An Affair Of Sorcerers

'My name's Frederickson.'

The man's large, sensitive eyes narrowed. 'I think I've heard of you; or I've seen your picture someplace.'

'Never mind that. I asked how the girl is.'

'Are you a relative?'

'No; friend of the family. I brought her in. Her father's dead, and I don't know how to get in touch with any other member of the family.'

The doctor put his hand on my shoulder and guided me to a small alcove off the main corridor. I didn't like the way he walked and held his head; it was too sad, a little too desperate.

'My name is Greene,' he said quietly. 'We have … a problem with Kathy.'

'What's the matter with her?' My throat felt dry and constricted; I could barely get the words out.

Greene shrugged his frail shoulders. 'We really don't know,' he said, his eyes clouding. 'There's no sign of smoke inhalation, which was the first thing we looked for. Since then we've run a number of tests, but they're all inconclusive. There's no sign of any physical injury. She's just. . unconscious. She's stable at the moment, but there are indications she may not stay that way.'

'You mean she hasn't regained consciousness at all?'

He shook his head. 'The child is in a deep coma, and we don't know what's causing it.'

'Can't you treat it?'

Greene's laugh was sharp and bitter, belied by the anguish in his eyes. 'Treat what? Coma is only a symptom, and none of those marvelous machines we have in there can tell us what's causing it.' He swallowed hard, licked his lips. 'There must be something in her background-an allergy, or some obscure hereditary disease. That information is vital. If we could only contact a relative …'

'I'll see what I can do about finding one. What about trauma? Could severe emotional shock precipitate a coma?'

'Maybe,' Greene said carefully. 'But there'd have to be some other contributing factor.'

'What about drugs?'

The doctor looked at me a long time, obviously thinking about the question. 'There are certain drugs that can induce coma,' he said at last. 'But if that's the case here, we're in trouble; we haven't been able to detect any foreign substance-yet. If she was given something, we'd have to find out exactly what it was before we could reverse the effects. And I don't think we have much time.' He paused and shook his head. 'Why would anyone want to drug this little girl?'

I didn't know the answer to that question, any more than I knew why someone had wanted to roast her father. But I was convinced that that was the case, and I intended to find the answers.

'Do you still have the gown she was wearing when I brought her in?'

'The one with the odd pictures?'

'Right. Will you give it to me?'

'Why?'

'I'd rather not say right now, Doctor. But I think the symbols on that gown could mean something. If I'm right, they could provide a clue to what's wrong with Kathy.'

'They're just designs,' Greene said impatiently. 'It's a child's nightgown. What could it possibly have to do with the girl's condition?'

'Maybe nothing. But we won't know for sure unless you give me the gown.'

'I don't know,' he said hesitantly. 'We have. . procedures.'

'That's your problem, Doctor,' I said tersely. 'You're the one who said we might not have much time.'

He thought about it for a moment, then turned away, walked quickly down the corridor and disappeared through a swinging door. He reappeared a few minutes later with the gown wrapped in a plastic bag. I glanced at my watch: it was five thirty a.m. I was suddenly very tired, my senses drugged with the kind of hypertense, nervous exhaustion that is the mind's gambit to escape from pressure.

I felt cold, numb, disoriented; but most of all I felt fear for Kathy-and that was all I would need to keep me going. That fear would burn away the fog inside my mind. It had to. Like Frost's winter wanderer, I sensed that I had miles to go before I'd sleep.

Chapter 5

A heavy rain was falling, chilling the sooty New York City dawn. I parked on the street outside Garth's West Side apartment house and walked a half block to an all-night diner at the corner. I bought coffee and hard rolls, then called my brother from a booth in the back. He finally answered on the sixth ring. 'Yeah?'

'Good morning, Lieutenant. This is a close relative calling.'

'What the hell do you want, Mongo?' he asked groggily. 'You have any idea what time it is?'

'Frankly, no. It's early for you, late for me. I need to talk to you.'

'I've got company.'

'What am I, a priest? I don't want to talk to her; I want to talk to you. C'mon, brother. Would I be out here on the street calling you at this hour of the morning if it weren't serious?'

'Damn right you would.' He paused, chuckled evilly. 'How are the tympani lessons going?'

'Garth, let me come up.'

Something in my voice must have struck a chord. There was a pause; then: 'Okay, Mongo. But if this is a joke, I'm going to kick your ass. Fair warning.'

'It's no joke.'

'Bring coffee.'

'I've got coffee.'

Garth, dressed in a robe, met me at the door to his apartment. Unshaven, his thinning, wheat-colored hair uncombed, he looked as our father had looked early mornings on our Nebraska farm where we'd grown up. Garth and I had come a long way from the Midwest, by very different routes, and had both ended up in New York within a few months of each other. We liked that, liked each other. I owed the man; he'd helped me survive a dwarf's cruel childhood and adolescence.

Without a word, Garth reached down into the bag I was carrying and took out a container of coffee. He opened it and swallowed a large mouthful of the lukewarm liquid. Finally he looked at me, yawned. 'You look like hell, Mongo. Come in and sit down.'

I followed him into the living room and went straight to the bar, where I poured a stiff shot of Irish whiskey into my coffee. I drained off half of it, poured in another shot. That made me feel a bit better. I took the gown out of the bag and showed it to him.

'Does this mean anything to you?' I asked.

'Occult symbols,' he said, examining the garment and nodding. 'It could be a witch's robe if it were a little bigger. Where did you get it?'

'The little girl who was wearing it is in the hospital right now, in a deep coma. When you check the sheets this morning, you'll find that a man by the name of Frank Marlowe burned to death in his apartment about three o'clock this morning. The girl's his daughter. I was there, and it had to be a chemical fire; it was very hot, smelled like hell and formed an almost perfect circle around the bed.'

Garth, wide awake now, held up his hand to stop me. 'Whoa, brother. You're saying you think somebody killed this Marlowe?'

'Right. And whoever it was did something to the girl and dressed her in that gown. I-'

'Hold it,' Garth said tersely. He rose and went into the kitchen. I heard him talking on the telephone, and a few minutes later he came back into the living room. He lighted a cigarette, then tilted his head toward me in what might almost have been a nod of approval. 'Stop down at the station house later, okay? We'll want a formal