“Will do, and thank you,” Andre said.
Adair waved and hurried out, pulling his hat back on.
“He’s really all right, you know,” Andre told Cheyenne asthey watched the inspector leave.
She smiled. “Yes, he was a decent sort. But we are weird—inour way. So, on to the psychic?”
“On to the psychic,” Andre agreed. “We now have forty-eightminutes.”
* * * *
Given the time he’d spent in Salem, Massachusetts, and histime in New Orleans, Louisiana, Andre had met many a so-called psychic. Someseemed sincere, though he believed they simply had a talent for reading peopleand telling them things they might already know.
Most were shams.
Father Faith—or William Smith—fell into the latter grouping,Andre decided, though that quick assessment might not be fair. He knew witchesin Salem who were really Wiccans, respecting their faith as a religion. He knewsome who were all show for the tourists who came into their shops, fascinatedand ready to drop their dollars.
It was the same in New Orleans. There were very good voodoopractitioners and priests and priestesses. But he knew those who were total conartists, too.
In both alternative religions, no harm was to bedone to others. Harm done came back on the one who attempted it. BothHollywood—and Doc Duvalier in Haiti—had given voodoo a very bad name.
The shop they approached was called Father Faith’s.
“How original,” Cheyenne deadpanned, and he shot her a smileas he opened the door.
Andre hadn’t needed to get inside to perform his initialassessment of the man. His first impression had come from the front window,which displayed modern vampire kits, bottles of potions made fromgarlic, “guaranteed to drive away vampires and other forces of evil,”plus all manner of sterling jewelry, from crosses to earrings and more.
Father Faith seemed to be a focal point of the storehimself. He stood talking to a customer and gesturing to the shelves thatoffered all sorts of arcane items: stakes, vials of garlic, oils, candles,herbs, talismans, tarot cards, books, and crosses in wood or silver of varyingsizes and all price points.
As Inspector Adair had told them, William Smith was a tallman, dark-haired, and could easily have been cast as a vampire in any movie.His shoulders were broad, and his age was difficult to determine. But howeverold he might be—somewhere between forty-five to maybe even sixty—he wasextremely fit, moved fluidly, and carried himself with an air of drama andconfidence. His eyes were dark, his face was pale, and he wore a collar thatseemed not quite priestly, but very close to it.
Cheyenne and Andre pretended interest in a rack of jewelry,a lot of it beautifully crafted. Father Faith might be a psychic, but he wasalso good at acquisitions.
There was a curtain at the back wall of the shop by the cashregister, with a sign that alerted the customers that there was a place forprivate sessions. Presumably those palm readings the inspector had mentioned.
The man with whom William Smith had been talking made hispurchase and left the store—thanking Smith profusely.
When they approached him where he stood behind the cash register,the man set the back of his hand theatrically to his forehead.
“I know who you are!” he proclaimed in a dramatic tone.
“You do?” Andre inquired politely.
“Americans,” Smith said as if it were an accusation.
“That we are.”
Father Faith set both hands on the counter, shaking hishead. “You’re here because of the dreadful situation going on. I’m afraid morewill fall into grave danger. Because—forgive me, I don’t wish to beoffensive—people come here fascinated by the malevolence that lurks, brought tolife by…evil people.”
“I definitely believe in evil people,” Andre agreed.
“The police need to be looking for Satanists,” Smithcontinued as if Andre hadn’t spoken. “They bring evil unto the Earth.”
“How do they recognize a Satanist when they see one?”Cheyenne asked.
His gaze shifting dramatically in her direction, Smithpointed two fingers toward her and then toward his own eyes. “You look deep,”he said. “There’s something back there. Something that gleams. That shows acommunion with the devil.”
Cheyenne gasped as if enthralled. “You really believe avampire has been raised from the dead?”
He regarded her solemnly. “I never deny possibilities. Verybad things are happening here. Have happened. Seriously, dear lovelylady, this is not a good time for Americans to be in London—at Highgate.”
“Thank you for the warning,” Cheyenne said. She smiled andgestured to the shelves. “Well, what do I need to protect myself?”
Smith glanced at Andre as if waiting for approval.
“Everyone should be protected.” Andre nodded.
William Smith hustled to retrieve several of his kits,laying them out on the counter and describing the different components andtheir uses—as he had done with the customer before them.
Everything was outrageously expensive, but Cheyenne didn’tsay so.
She listened intently, nodding and frowning inconcentration.
“I’ll have to think on this,” she said finally when hefinished his spiel and turned to watch her expectantly. “That’s…well, frankly, alot of travel money.”
“Think on it,” he said. Then he reached inside one of thekits. “This. I insist you take. From me. A welcome gift to our friends fromacross the pond.”
It was a silver necklace.
Cheyenne demurred. “I’m sorry. I can’t take anything sovaluable.”
Smith placed it on the counter and shook his head. “It lookslike silver, but it’s a cheap metal. And it will last for your stay here, Ibelieve. Pull the lower section of the cross.”
Glancing at Andre, she picked it up and did as Smith requested.The lower portion of the cross separated to reveal a small but sharp dagger.
Smith returned to his Father Faith persona, more mystic thanshopkeeper. “It just might save your life.”
“I—”
“Oh, take it, Special Agent Donegal,” he said, causing herto arch her brows.
He smiled. “I’m friends with Inspector Claude Birmingham,Inspector Michael Adair’s partner. Birmingham considers the two of you to be abit daft and didn’t want to meet with you. I told him it would be his bloodyloss, but the bugger is a bit of a prig, you know. Knocks my shop, but I doquite well here. Ah, and he’ll leave you be. Much as he mocks me, he’s still myfriend. I knew you’d show up. Please, do take this little gadget, Special AgentDonegal. A sign we’ve long ago
