Quincey Morris, Supernatural Investigation: Evil Ways Part 31

"And what do you think it is we've got here-a game of lawn tennis?"

"There's something else we can do," Morris said, and all their eyes turned toward him.

"Dale's got a point," Morris said. "The goal is to keep the Sisters safe, not necessarily to kill Grobius's security people."

"I don't see-" Hannah began.

Morris held up a hand, palm out in a 'Stop' gesture. "Just listen, Hannah. Please?"

After receiving her reluctant nod, Morris went on, "Let's say you're one of Grobius's guards, and you get orders to go outside the walls and do something about those pesky white witches. But when you approach the gate, doesn't matter which one, somebody you can't even see puts a round into it, about two feet from your head. What do you do?"

"You take cover," Fenton said, looking happier than he had since entering the room.

"Exactly," Morris said. "And if you stick your head up, another round hits close by, so you duck back down again. I figure any of us can keep those fellas pinned down long enough for the Sisters to do their work, and we won't have to kill anybody. Probably."

"I like the way you think, Morris," Fenton said.

"Well, I don't!" Hannah said. "p.u.s.s.yfooting around with half-measures is a good way for people to get killed. Our people."

Morris shrugged. "I guess each of us is going to have do decide where we're going to aim. You do what you think best, Hannah."

"Oh, I will, believe me. And by the way, what happens if these penned-up guards get smart and try coming out inside a vehicle?"

"Then," Morris said, "I guess we'll have to kill people."

Coeur d'Alene, Idaho

5:25pm

"Are you excited, to know that your deliverance is at hand?" Pardee asked.

"Oh, yes," Walter Grobius said. "Very much so. I've been living under a death sentence far too long. If it weren't for you, I imagine I'd be dead already."

"Well, there is that possibility," Pardee said modestly. "But everything will be different tomorrow."

"So, the ceremony starts at nine? My memory, these days..."

"That's something else you won't have to put up with after tonight, sir. In any event, it's the revels that start at nine."

"That's right, I'd forgotten. The big black magic s.e.x orgy."

Pardee smiled. "As good a description as any, I suppose."

"It just occurred to me. These are all women, right?"

"Yes. That's traditional."

"So, who are they going to... orgy with? Each other?"

"To a large extent, yes. Witches of the Left-Hand Path are not known for their s.e.xual inhibitions."

"Bunch of d.y.k.es, are they?"

"Not exactly. I'd describe them more as ravenously pans.e.xual."

"You said something about 'to a large extent.' If they don't f.u.c.k each other, who's left?"

"Their familiars, of course. Each will arrive with one."

"They're going to have s.e.x with f.u.c.king black cats?"

Pardee permitted himself some polite laughter. "That's just a cultural stereotype, sir. All kinds of animals can be used as familiars. Cats, dogs, baboons..."

"b.e.s.t.i.a.lity? Now that should be interesting."

"I have no doubt. But a familiar is just a minor demon in animal form. On an occasion such as tonight, some of their mistresses will permit them to return to their natural states."

"They'll become demons again, you mean."

"For a few hours. Others will remain in the animal shape, but may be made to become, um, somewhat larger."

"Sounds like quite a party," Grobius said. "Pity I'm in no condition to partake. Still, next year will be a different matter."

"Indeed. For now, would you like to be present as an observer?"

"Being that close to the banquet without being able to dine? No, the frustration would be maddening. I'll watch from up here, through the binoculars. What about you? Planning to join in?"

"With regret, no. Once I get things going, I'll retreat to my workroom for final preparations and a spell of meditation, to clear my mind and spirit for what's to come."

"Probably wise. Will you need help getting what's-her-name..."

"Chastain. Elizabeth Chastain."

"Yes, of course. Do you need anyone to help you get her to the sacrificial altar?"

"No, but thank you. She is completely under my control, and I will give her no opportunity for mischief, you may count on that."

"So, when will it... happen?"

"The ceremony will start at eleven. It should reach its peak about eleven forty-five, at which point Miss Chastain's day will take a sudden turn for the worse."

