Bless the Child (59 page)

“More Yang energy is needed, Maggie,” he said thoughtfully. “To do battle the Yang must be very powerful.

“Your life-force must be empowered with energy of a specific warrior nature, that can survive great hardship. There is an ancient technique that can infuse such warrior energy, for a time. It is call Fa Gong. It is not done with needles.” He paused, deciding how to explain.

“To do this I must extend the energy from my soul into the Universe, to grasp the
nature
of the ultimate fighting energy you require,” he said, as if this were an ordinary task. “Then, I must transmit this warrior force directly into your body. I will do so by placing my hands above the Upper and Lower Sea of Qi. You know these centers well from your martial arts training.” He didn’t wait for her permission; he had offered a rare gift, knowing it would not be refused.

Maggie saw the small, powerful man ground himself, willing his sturdy body to connect solidly to the earth. She saw him extend his hands upward, to receive energy from the Universe, as if he were an antenna tuned to an invisible power source. As he lowered his hands to her abdomen and chest, Maggie felt the magnetic force surge through her, pulsating, energizing, strengthening . . . her body, her spirit, her resolve.

Maggie saw the Master smile, satisfied with his work.

She rose from the couch minutes later, wondering at her own renewed vigor. “How can I thank you, Sifu?” she asked. “I’m more grateful than I can say.”

“Remember all I have taught you, Maggie. You do not go unarmed to this battle. Sun Tzu has said, ‘If you know the enemy and you know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles! If you know yourself, but not the enemy, for every victory gained, you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle!’

“You have the spirit of a warrior, Maggie. In the end this is more important than what skills you possess. ‘In battle,’ says Sun Tzu, ‘a courageous spirit is everything. The value of a whole army is dependent on one man alone: such is the influence of spirit!’

“I have done my part . . . you will do yours. The outcome lies with the Gods. Whatever happens, is as it should be.”

She looked at the kindly old man who had changed her life in so many extraordinary ways, and wondered if she would ever see him again.

“Thank you for being my friend, Sifu,” she said, with emotion. She wanted to hug him, but she felt he might be offended; few dared even to shake his hand.

“Friendship, too, lies with the Gods,” he murmured. Then in an unexpected gesture, he opened his arms to her and she stood a long moment in his embrace, feeling the power of his strength and wisdom, and wondering if he might have read her mind.

I
got us a witness, Lieutenant.” Gino’s grin reached both ears. “An honest-to-God witness.”

“Witness to what?”

“To Eric Vannier, Esquire, that very elegant, blue-blooded fuck, officiating at a ritual sacrifice where a young lady was cut into dog meat.”

Devlin laid down the papers he’d been holding and paid strict attention . . . “How the hell did you pull that off?”

Garibaldi perched on the edge of Devlin’s desk, one leg on the floor and smirked. “I went out to Greenwich to see Vannier, and while I was interviewing His Highness, where I have had more productive discourses with fence posts, one of the bodyguards looked a little familiar to me.

“So when that high-falutin’ scumbag pissed me off so much I could hardly stay on the road, I got to thinking, maybe I could place the guy.

“And sure enough, he turned out to be an alumnus of one of our finer institutions of correction. So, I dug a little deeper and found out that if he gets busted one more time, he goes back into the slammer forever . . . so, I had a little chat with him about the possibility of rolling over on his boss, who it turns out, he didn’t like all that much anyway . . .” Gino’s smile was replete with satisfaction.

“Fantastic,” Devlin said, meaning it. “The stars must be in the right place today, Gino. Jake, the Michelangelo of Tattoos, called to say he’d been summoned to the presence, for a little more artistry—seven, to be exact. And he heard them talking about some big ceremony to take place on April 30th, so it looks like Ellie was right on the money.”

“To say nothing of having the best-looking tits it has ever been my privilege to see.”

“You noticed.”

“Stevie Wonder would have noticed.”

Devlin grinned. “Things are looking up, Gino. Maybe we can pull this one out after all.”

“It couldn’t hurt to hope, Lieutenant.”

“I’m going to run the drug angle by a friend on the narcotics task force and see if I can scare up some diversionary artillery for the shindig, and I think I might have a lead on the baby-breeding farm in Nyack. Then it’s time to lay this on the Captain one more time.”

“Sounds good,” Gino replied already moving toward the door. “I got a source who says he can give me the names of some uptown guys who frequent the Loopy Jupiter. I’m gonna see if that dredges anything out of the sludge.”

“
I’ve
got the local tie-in you wanted on the O’Connor case, Captain,” Devlin said as O’Shaunessy put down the telephone and turned his well-jowled face in his direction. “And a helluva lot more that begins to make this all make sense—“

“I thought I asked you for the material from that reporter, Lieutenant,” O’Shaunessy interrupted, none too benevolently.

“I no longer have access to that file, Captain.” Devlin said evenly. “It’s been removed by the family from the vault.” He didn’t like lying to the Captain, but the switched videotape had made him warier than usual.

“What’s the local angle?” O’Shaunessy asked, riveting his hard eyes on Devlin, as he listened to everything he had to say.

“You appear to have lost your way with this case, Lieutenant,” he said inexplicably, when Devlin had finished. “I wouldn’t like to think your judgment’s been clouded by personal entanglements.” He let the thought dangle.

“The child lives in Connecticut, that’s not our jurisdiction. The only papers that might have relevancy, you can’t seem to produce.” He sat back in his chair, barrel chest expanding in displeasure like a pouter pigeon’s. “This is a matter of no further interest to this precinct, Lieutenant. Do I make myself clear?”

