, but that was all money stuff. Management. That was Kris’s territory. Kris worried about all that stuff—worried too much about it, in fact—and Alek took care of the music end. That was what he lived for, that was what he loved. That was all he cared about.
And yet, Sara discovered that Alek wasn’t a man who talked continually about himself. Most men Sara knew were like that, though Sara had to admit that when she thought about it she didn’t know many men. Practically none outside the job. She had no time for a personal life. The job was everything.
But as she sat and talked with Alek about what it was like to be a cop—and she told him a suitably edited version of events of that very aftemoon-and he told her stories of his life, of what it was like being a creative person in a field where they wanted you to be precisely as creative as the last successful band-and no more-she felt the pressure of the job flowing away from her.
She forgot momentarily about the Machete Murderer, about her strange visit to Guinee, about the necessity of getting the goods on Guillaume Sam before his henchmen could kill again. She forgot even the voices in her head and the thing called the Witchblade. She began to enjoy herself.
Alek Gervelis wasn’t an ego-driven rising rock star. He was an interesting man with an interesting life, who also seemed interested in her life and what it was like to be a cop. It didn’t hurt any that he was also crushingly handsome, and that it really didn’t seem to matter to him.
Time went by. They had a few drinks, but found themselves talking more than drinking, and taking turns listening more than talking. Sara was surprised at how fast the time went. She checked her watch when Kris Gervelis and Magdalena Konsavage showed up and sat at then-table, and was surprised to see that nearly three hours had passed.
Alek went to the bar to get fresh drinks for all as Sara studied his brother. She didn’t want to slip back into cop mode, but her conscience was bothering her. She’d been having too much of a good time and she had to get back to work, even if only for a little bit
“You know Guillaume Sam pretty well?” she asked Kris.
He shrugged. He was smaller than his brother, and not nearly as handsome. Not, in fact, handsome at all. It could have been< tough having an older, much more charismatic brother, but Sara was glad to see that they seemed to have a decent relationship. She thought of her own sister and despaired of their relationship. Their different attitudes toward life was only one of the reasons why she thought of her so infrequently, if at all.
“Know him?” Kris frowned thoughtfully. “Not really. We’re not friends or anything. We don’t bang out together, if that’s what you mean.”
“No, but you do have a business relationship.”
, “Sure.”
Alek returned with the drinks and managed to set them down on the crowded
table without spilling any. He had to step over his brother to get to his own seat, and put his arm around Sara’s shoulder to steady himself during the maneuver. Sara did not object.
She took a sip of her drink and leaned toward Kristo-foras. “I’d like to get together with you some time, maybe tomorrow, talk about him some.”
“Sure," Kris said, “if you want to. I’m got some stuff to do in the morning, some contracts to go over with a couple of different venues in the city, but I’ll be free in the afternoon. Call me and set up a time. Here’s my cell number.”
He handed Sara a card, and she tucked it away.
“Sara gave me an idea for a new song tonight,” Alek said.
“What about?” Magdalena asked.
“Corpse abuse.”
Kris sighed and shook his head. “I just don’t get you artists,” he said.
Sara laughed, the case again slipping away from her mind.
The night 'turned toward midnight and beyond. The four sat laughing and talking. Sara was tired, but it was a pleasant weariness. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so completely relaxed. Jake had been right, she thought. She did have to unwind a little, she did have to take a little time and enjoy herself. For a moment she wondered about Jake. She hadn’t seen him in hours. She thought of looking for him, but something told her he was no longer on the dance floor. She figured he had taken Juliette to a more private venue for questioning, probably of a somewhat personal nature.
Sara was with Kris and Magdalena for only a little while before she realized that Kris loved the singer passionately, but she didn’t return the feeling. Sara didn’t think that Magdalena was playing him-she seemed too nice for that-but there was an almost desperate sadness about Kris when he looked at her. He tried to conceal it, but wasn’t very good at dissembling. It was as if he knew that her love was beyond his reach, but he couldn’t keep himself from trying to grasp it over and over and over again.
With visions of unattainable love running through her mind, Sara was surprised to suddenly realize that she was also thinking about Father Baltazar, wondering where he was and what he was doing. She brought herself up with a start, glancing at Alek.
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