Practical Demonkeeping (19 page)

“That's impossible. There must be another explanation. Come on, Nailsworth, I need a bailout here. I can't pursue an investigation of a geriatric serial killer.”

“Well, it could be an elaborate research project that someone is doing on missing persons, but that doesn't explain the World War One vets, and it doesn't explain why the researcher would write the information on matchbook covers and business cards from places that have been out of business for years.”

“I don't understand.” Rivera felt as if he were stuck in the Spider's web and was waiting to be eaten.

“It appears that the notes themselves were written as far back
as fifty years ago. I could send them to the lab to confirm it if you want.”

“No. Don't do that.” Rivera didn't want it confirmed. He wanted it to go away. “Nailsworth, isn't possible that the computer is making some impossible connections? I mean, it's programmed to find patterns—maybe it went overboard and made this one up?”

“You know the odds, Sergeant. The computer can't make anything up; it can only interpret what's put into it. If I were you, I'd pull my suspect out of holding and find out where he got the suitcase.”

“I cut him loose. The D.A. said I didn't have enough to charge him.”

“Find him,” Nailsworth said.

Rivera resented the authoritarian tone in Nailsworth's voice, but he let it go. “I'm going now.”

“One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“One of your addresses was in Pine Cove. You want it?”

“Of course.”

Nailsworth read the name and address to Rivera, who wrote it down on a memo pad.

“There was no date on this one, Sergeant. Your killer might still be in the area. If you get him, it would be the bailout you're looking for.”

“It's too fantastic.”

“And don't forget to check on Roxanne for me, okay?” The Spider hung up.

Jenny had arrived at work a half hour late expecting to find Howard waiting behind the counter to reprimand her in his own erudite way. Strangely enough, she didn't care. Even more strange was the fact that Howard had not shown up at the cafe all morning.

Considering that she had drunk two bottles of wine, eaten a heavy Italian meal and everything in the refrigerator, and stayed up all night making love, she should have been tired, but she wasn't. She felt wonderful, full of humor and energy, and not a little excited. When she thought of her night with Travis, she grinned and shivered. There should be guilt, she thought. She was, technically, a married woman. Technically, she was having an illicit affair. But she had never been very technically minded. Instead of guilt she felt happy and eager to do it all again.

From the moment she got to work she began counting the hours until she got off after the lunch shift. She was at one hour and counting when the cook announced that there was a call for her in the office.

She quickly refilled her customer's coffee cups and headed to the back. If it was Robert, she would just act like nothing had happened. She wasn't exactly in love with someone else as he suspected. It was…it didn't matter what it was. She didn't have to explain anything. If it was Travis—she hoped it was Travis.

She picked up the phone. “Hello.”

“Jenny?” It was a woman's voice. “It's Rachel. Look, I'm having a special ritual this afternoon at the caves. I need you to be there.”

Jennifer did not want to go to a ritual.

“I don't know, Rachel, I have plans after work.”

“Jennifer, this is the most important thing we've ever done, and I need you to be there. What time do you get off?”

“I'm off at two, but I need to go home and change first.”

“No, don't do that. Come as you are—it's really important.”

“But I really…”

“Please, Jenny. It will only take a few minutes.”

Jennifer had never heard Rachel sound so adamant. Maybe it really was important.

“Okay. I guess I can make it. Do you need me to call any of the others?”

“No. I'll do it. You just be at the caves as soon as you can after two.”

“Okay, fine, I'll be there.”

“And Jenny”—Rachel's voice had lowered an octave—“don't tell anyone where you are going.” Rachel hung up.

Jennifer immediately dialed her home phone and got the answering machine. “Travis, if you're there, pick up.” She waited. He was probably still sleeping. “I'm going to be a little late. I'll be home later this afternoon.” She almost said, “I love you,” but decided not to. She pushed the thought out of her mind. “Bye,” she said, and hung up.

Now, if she could only avoid Robert until she could think of a way to destroy his hope for their reconciliation. Returning to the floor of the cafe, she realized that somewhere along the way her feeling of well-being had vanished and she felt very tired.