“Very clear, sir,” Devlin said wonderingly; there was obviously no room for negotiation. He stood up and headed for the door. As he reached the door the Captain spoke again.

“You’re a good cop, Devlin,” he said. “Because of that, I’ll read those papers when you get them to me. Which, I’ll expect to be no later than tonight. And that’s an order. Is that understood?”

Devlin nodded, and left.

He was glad Mother Immaculata had grasped the urgency of his request to hide the Fellowes report somewhere far from Chase Manhattan Bank.

“You think the Captain could be one of them?” Gino asked after Devlin had relayed the story of his meeting with O’Shaunessy. They were on the street outside the precinct house.

Devlin shook his head no. “That seems pretty farfetched to me, Gino . . . but something’s seriously out of whack here. Maybe it’s political pressure from higher up. Maybe somebody’s told him to stay clear of this one.”

“So why’s he want the file?”

“Maybe he doesn’t, and somebody else does.”

“How safe is it where you’ve got it stashed?”

“That depends on how badly they want it.” Devlin thought of anybody short of the Devil himself brooking the wrath of Immaculata Stevens and almost smiled.

“I’ve decided to crash the Sabbat, Gino. Maggie’s convinced they’ll kill the child, and I can’t let that happen without at least trying to intervene. If I go, maybe she’ll stay home.”

Gino took that in and nodded. “What about a little backup, Lieutenant?”

“This is strictly on my own, Gino. One career on the line is plenty.”

“Forget the crap, Lieutenant,” Garibaldi said. “You can’t go in there without help, so don’t even bother to argue with me, just tell me what exactly will the Sabbat consist of? Do we have to bring our bat wings and eye of newt?”

“According to Ellie, it’s a real blowout. Feasting, maybe an orgy. Then around midnight, the Materialization. Eleven forty-three to be exact . . . they need some kind of astrological conjunction that’s exact, in order to do their mumbo jumbo.”

“I’ve never been to an orgy,” Garibaldi said with a grin. “Might be worth the trip if any of these witches look halfway decent.”

“Since when did they have to look decent?” Devlin replied with a smirk. They’d reached Gino’s car; he turned the key in the lock.

“Can I drop you someplace, Lieutenant?” he asked, as he got in.

“I’m headed over to Maggie’s to try to mend a fence. You could drop me at the corner of St. Luke’s.”

“Sure thing.”

The
answering machine light was blinking on Maggie’s desk. Amanda had called. She sounded urgent. Maggie dialed the number automatically.

“I think I know something you should know, darlin’,” Amanda said. “There’s going to be a major wing-ding on April 30th, at of all places, the Vannier mansion. A costume party, Maggie, with a very chichi guest list, a ‘teddibly uppah’ bunch of horse thieves all decked out for a May Day celebration, if you don’t mind. My daddy used to say ‘it ain’t a trend till you see it twice,’ and I’ve taken down six names from the bunch you told me about who are due to attend this high-class hoedown.

“It’s all very hush-hush because they don’t want the press to gate-crash, so it’s being spoken of
sotto voce
by the social set . . . but it is being spoken of with considerable envy. This is top-drawer, darlin’ . . . the ‘A’ list in spades.

God bless Amanda’s connections, Maggie thought as she hung up the phone. Maybe the fact that it was a costume party would mean something to Ellie. There was also a message from Devlin. It said simply, “Please take care of yourself, Maggie. I don’t want to have to live without you.”

“
Costume
party, hmmm?” Ellie mused, when Maggie told her Amanda’s findings. “Of course! It’s a
Grand Sabbat.
They’ll probably each choose a Nom du Diable and take on the persona of some practitioner of the Black Arts in history. That’s how they do it in Europe, Mags. I’ll bet anything that’s the plan.”

“Would they wear masks?” Maggie asked anxiously. “If so, it would make it a lot easier for me to get in there unnoticed.”

Ellie frowned. “Maybe masked, maybe not. The best bet is to find a getup for you that fits in with their theme, but still gives you maximum mobility. No long gowns or tight skirts that’s for sure.”

“Wasn’t there a cat burglar witch somewhere in history?” Maggie asked hopefully.

“Not exactly . . . but there were plenty of cats. Maybe you could go as the Goddess Bast. She had the body of a cat and the head of a lioness. You could wear a doctored-up leotard and make up your face like they do for the cast of
Cats.
That would make you pretty hard to spot.”

“Was Bast evil enough to pass muster?”

“Not particularly, but she does get named in the litany of a lot of magic spells, White or Black, so she’d do for the Sabbat. Remember, the Gods and Goddesses could do whatever they damn well pleased, good or bad . . . so I don’t think anyone would quibble about Bast’s curriculum vitae. Especially at a Grand Sabbat, where there’s bound to be so much revelry going on—drinking, drugs sex of every conceivable kind—more than enough to keep them busy. As a matter of fact, the fewer clothes you wear, the better they’ll like it.

“I’ll go as Tanith, the Carthaginian Moon Goddess,” Ellie added, “that way I won’t have to wear anything much, and maybe the bod will distract them from looking at our faces.”

“Wait a minute, Ellie,” Maggie said adamantly. “I can’t let you go with me. This is
my fight.”

“Mine too, Mags. You were sent to me for a purpose, so we’re in this together, now. And, I may have to run verbal interference for you at the Sabbat—I know the jargon and you don’t. Besides, nobody should have to walk into Hell alone.”

What fool had spread the story that women were bitchy toward each other? Maggie wondered on the way home. The truth was, women friends were the ones who helped you with life. The honest evaluators who told you when you were full of shit and then held your hand in the hard times, and always came through in the clinches.