The Witch of Babylon

silver clasps had been fixed into its right edge—a locking mechanism—but the hasps were open.

“It’s a grimoire,” Laurel said. She seemed wary of the volume and stepped away from it.

“Sounds appropriately sinister.”

“A book of spells and incantations, ways to call up demons or communicate with angels. The original Arabic title was Aim of the Sage . It was translated into Latin from Spanish. There are supposedly only seventeen copies in existence, all under lock and key in European libraries, so where Mina got this one I have no idea.”

I moved beside her and, taking a tissue from my pocket to protect the pages, opened the book.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Laurel asked. “It’s said that once you open it, the book has a hold over you.”

I shrugged my shoulders and turned the first pages. “Those tales were usually circulated to discourage people from looking at forbidden material. If it’s really old, it’ll be worth a lot. You should probably put it in a safe- deposit box.”

A little vexed, Laurel replied, “Yeah, along with the million other things I have to do.”

I lifted the pages gently, fascinated by the illustrations. Framed in a circle, one of them showed a king, dressed in a multi-colored garment, sitting on a peacock rendered in radiant silver, golds, and greens. On another page a nude Hermes appeared against the backdrop of an old sailing ship. “I can’t read Latin.”

“It’s a kind of handbook for proactive astrology and magic. If I remember what Hal told me, in those times you could die just for owning this. It has instructions for creating magical talismans and shows how to make images of your enemy to defeat him.”

“Defeat?”

“Well … kill, actually.”

“Nice.”

She shuddered. “You know, all this talk about the Picatrix jogs my memory. That woman you mentioned. Hal was a member of an online group, a website for people with a serious interest in alchemy. Could he have met her through that? He talked about it several times, but do you think I can remember … Oh, I know. I think it was called Alchemy Archives or something like that.”

“Let’s check it out.” I grabbed my cellphone and pulled the candle as close as possible. A search for the name brought up the website immediately.

“Are these supposed to be real people?”

“Hal said so. Those symbols underneath them represent planets: Venus, Mercury, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn. Together with Sol for the sun and Luna for the moon, they symbolize the seven celestial objects believed in antiquity to revolve around Earth. They’re supposed to represent the five hosts of the website. It all feels like a lot of hocus-pocus to me.”

“Why hide their identities?”

“They’re professionals, not the flakes you sometimes find on a site like this. My guess is they didn’t want people to know they were dabbling in this kind of stuff.”

Or perhaps they had other strong reasons, like the need to hide their crimes. “So they took this stuff seriously.”

“Oh, for sure. You’d be surprised. Some people spend millions setting up labs trying to convert lead into gold. It’s called transmutation.”

The Alchemy Archives website

“The woman I met. Could she be one? Maybe she’s Venus.”

“It’s possible. Hal told me he was Saturn, but he didn’t name anyone else.” She peered at my cellphone screen. “Well, it looks like at least one woman belongs to the group.”

“You can’t tell from that. Those are full porcelain face masks, and anything can be digitally altered.”

Laurel rubbed her eyes. I could see she was exhausted. When I closed the Picatrix I noticed the white edge of some paper at the back of the book. I gently slid it out. A photograph, at least part of one. The image came from our time at Columbia, one of our legendary parties. It captured me in my student days, long hair and all, passing a joint to the woman beside me. The picture certainly wouldn’t help me to remember who she was because her head had been neatly cut out. My own face had been colored blood red, a crudely drawn symbol inked in above it.

I dropped the photo as if it had bitten my hand. “What the hell is this?”

Laurel bent down to retrieve it and gasped. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen it before.”

The photo had to be Hal’s work, his mind far more hate-filled and twisted than I’d thought. “It’s some kind of stupid curse.”

“I should never have brought you in here. I’m sorry,” Laurel said worriedly.

Still feeling freaked by the photo and the implications of what we’d seen in that room, I felt certain Laurel was in danger too. As we walked back to the family room I knew I had to say something. “Listen, this whole thing is getting really bizarre. I’m concerned about you. Is there anywhere else you could stay until I get this situation sorted out? Eris might try to get to you here. I’m surprised she hasn’t already.”

“Are you kidding? This place is locked up tighter than a tomb. I’ll be fine.”

I gave her my business card so she’d know how to reach me and got her cell number. “I’ll call you then. Just to make sure you’re okay.”

She hugged me. “Watch out for yourself. Don’t worry about me.”

“You didn’t get much sleep last night, did you?”

“Next to none.”

“Why don’t you try to rest? Do you have anything to help you sleep?”

She shook her head but took my advice and curled up on the couch. I bunched one of the pillows under her head and tucked a mohair throw over her. She smiled her thanks. I heated up some milk in the kitchen microwave and brought the cup to her.

On the way out I gave Gip a description of Eris, warning him to be on the lookout for her.

I headed over to the Khyber Pass Restaurant, still feeling shaken. It took me a while to organize my thoughts. Hal had stolen an engraving from Samuel. What made it so valuable? His message referred to five antagonists, and he’d set them after me. It was his idea of a vindictive joke, I guess, to include himself as one of them. Did Eris also belong to the group, and if so, who were the other three? Why would people running an alchemy website have any interest in an Assyrian engraving? I hoped Tomas Zakar, the man I was about to meet, could give me some answers.

Still pondering this, I stepped across the street to the triangle of park facing Laurel’s building and immediately stopped short. A heavyset man lurked near a corner, his back turned to me, his fist closed around something. Eris’s strange companion? As if reading my mind, he whipped around and launched himself at me.

Eight

The man threw a tennis ball along the sidewalk, grinning as he moved past. A little dog skittered behind him to take up the chase. I cursed Hal once more for wrecking my peace of mind and left for my meeting.

St. Mark’s Place in the East Village was rambunctious as usual on a hot summer evening, crowded and slightly frenetic. A couple of uniformed cops stood next to their cruisers trading stories with two beefy men in street wear, the local undercover squad, no doubt. The Asian fusion and sushi restaurants were already busy, the smoke shops doing a brisk trade. I always got a laugh out of one store sign that read UNISEX—24 HOURS A DAY, SEVEN DAYS A WEEK. Down the sidewalk, a group of Hare Krishnas swayed toward me, bald-headed and saffron- robed, chanting the familiar mantra and beating their big drum. The sixties all over again. Some things and some places never change.

The Khyber Pass, an Afghani restaurant, was a favorite of Samuel’s. I’d never paid much heed to its name, but after my recent experiences, the fact that we were meeting here was a bit unnerving. Its name came from the famous three-mile-long pass through the treacherous Hindu Kush range—a British officer had once said that “every