Grobius gave a snort of laughter. "And that's when he will appear."

"Very shortly afterwards. I'll be rather busy, but there are people ready to take you down when it's time, and bring you to the place of honor."

"Will I be able to... speak to him?"

"Oh, by all means. I expect he will find that very interesting. As will you, of course."

"If you can make this work, Pardee, you can have anything you want, anything."

"I have no doubt that my reward will come. None at all."

Chapter 25.

Coeur d'Alene, Idaho

7:54pm

Quincey Morris settled in and tried to get comfortable. The position he had chosen gave him a clear field of fire about 200 yards from the south gate of Grobius's compound, a two-acre plot of land surrounded by a concrete wall twenty feet high. The daylight was just giving way to the black of night, following a blood-red sunset that Morris hoped would not prove prophetic.

Morris wore one of the light headsets that Hannah Widmark had picked up at a specialty electronics store in Spokane. It consisted of an earpiece, a battery-powered transceiver, and a slim microphone that was positioned about four inches from his mouth. Duplicate sets, tuned to the same frequency, were now being worn by Hannah, Fenton, Colleen O'Donnell, and Ellie Robb. All of them were now in their pre-selected positions at different points around the compound's perimeter.

Morris pressed the "Transmit" b.u.t.ton and said, "This is Q. The doves are in position, and so am I. Acknowledge." A moment later, a woman's voice, still lovely despite the static said, "This is H. Got it." Then he heard a man's voice say, "This is D. Acknowledged." Once he had heard from Colleen and Ellie, Morris settled the rifle across his knees and tried to relax. He would probably be here a while.

He had just finished leading the white witches to their predetermined positions, using a GPS device to find the precise spots that had been determined from viewing the aerial photographs of the area. Each had with her a backpack or carryall or some other container for the "gear" she would use to cast a spell to counter that being made by the black witches inside the compound.

Morris had wanted Fenton in the position covering the front, and largest, gate. To his surprise, Hannah had not argued, and had readily agreed to take the north gate, on the side opposite from Morris. Colleen O'Donnell was covering the back. Morris had a.s.sumed that Hannah would want the front, which would likely offer the greatest number of targets. He was certain that she had no intention of merely keeping the guards in her scope pinned down by fire, which was why he wanted her somewhere else. Hannah's ready agreement had pleased him at the time, but now he wondered if she were playing some more devious game. Then he mentally shrugged, and let it go. Wheels within wheels. You think about that stuff too much, you can drive yourself nuts.

Morris's own plan was crude, but the best he could come up with. Once his fire had sent any guards near the south gate scurrying for cover, Morris was going to move in as closely as he could without being seen. By then, if the guards had been called to some other part of the compound, all well and good. But if any remained, Morris planned to shoot them dead, before charging the gate to gain entry to the compound. Hannah would probably have accused him of being hypocritical; however, Morris was not planning to kill guards out of bloodl.u.s.t. He did not want to kill anyone, at all. But he was going in after Libby Chastain, and G.o.d help anyone who got in his way.

Morris decided to spend the time until action doing something useful. He prayed.

8:12pm It was full dark, now. Pardee strolled the grounds, trying to keep his excitement under control by running down his mental checklist, to see if there was anything he had missed. He could not think of a single thing.

Several of the invited black witches had arrived by car during the afternoon and early evening. Each had been greeted with great courtesy, shown to a s.p.a.cious private bedroom with bath, and told to call housekeeping if she needed anything at all. But now that it was dark, the others should...

Pardee looked up, just in time to see a silhouette pa.s.s between him and the risen full moon. A grin split the wizard's thin face. The figure he had glimpsed in outline had not been wearing anything as silly and impractical as a conical hat.

But she had been riding a broom.

8:59pm "My sisters in Satan, I bid you welcome!"

Pardee stood upon the highest of the marble steps that led to the great altar, and looked down at the twenty women who stood in a ragged semicircle before him. Their ages ranged from twenties to fifties, and their garments spanned the gamut from goth, to biker chick, to hippy, to punk, to almost nothing at all. Most of them had animals of various species either in their arms, on their shoulders, or by their sides.