Augustus Brine, Travis, and Gian Hen Gian were squeezed into the seat of Brine's pickup. As they approached Effrom and Amanda's house, they spotted a beige Dodge parked in the driveway.

“Do you know what kind of car they drive?” Travis asked.

Brine was slowing down. “An old Ford, I think.”

“Don't slow down. Keep going,” Travis said.

“But why?”

“I'd bet anything that Dodge is a police car. There's a whip antenna pinned down on the back.”

“So what? You haven't done anything illegal.” Brine wanted to get it over with and get some sleep.

“Keep going. I don't want to answer a lot of questions. We don't know what Catch has been doing. We can come back later, after the police leave.”

The Djinn said, “He has a point, Augustus Brine.”

“All right.” Brine gunned the pickup and sped by.

In a few minutes they were sitting in Jenny's kitchen listening to the answering machine. They had gone in the back way to avoid the burnt, doughy mess in the front yard.

“Well,” Travis said, resetting the machine, “that buys us a little time before we have to explain it to Jenny.”

“Do you think Catch will come back here?” Brine asked.

“I hope so,” Travis said.

“Can't you concentrate your will on bringing him back until we can find out if Amanda still has the candlesticks?”

“I've been trying. I don't understand this much more than you do.”

“Well, I need a drink,” Brine said. “Is there anything in the house?”

“I doubt it. Jenny said she couldn't keep anything in the house or her husband would drink it. She drank all the wine last night.”

“Even some cooking sherry would be fine,” Brine said, feeling a little sleazy as he spoke.

Travis began going through the cupboards.

“Should you find a small quantity of salt, I would be most grateful,” the Djinn said.

Travis found a box of salt among the spices and was handing it to the Djinn when the phone rang.

They all froze and listened as the machine played Jenny's outgoing message. After the beep there was a pause, then a woman's voice. “Travis, pick up.” It was not Jenny.

Travis looked to Brine. “No one knows I'm here.”

“They do now. Pick it up.”

Travis picked up the phone, and the answering machine clicked off.

“This is Travis.”

Brine watched the color drain out of the demonkeeper's face as he listened. “Is she all right?” Travis said into the phone. “Let me talk to her. Who are you? Do you know what you're getting yourself into?”

Brine couldn't imagine what was going on in the conversation.

Suddenly Travis screamed into the phone, “He's not an Earth spirit—he's a demon. How can you be so stupid?”

Travis listened for a moment more, then looked at Augustus Brine and covered the receiver with his hand. “Do you know where there are some caves to the north of town?”

“Yes,” Brine said, “the old mushroom farm.”

Travis spoke into the phone, “Yes, I can find it. I'll be there at four.” He sat down hard on one of the kitchen chairs and let the phone fall into its cradle.

“What's going on?” Brine demanded.

Travis was shaking his head. “Some woman is holding Jennifer and Amanda and her husband hostage. Catch is with her and she has the candlesticks. And you were right, there are three invocations.”

“I don't understand,” Brine said. “What does she want?”

“She thinks that Catch is some kind of benevolent Earth spirit. She wants his power.”

“Humans are so ignorant,” the Djinn said.

“But what does she want with you?” Brine asked. “She has the candlesticks and the invocations.”

“They're in Greek. They want me to translate the invocations or they'll kill Jenny.”

“Let them,” the Djinn said. “Perhaps you can bring Catch under control with the woman dead.”

Travis exploded. “They thought of that, you little troll! If I don't show up at four, they'll kill Jenny and destroy the invocation. Then we'll never be able to send Catch back.”

Augustus Brine checked his watch. “We've got exactly an hour and a half to come up with a plan.”

“Let us retire to the saloon and consider our options,” the Djinn said.

Augustus Brine led the way into the Head of the Slug. Travis followed, and Gian Hen Gian shuffled in last. The saloon was nearly empty: Robert was sitting at the bar, another man sat in the dark at a table in the back, and Mavis was behind the bar. Robert turned as they entered. When he saw Travis, he jumped off the stool.

