despite my other failings, I'm a man who pays his debts.'
He looked at his hands again, then back at me. 'All right, Detective. It doesn't amount to much, but I'll tell you what I know about the Opus Mago.'
'Although the book was published in 1640, by a man who was burned at the stake for his trouble, most of its contents are far older. The pages I worked with have passed through who knows how many hands, over who knows how many centuries. Nothing is numbered, so it's difficult to tell what order they are supposed to be in. So I just picked one, more or less at random, and began work.
'It was slow going. Despite the Latin name by which it's known today, most of the book is written in an obscure dialect of Ancient Sumerian that, if I may flatter myself, very few scholars are capable of working with.
'The fragment that came into my possession consists of sixteen pages. I got through six, then stopped. Of the material I did translate, I believe some of it does pertain to this spell or ritual that you've described, which some madman is apparently trying to perform.
'The section I worked on reveals that the total number of sacrifices required is five, and that they all be vampires – although the term used in the text is ghosts who suck blood. And the fifth, final sacrifice must take place as the ritual itself is being performed. A sort of culmination of the vampire bloodletting, if you will. I also get the impression, although the text is ambiguous on this point, that the rite can only be performed successfully by someone who is a worker of magic – which is the Ancient Sumerian term for wizard, and also a ghost who sucks blood. Someone who combines the attributes of both wizard and vampire, if such a thing is even possible.'
I looked at Karl, who returned my gaze and probably my expression. 'Oh, yeah,' I said. 'It's possible, all right.'
Vollman.
'And that's as much as I know, based on the fragments I've translated,' Prescott said.
'Why did you stop?' Karl asked him.
Prescott studied the backs of his hands again, as if he hoped to find the answers to all of life's mysteries written there. Eventually, he looked up.
'I stopped at the sixth page, because of a passage I found there, near the bottom. I believe I can recite it verbatim – God knows I've read it enough times. My little cerebral episode hasn't erased that part of my memory, more's the pity.'
Prescott closed his eyes, and when he spoke it was in a different tone from his usual conversational voice.
'Let any man who reveals the secrets of this sacred book to strangers be accursed for all time. He shall be blinded, then castrated, then dismembered, then burned, to serve as instruction and example to any who would dare let these words become known to those uninitiated in our rites.'
Prescott opened his eyes again and spoke in his normal voice. 'Scary stuff, huh?'
'I guess you took it pretty seriously, then,' I said.
'Detective, this is a world in which we find werewolves, vampires, witchcraft, goblins, and I don't know what else. What's in that book is a curse, and yes, I took it seriously.'
I nodded. 'And yet you just told us everything you found there – all that bears on our case, anyway.'
Prescott leaned back and spread his hands. 'I'm on borrowed time, remember? By rights, I should be dead and buried by now. That, or a vegetable hooked up to some machine for the next thirty years, until my heart gives out.' He put his hands back in his lap. 'Besides, it looks as if you've got something pretty nasty brewing here in Scranton. I can't sit by and let it happen – not if I have information that will stop it.'
I started to speak, but he held out his hand, like a traffic cop. 'I know what you're going to say. What I've given you won't stop what's being prepared by this lunatic Sligo. And you'd be right. But maybe there's something in the rest of the Opus Mago fragment that will.'
'Look,' I said, 'I appreciate the offer, more than you know. But even though you woke up from the coma, you're probably still a sick man. Flying back to Washington-'
'I have no intention of flying back to Washington, at least, not in the near future. The good Dr Santangelo made it very clear that he wants me to stay under observation, for at least a week. And since I have no desire to suffer another stroke, I'm inclined to agree with him.'
Prescott ran a hand slowly through his greasy hair. 'But if I call my research assistant at G-town and describe what I need, she'll get it all together, and send it FedEx overnight. That's likely to be expensive as hell-' he grew a little smile '-so I'll let the university pay for it.'
The smile became a grin, even if it seemed a little forced. 'By tomorrow, or at latest the day after, I should have those fragments here – or rather in my regular hospital room, where I gather I'm headed shortly. I will also have her send the proper dictionaries and any other research tools I can't get off the Internet. I assume they have wi-fi here at the hospital?'
'If they don't, I will personally have it installed for you,' I said.
'This kind of work is slow going,' he said, 'but I'll push as hard as I can, given-' he made the gesture toward his head again '-everything. I know there's a time factor, so we'd best not waste any. In fact, my phone should be in my jacket pocket, which is probably hanging in that little closet over there. If one of you gentlemen would be so kind…'
• • • •
As we pulled out of the hospital parking lot, Karl said, 'I'm not too well up on curses. Missed the two lectures on them at the academy, because I got the flu, and never made them up. There was some stuff I was supposed to read on my own, but you know how it is.'
'Yeah, I do. There's always something else to think about.'
'If the curse Prescott told us about is the real deal, who's gonna carry it out? I mean, the fucking pages aren't gonna grow arms to cut him up and burn him with, are they?'
'Probably not,' I told him. 'A curse – a real one, not the crap that some gypsies deal in – usually involves a pact with a demon, one that's pretty low in the infernal pecking order. The lower they are, the weaker, and that much easier to summon and control.'
'Yeah, I didn't miss Demonology. I know that part.'
'Okay, then. So a curse, if it's legit, sets up preconditions for the demon to operate under. It's like one of those old mummy movies you see on TV late at night. A bunch of archeologists find Ramah-HoHaina's burial chamber, and go in for a look-see. And the usual looting, of course.'
''Course,' Karl said. 'Can't have a mummy movie without looting.'
'So, say that back when old Ramah-Ho-Haina dies, the burial party includes a pretty powerful wizard. He puts a curse in place that automatically summons the demon if anybody messes with omb. Doesn't matter if it takes like three thousand years to kick in – demons don't give a shit, they're not going anyplace.'
'Yeah, I've seen those movies,' Karl said. 'The evil spirit follows the scientists home, then does a number on them, one by one.'
'Right, and the kind of number it does is one of the things that the wizard set up thousands of years ago.'
'So Prescott could be letting himself in for some serious shit, helping us.'
I shrugged. 'Maybe. Just because some dude writes down that there's a curse doesn't mean there really is one. Still, we better assume the worst.'
'But, the hospital's already protected, Stan. It's gotta be. People die in there all the time, and they sure don't want demons hanging around, waiting to grab up somebody's soul.'
'Sure, it's protected. But I don't want to take any chances with something like this. We need to get some additional wards placed around Prescott's hospital room. Normally, that would be Rachel's job.'
'Yeah, I know. So, we'll have to subcontract it out,' Karl said. 'I know a couple of first-class witches…'
'Call one of them,' I said. 'Now.'
'We don't have authorization yet, Stan.'
'Fuck it – I'll pay for it myself, if McGuire's feeling stingy. Now call, will you?'
Karl opened his phone, but then stopped to look at me. 'You really worried about this curse thing?'
'Some,' I said. 'But it's more than that.'
Karl was squinting at his phone's directory. 'Like what?'
