“And mochas won’t?” Kurt asked.
“Everyone has their weaknesses,” Barb said as she paid for the food. “Mine is chocolate. I’d love an eclair. But I will not be tempted into gluttony.”
They chose to sit outside and picked one of the iron tables at the back of the large, stone-flagged courtyard near a dry fountain. The area was shielded by large, mature trees and had a pleasant air. Barb had a hard time imagining it as a seat for malignant powers.
“Okay, let me be clear,” Barb said, taking a sip of her mocha. “When I open up, it’s possible that whatever attacked Janea will attack me. Unlikely, but possible.”
“What do I do if that happens?” Kurt asked.
“I’ll try to keep the uproar down,” Barb said. “But I may get strange. Things may get strange. Operate as if there is a bomb threat and I’m the bomb squad. Figure out a way to evacuate the civilians, cordon the area and leave me to the battle. I’m…somewhat more powerful than Janea.”
“You’re not going to start chanting or anything, are you?” Kurt asked.
“Not unless things get bad strange,” Barb replied. “And it’s very much like a bomb tech. If I start running…try to keep up.”
Barb still wasn’t totally up on the psychic thing. The Lord granted her powers to fight evil manifest in the world, but He didn’t always tell her where it was. And this time the best she could get was a slight feeling that things were not quite as pleasant as they seemed. She was trying to get a better feel for it when she sensed a presence near the table and opened her eyes.
“Are you well?” the woman standing by Kurt’s shoulder asked.
“I’m fine,” Barb said. “Slight headache.”
Which was made worse by the woman. Like the neurologist, she had a demon that had so fully consumed her, her aura was black.
“I am Vartouhi,” the woman said, smiling at her. “I welcome you to Rembrandt’s. I always like to say hello to our new customers.”
Vartouhi was tall and slender with an olive complexion and looked faintly Italian or at least Mediterranean. Pretty, edging to beautiful, she was elegantly dressed in a rose pantsuit with orange-yellow highlights. Her one touch of accent was a strange brooch. It was similar to some Celtic designs Barb had seen but much simpler, just three curves forming three lobes. And, simple as it was, it was sounding alarm bells in Barb’s soul.
“I’m Kurt,” Kurt said. “And this is Barbara. She’s just visiting.”
“Yes, Kurt, I’ve seen you here before,” Vartouhi said, smiling again. Perfect teeth, Barb noted. Something about the woman, possibly her too-perfect attitude, just made her skin crawl. “Barbara, we hope that you enjoy your visit and come back often.”
“It’s a lovely place,” Barb gushed. “When was it built?”
“At various times,” Vartouhi said. “The buildings used to be apartments and were built mostly during the sixties. They were rather run down when the current owners bought them and fixed them up.”
“Well, it’s one of the nicest coffee shops I’ve ever visited,” Barb said. “And you seem to do a brisk business.”
“It suffices,” Vartouhi said. “I’ll leave you to your coffee. Take care.”
“Nice lady,” Kurt said. “She’s always circulating.”
“Uh-huh,” Barb said.
“What? Did you, you know, sense anything?”
“Well, ‘something is fishy in Denmark’ is about the best I can do,” Barb said, watching the hostess. “Except about the hostess, who is anything but a ‘nice lady.’ There’s something here but I can’t put my finger on it. And I’d bet dollars to donuts that our hostess could. I wonder what’s under these buildings…”
“Rock,” Kurt said, looking at the set of blueprints he’d requested. “The sewer runs down towards the Aquarium then across the river via the Market Street bridge. They’ve got a couple of basements…”
“There was something there,” Barb said. “I’d say not far above river level. But it’s hard to tell distance with this kind of thing.”
“Well, if it’s there it’s not on the blueprints,” Kurt said, rolling them up. “We’re going to have to find a way to search for it. I can ask the management, but if they get sticky we’ve got nothing for a search warrant.”
“It’s possible that the management is totally unaware,” Barb said. “Equally possible that they’re some sort of source. Who owns it?”
“A corporation,” Kurt said. “I’ll check into ownership of the corporation.”
“And see what you can find on that hostess,” Barb said. “Vartouhi.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Check on Janea.”
Barb had to show ID to get into the house where Janea was being kept. At one level she was relieved- whoever had attacked Janea might try again-but on the other hand she wasn’t sure that a rent-a-cop, okay, a high-quality one from the look, was going to do much good.
On the other hand, as soon as she stepped through the door she realized there was far more than mundane security on the house. It was “clean.” Not just physically clean-in fact, it was rather cluttered-it was mystically clean. She hadn’t examined it mystically the last time she was there, but this time it was clear that there were no malevolent entities or “vibes” to the place. Mystically it was more like a really good church. In fact, instead of dark shadows, there were flashes of light in the corners of her eyes. She wasn’t sure what that represented, but it wasn’t bad, whatever it was.
However, the house was physically crowded. There were six people in robes holding hands in a circle in the center of the main room and a young woman in a blouse and peasant skirt sitting on a chair watching them. Barb quickly realized that it was, in fact, a “circle.” A Wiccan prayer group that was “calling power.” She suddenly realized that although she worked every day with pagans, she had some deep-seated prejudices about being around a Wiccan gathering. She knew they weren’t evil per se. She wouldn’t be able to do what she did to support them if they were working with the devil. But watching them essentially worshipping “false gods” triggered childhood responses.
The young woman stood up and tiptoed over, putting her finger to her lips.
Janea? Barb mouthed.
The young lady motioned for Barb to follow her upstairs. Barb let Lazarus out of his bag and followed her.
The cat checked out the circle for a moment, sniffed, then followed.
“I’m sorry,” the young lady whispered as they reached the top of the stairs. “I was afraid you’d disturb the circle. We would have put it somewhere besides the front room, but the energies were best there. Are you Mrs. Everette?”
“Yes,” Barb said, shaking the young witch’s hand. “Call me Barb.”
“Janea’s in the back bedroom,” the young woman said, leading the way.
It wasn’t just Janea in the room. Cots had been moved in, and Sharice, Drakon and Wulfgar were stretched out on them, apparently asleep. All three of them were clearly in REM sleep; their eyes were twitching like mad, and Janea was slowly writhing as if struggling against invisible bonds.
“Wish I could take a nap,” Barb said.
“Astral projection requires a trance at the least,” the witch said. “They’re actually deep in the Moon Paths. Can’t you feel it?”
“I’m…just starting to figure some of this out,” Barb admitted. “I only recently got the, hah-hah, ‘Gift’ of Sight. And given some of the stuff I’ve seen today, I’m just as glad that Sharice taught me how to not use it.”
“You have many other Gifts. Use your Sight. There are no dark spirits here.”
“I noticed,” Barb said, opening up to the mystic.
The first thing she Saw had nothing to do with the foursome. There were clouds of… sparkles hanging in the air. She wasn’t even sure what they were. But there were a lot of them. The room was packed. It looked like a bad special effect.