“You fucking asshole!” Robert screamed. He stormed toward Travis with his fist cocked for a knockout blow. He got four steps before Augustus Brine threw out a massive forearm that caught him in the forehead. There was a flash of tennis shoes flailing in the air as Robert experienced the full dynamic range of the clothesline effect. A second later he lay on the floor unconscious.

“Who is that?” Travis asked.

“Jenny's husband,” Brine answered, bending over and inspecting Robert's neck for any jutting vertebrae. “He'll be okay.”

“Maybe we should go somewhere else.”

“There isn't time,” Brine said. “Besides, he might be able to help.”

Mavis Sand was standing on a plastic milk box peering over the bar at Robert's supine form. “Nice move, Asbestos,” she said. “I like a man that can handle himself.”

Brine ignored the compliment. “Do you have any smelling salts?”

Mavis climbed down from her milk box, rummaged under the bar for a moment, and came up with a gallon bottle of ammonia. “This should do it.” To Travis and the Djinn she said: “You boys want anything?”

Gian Hen Gian stepped up to the bar. “Could I trouble you for a small quantity…”

“A salty dog and a draft, please,” Travis interrupted.

Brine wrapped one arm under Robert's armpits and dragged him to a table. He propped him up in a chair, retrieved the ammonia bottle from the bar, and waved it under Robert's nose.

Robert came to, gagging.

“Bring this boy a beer, Mavis,” Brine said.

“He ain't drinking today. I've been pouring him Cokes since noon.”

“A Coke, then.”

Travis and the Djinn took their drinks and joined Brine and Robert at the table, where Robert sat looking around as if he were experiencing reality for the first time. A nasty bump was rising on his forehead. He rubbed it and winced.

“What hit me?”

“I did,” Brine said. “Robert, I know you're angry at Travis, but you have to put it aside. Jenny's in trouble.”

Robert started to protest, but Brine raised a hand and he fell silent.

“For once in your life, Robert, do the right thing and listen.”

It took fifteen minutes for Brine to relate the condensed version of the demon's story, during which time the only interruption was the screeching feedback of Mavis Sand's hearing aid, which she had cranked up to maximum so she could eavesdrop. When Brine finished, he drained his beer and ordered a pitcher. “Well?” he said.

Robert said, “Gus, you're the sanest man I know, and I believe
that you believe Jenny is in trouble, but I don't believe this little man is a genie and I don't believe in demons.”

“I have seen the demon,” came a voice from the dark end of the bar. The figure who had been sitting quietly when they came in stood and walked toward them.

They all turned to see a rumpled and wrinkled Howard Phillips staggering out of the dark, obviously drunk.

“I saw it outside of my house last night. I thought it was one of the slave creatures kept by the Old Ones.”

“What in the hell are you talking about, Howard?” Robert asked.

“It doesn't matter any longer. What matters is that these men are telling you the truth.”

“So now what?” Robert said. “What do we do now?”

Howard pulled a pocket watch from his vest and checked the time. “You have one hour to plan a course of action. If I can be of any assistance…”

“Sit down, Howard, before you fall down,” Brine said. “Let's lay it out. I think it's obvious from what we know that there is no way to hurt the demon.”

“True,” Travis said.

“Therefore,” Brine continued, “the only way to stop him and his new master is to get the invocation from the second candlestick, which will either send Catch back to hell or empower Gian Hen Gian.”

“When Travis meets them, why don't we just rush them and take it?” Robert said.

Travis shook his head. “Catch would kill Jenny and the Elliotts before we ever got close. Even if we got hold of the invocation, it has to be translated. That takes time. It's been years since I've read any Greek. You would all be killed, and Catch would find another translator.”

“Yes, Robert,” Brine added. “Did we mention that unless Catch is in his eating form, which must have been what Howard saw, no one can see him but Travis?”

“I am fluent in Greek,” Howard said. They all looked at him.

“No,” Brine said. “They expect Travis to be alone. The mouth
of the cave is at least fifty yards from any cover. As soon as Howard stepped out, it would be over.”

“Maybe we should let it be over,” Travis said.

“No. Wait a minute,” Robert said. He took a pen from Howard's pocket and began scribbling figures on a cocktail napkin. “You say there's cover fifty yards from the caves?” Brine nodded. Robert did some scribbling. “Okay, Travis, exactly how big is the print on the invocation? Can you remember?”