"By these revels tonight, we bring about a new age of our faith, for we shall, by making use of this ancient ritual, which has been hidden for centuries, successfully call upon the one whom we all wors.h.i.+p, and whose favor we all hope to gain, both in this world and in the next."

Pardee made a sweeping gesture to include several long tables that had been covered in white cloths, which were even now being removed by trusted servants.

"For our revels, I offer you the finest drink, the most sumptuous food, and the most intoxicating herbs, and I bid you eat, drink, dance, get high, fornicate, and enjoy yourselves any f.u.c.king way you wish, until the witching hour is almost at hand, and the true work of the evening can begin. Until then..." Pardee drew in a deep breath, and what followed was a joyous shout: "Let's party!"

That was the cue for the music, which instantly boomed from a dozen huge speakers s.p.a.ced around the area. The first song on the playlist was, appropriately, by Black Sabbath.

9:02pm As the first strains of "Heaven and h.e.l.l" blared forth from inside the compound, Morris shook his head. Then, after a moment, he checked his watch. Well, at least they're punctual. Trite, but punctual.

He reached for the airline carryall bag he'd brought with him and unzipped it. Not wanting to show a light, Morris rummaged past the boxes of rifle ammunition, a St. Christopher's medal, a large revolver, and other necessities to find an energy bar, which he brought out along with a bottle of water. Might as well chow down and enjoy the show, if enjoy was the proper word.

Look on the bright side, Quincey. If those a.s.sholes are planning to make us listen to almost three hours of heavy metal, getting shot at when it's over is gonna come almost as a relief.

9:03pm From her concealed position 180 yards from the north gate, Hannah Widmark was bobbing her head to the beat coming from the other side of the wall. She quite liked heavy metal music, and was glad to learn that the Forces of Evil had decent taste in something.

Even though she knew it was likely to be several hours before she got to kill anybody, Hannah checked her equipment, using touch alone. Ammo-check. Combat knife-check. Tampax (just in case)- check. She spent extra time on the two Colt .45 automatics that she wore, b.u.t.ts forward, in twin holsters under her armpits.

Her pistol craft instructor, a shadowy, enigmatic man named Cranston, had insisted that the .45 Colt, although foolishly abandoned by the U.S. military ten years earlier, was still the best combat handgun in the world. Its rate of fire was as fast as anyone could want, it would never jam if you kept it clean, and the big, slow .45 round was a guaranteed one-shot stop, no matter where on the body you hit.

Cranston had taught her, with care and patience, how to fire both weapons simultaneously and hit what she was aiming at, with either hand, every time. Two hours a day, every day, for more than a year, Hannah had watched and learned and practiced. Cranston used to say, with that weird laugh of his, "The weed of Satan bears bitter fruit, Hannah. And these are your weed-cutters."

Hannah hoped they'd play some Def Leppard over there before the evening was done. Those guys were her faves.

9:28pm Sitting in his darkened office, Walter Grobius watched the witches' revels through state-of-the-art binoculars that showed him every detail. He could almost have counted individual strands of pubic hair, except many of the ladies of the Left-Hand Path seemed to prefer having none at all.

Grobius watched the witches as, in various pairs and combinations, they got it on with each other, with familiars in the forms of baboons and large dogs, and with bizarre-looking creatures that he a.s.sumed were the minor demons Pardee had referred to.

It was the most erotic thing he had ever seen in his life.

For the first time in years, Grobius found himself getting an erection. Something so rare was too good to waste. He reached for his telephone.

"Send one of the secretaries up here. No, I don't care-whoever's handy."

Grobius put the phone down and smiled contentedly. Getting your c.o.c.k sucked a few hours before achieving virtual immortality was not a bad way to spend an evening. Not bad, at all.

11:21pm "Well, dear Libby, it's time," Pardee said.

Libby Chastain looked at him impa.s.sively. She had heard the music start a few hours ago, knew what it portended, and had estimated the pa.s.sage of subsequent time with fair accuracy. She had not been surprised when Pardee, s.h.i.+t-eating grin in place, had opened the door.