An Affair Of Sorcerers

and emotion.

'To kill me,' he continued in the same, soft tone, 'you'd have to know how to use the hate you feel now, then be able to conquer it and ride it to a conclusion. Can you do that? I doubt it. Very few people can.'

'It's simple, Crandall; I'll just beat you to death with a broomstick. I said I wanted to ask you a few questions. Answer them right and you can go back to changing people into frogs, or whatever it is you do in your spare time.'

'I will answer nothing,' the gray-eyed man said casually.

Suddenly he stepped forward until he was only inches away from me. In a lightning motion, he reached down with his right hand and touched me squarely between the eyes with the tip of his third finger. It was a light tap, and yet it actually hurt; I was beginning to feel like a character out of Carlos Castaneda. Normally, my reflexes would have propelled me at him, but now, inexplicably, I found myself stepping back. I felt confused, weak and tired. I was losing rounds all over the place.

'You're to take what I say as a threat,' Crandall continued casually in a voice barely above a whisper. 'As you see, I know who you are; your career is familiar to me. I don't know how you came to know of me. I can't think of anyone who would dare give you information about me; but, obviously, someone did. No matter. There's absolutely nothing-nothing! — you can do to me. But I can. . inflict. You'll discover that to your sorrow if you try to interfere with me in any way.' He paused a few beats, then said in a slightly louder voice, 'Now you will answer this question. Why did you mention the name 'Esobus'?'

'It has to do with the little girl who's dying. She told me either you or Esobus took her father's book of shadows.'

Daniel blinked rapidly and took two quick steps backward. It wasn't much of a reaction, but from this man I considered it a major concession.

'Her name is Kathy Marlowe,' I continued. 'Her father's name is Frank Marlowe. Someone's done a bad number on that girl, and you're a major candidate. There isn't much time left, and I intend to find out what's wrong with her before she dies of it.'

Crandall's impassive, stony facade suddenly began to crumble before my eyes. He opened his gray eyes wide, looked at me for a long time; his tongue darted out, licked his lips. Finally he turned and walked quickly across the room. He stopped, his back to me, and stared out a window overlooking the bank's parking lot.

'Tell me what you did to her, Crandall,' I continued quietly, making no effort to keep the pleading out of my voice. 'You don't seem like the kind of man who'd hurt a little girl and not regret it.' I picked up the telephone receiver on the conference table next to me, held the instrument out to him. 'Tell me what's wrong with her so we can call her doctor and tell him.'

'I wouldn't hurt Kathy,' Crandall said in a dry, croaking voice. 'She's my niece.'

I slowly replaced the receiver in its cradle. 'What did you say?'

The man who called himself Daniel turned and looked at me strangely. His gray eyes seemed darker, his gaze even more intense. 'You heard me,' he said sharply. 'I tell you because I want you to know I'm not responsible for Kathy's condition, and I don't want you interfering with me. Does Kathy's mother know?'

I shook my head. 'I don't know how to get in touch with her. Kathy mentioned her once or twice, but I didn't really pay attention. Frank Marlowe and I were only casual acquaintances; aside from the fact that he was divorced and Kathy stayed with him during the summer, I didn't know anything about his private life. You're the first relative I've been able to find.'

His eyes narrowed. 'How did you become involved with this in the first place?'

'Kathy asked me to find her father's book of shadows,' I said, still slightly stunned by the information that Daniel was Kathy's uncle. 'Apparently, she heard her father say that either you or Esobus had stolen it.'

I filled Crandall in on what had happened. He listened in silence. When I'd finished, he nodded distantly. 'Thank you for saving Kathy's life,' he said quietly.

'She's still in great danger. Her mother should be told right away.'

'I'll take care of that, Frederickson,' he murmured. He seemed totally distracted as he fumbled inside his suit jacket, produced a checkbook. 'I appreciate what you've done. Let me pay-'

'I don't want your money, Crandall,' I said sharply. 'Your niece is my client, not you. And I still have a lot of questions. Did you take Frank Marlowe's book of shadows?'

It was some time before he answered. 'This is an affair of sorcerers,' he said at last.

'Terrific. I can't wait to use my thirty-eight-caliber wand on one of those bastards. I think it's time we called in the police.'

'The police can't do anything for Kathy. Neither can you.'

'But you can?'

'I'm the only one who can.'

'And I say you're full of shit. You tell me Kathy's your niece, and I believe you. I also believe you didn't hurt her. But you damn well know more than you're telling me; you're plugged into this screwball scene right up to your eyeballs.' I sighed with frustration and weariness. 'For Christ's sake, she's your niece and you're playing with her life! Why don't you just tell me what this is all about so we can call in the proper authorities?'

'Stay out of this!' he hissed. 'And stay away from me! I tell you there is nothing anyone else can do! I know what I'm talking about.'

He again raised his right hand and started to move toward me; his hand was balled into a fist except for the ring finger, which was rigidly extended, pointing at my forehead.

'Touch me again and I'll crack your kneecap,' I said, going into a crouch.

Crandall stopped, slowly put his hand down. That round went to me. I waited for him to say something, but he walked quickly around me and out through the office door. I followed, but he strode straight ahead and out of the bank without a backward glance. By the time I got to the street, he'd disappeared from sight. I walked to my car, got in behind the wheel and pulled out into the traffic.

I was almost sideswiped at the next corner, and it was only when I glanced in the rearview mirror that I realized I'd run a red light. I opened the window and took a deep breath; I was going to have to start paying attention to the all-too-real world around me. What with psychic healers, screwball Nobel Prize winners and homicidal witches, the previous Friday looked to have been a real loser on my horoscope.

Lack of sleep finally caught up with me an hour out of Philadelphia. The deadly monotony of the New Jersey Turnpike beat on me like a club. When I caught myself weaving back and forth between the center line and the shoulder of the road, I parked at the first rest stop, crawled into the back seat and promptly fell asleep.

I woke up at six fifteen feeling grubby but refreshed. I used a gas-station rest room to wash up, then sped into New York and went directly to the hospital. Visiting hours were over at eight thirty, but I made it by eight. Kathy was in the Intensive Care Unit, with no visitors allowed. I'd hoped to check with Dr. Greene, but I was told he wasn't available. That meant he was catching up on his sleep, which was probably more important than anything he could say to me. I left a message for him to call me at home whenever he could.

I was on my way to the elevator when I caught sight of a familiar figure sitting next to a woman in a small waiting room off the corridor. I went in. 'What's the latest word on your niece?' I asked Daniel.

There was a vacant look in the ceremonial magician's eyes as he turned his head and looked at me. Without a word he rose and walked from the room, leaving me alone with the woman. She was short, maybe a foot or so taller than I was, and strikingly beautiful in a natural, totally understated way. She had to be Daniel's sister, because she had the same gray eyes, with just a touch of blue. The eyes were large and sensual, with natural long lashes. She was dressed in soft leather boots, French-cut jeans and steel-blue silk blouse. Around her neck she wore a necklace consisting of a fine gold chain supporting a dove which had been carved from ivory; the dove and silk on denim added just the right touch of vulnerable femininity. She had what looked like natural reddish-blond hair that fell neatly across her shoulders. She struck me as a person who was normally very much in control of herself. Her eyes were dry at the moment, but they were red-rimmed, and it was obvious she'd been crying before I walked in.

'You must be Robert Frederickson,' the woman said, rising and offering me her hand. The hand was small and