“What does it matter?”

“It matters,” Robert insisted. “How big is the print?”

“I don't know—it's been a long time. It was handwritten, and the parchment was pretty long. I'd guess the characters were maybe a half-inch tall.”

Robert scribbled furiously on the napkin, then put the pen down. “If you can get them out of the cave and hold up the invocation—tell them you need more light or something—I can set up a telephoto lens on a tripod in the woods and Howard can translate the invocation.”

“I don't think they'll let me hold the parchment up long enough for Howard to translate. They'll suspect something.”

“No, you don't understand.” Robert pushed the napkin he had been writing on in front of Travis. It was covered with fractions and ratios.

Looking at it, Travis was baffled. “What does this mean?”

“It means that I can put a Polaroid back on one of my Nikons and when you hold up the parchments, I can photograph them, hand the Polaroid to Howard, and thirty seconds later he can start translating. The ratios show that the print will be readable on the Polaroid. I just need enough time to focus and set exposure, maybe three seconds.” Robert looked around the table.

Howard Phillips was the first to speak. “It sounds feasible, although fraught with contingencies.”

Augustus Brine was smiling.

“What do you think, Gus?” Robert asked.

“You know, I always thought you were a lost cause, but I think I've changed my mind. Howard's right, though—there's lot of
ifs
involved. But it might work.”

“He is still a lost cause,” the Djinn chimed in. “The invocation is useless without the silver Seal of Solomon, which is part of one of the candlesticks.”

“It's hopeless,” Travis said.

Brine said, “No, it's not. It's just very difficult. We have to get the candlesticks before they know about the seal. We'll use a diversion.”

“Are you going to explode more flour?” asked Gian Hen Gian.

“No. We're going to use you as bait. If Catch hates you as much as you say, he'll come after you and Travis can grab the candlesticks and run.”

“I don't like it,” Travis said. “Not unless we can get Jenny and the Elliotts clear.”

“I agree,” said Robert.

“Do you have a better idea?” Brine asked.

“Rachel is a bitch,” Robert said, “but I don't think she's a killer. Maybe Travis can send Jenny down the hill from the caves with the candlesticks as a condition to translating the invocation.”

“That still leaves the Elliotts,” Brine said. “And besides, we don't know if the demon knows the seal is in the candlesticks. I think we go for the diversion plan. As soon as Howard has the invocation translated, Gian Hen Gian should step out of the woods and we all go for it.”

Howard Phillips said, “But even if you have the seal and the invocation, you still have to read the words before the demon kills us all.”

“That's right,” said Travis. “And the process should begin as soon as Rachel starts reading the words I translate, or Catch will know something is up. I can't bluff on the translation at my end.”

“You don't have to,” Brine said. “You simply have to be slower than Howard, which doesn't sound like a problem.”

“Wait a second,” Robert said. He was out of his seat and across the bar to where Mavis was standing. “Mavis, give me your recorder.”

“What recorder?” she said coyly.

“Don't bullshit me, Mavis. You've got a microcassette recorder under the bar so you can listen to people's conversations.”

Mavis pulled the recorder out from under the bar and reluctantly handed it over to Robert. “This is the solution to the time problem,” Robert said. “We read the invocation into this before the genie comes out of the woods. When and if we get the candlesticks, we play it back. This thing has a high speed for secretaries to use when typing dictation.”

Brine looked at Travis. “Will it work?”

“It's not any more risky than anything else we're doing.”

“Who's voice do we use?” Robert asked. “Who gets the responsibility?”

The Djinn answered, “It must be Augustus Brine. He has been chosen.”

Robert checked his watch. “We've got a half hour and I still have to pick up my cameras at The Breeze's trailer. Let's meet at the U-PICK-EM sign in fifteen minutes.”

“Wait—we need to go over this again,” Travis said.

“Later,” Brine said. He threw a twenty-dollar bill on the table and headed toward the door. “Robert, use Howard's car. I don't want this whole thing depending on your old truck starting. Travis, Gian Hen Gian, you ride with me.”