An Affair Of Sorcerers

Krowl had shaken me with his comments about a woman; now I felt as if I'd been hit between the eyes with a hammer. The dream. As much as I'd been resisting thinking about it, I had had a 'psychic' experience: Transcending all the laws of logic and science, a comatose child had somehow reached out across an unmapped abyss of the spirit and touched my mind in order to tell me she was in danger. The dream had been vivid and complete, from the flames surrounding Kathy to the gown she'd been wearing. The dream had enabled me to save Kathy's life-but it was an experience I still wasn't psychologically prepared to examine.

'Finish the reading,' I said tautly, struggling to keep my voice steady. 'Then maybe we'll see how it all ties in.'

Krowl made a harsh sound in his throat and started to rise. 'You're uncooperative and hostile,' he said, anger sparking on the hard flint of his voice. 'I don't understand what you're doing here.'

'I would like you to finish the reading,' I heard myself saying. 'I'm curious.'

Krowl hesitated, then shrugged and sat back down again. He continued in a perfunctory, almost apathetic, tone. 'The card on the left side of the cross shows an influence which may be just passing away: it's the Page of Swords, reversed. It's a sick child-perhaps the woman's daughter. At the top is the Five of Wands. It represents something that may happen in the future. This is a card of violence. There's violence around you; I can feel it, as well as see it in your cards.'

A large, invisible hand planted itself on my chest and pushed me back in the chair. My gaze rose to the Tiffany lamp over the table; more than half the shards in its glittering surface were the color of blood. The hand reached inside my chest, wrapped itself around my heart and squeezed. Images swam in the glass; the faces of people I'd known-some good, some evil, all dead. In an age when most detective work was sterile and boring, done with computers and phone checks, I continually found myself involved with high-fever cases that grew into epidemics of death. It seemed wherever I went in my career, I left a foaming, bloody wake filled with bodies; whatever garden I set out to till ended up Golgotha. But I survived. I was a carrier. Now Kathy and April had been exposed.

My neck and ears felt hot. Krowl had been reading my mail, and I found that the fear I'd initially felt was rapidly metamorphosing into anger. There could be any number of explanations for what seemed to be the deadly accuracy of Krowl's reading; he could very well have read about me and the violence that usually attended my investigations. What Krowl could not possibly know-because I hadn't realized it myself until he'd pointed it out to me-was the importance April Marlowe had suddenly assumed in my life. Krowl had hit that target dead center. The truth was that April Marlowe distracted me as much as-or more than-the plight of her daughter, or the Senator's. It was ugly, hard for me to admit; but it was true. It made me feel ashamed.

Krowl pointed to the card on the right side of the cross. It showed a dog baying at the moon. A large, ominous-looking crayfish was crawling out of a pond at the dog's feet. 'The Moon,' Krowl said, placing his forefinger on the card. 'Its position represents something that may happen soon. The Moon may stand for deception, unforeseen perils.. secret enemies.' He pursed his lips and squinted at me. 'Possibly bad luck for one you love.'

'What kind of bad luck?' I asked quickly. My voice sounded strange in my ears, shrill and strained.

Krowl smiled broadly, as though he'd won a major concession from me. 'I don't know,' he said quietly. 'The woman is sad now; I pick that up from you. She's surrounded by trouble, and I sense that you carry much of that trouble with you; you bring it to her.'

'What do the rest of the cards tell you?' I asked, pointing to the vertical line of cards on his right. I hoped my voice was steady, but I'd experienced an unnerving flash of the 'bad luck' I'd brought to others in the past. Like Garth: A woman he'd loved had died in the desert sands of Iran, six thousand miles away. Garth himself had fired the bullet that killed her.

'The Nine of Swords,' he said, pointing to the card at the bottom of the vertical line. 'Its symbols speak for themselves. The card is in the position representing your fears-in this case suffering and illness, possibly the death of one you love.' He frowned and suddenly swept his hand over to the Page of Swords on the opposite side of the cross. 'Or the woman's daughter,' he added quietly. 'It's the woman's daughter you fear for. And-' He abruptly stopped speaking and stared intently at the cards, as though looking for something. Finally he shook his head, continued.

'The next position represents the opinion of family and friends. As you see, the card is Strength. All it means is that you know they have faith in you.

'The next card is the Six of Swords, and it's in the position of your hopes. The card is a logical one for the 'hope' position. A man-you, obviously-ferries a woman and her daughter across a lake toward a more peaceful place.

'The last card represents the outcome. It's the Ten of Swords: disaster.'

Krowl let the prediction drop perfunctorily, then removed his glasses, leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands behind his head. The light from the overhead lamp danced eerily in his pink eyes. 'Normally, at this point I'd try to be upbeat,' he continued casually. 'I'd try to assure you that the trends shown by the cards don't necessarily have to come to pass. I'd tell you that the cards reflect your present state of mind, and what could happen if you don't change your present behavior patterns. But I don't think you care about what I have to say. I still think you came here for some other reason.'

'You're very perceptive, Krowl,' I said, meaning it. My stomach was churning, and I felt light-headed. I hoped it didn't show. I found I disliked Krowl; he was arrogant and-to judge by the way he'd handled my reading-cruel. He was also, as I'd been warned, damn good.

'Thank you,' Krowl said with a thin smile. 'Now, why don't you tell me what it is you really want?'

'I came to see you because I wanted to see what the tarot cards are all about, and you've shown me,' I said. 'But it's true that I had another reason for coming here. I need information.'

Krowl rose stiffly from his chair. 'I don't give out information,' he said coldly. 'I never discuss my clients. You owe me forty dollars.'

I stood up, counted out the money from my wallet and placed it on the table. 'I don't want to talk about any of your clients; what I need to know involves one of mine. The sick child you saw in the cards; that could be her. She's dying because something was done to her; I have to find out exactly what's wrong with her.'

Krowl's gaze dropped to the layout on the table, and he stared at the cards for a long time. Finally his eyes flicked back to my face. 'What are you talking about?' he asked tightly. His face was flushed to the point where it almost matched his eyes.

'The girl's father got himself involved in some bad witchcraft business,' I said, watching Krowl carefully. 'I think his new friends killed him and did something to the girl. She's in a coma. It will help if the doctors can find out what was done to her. I'm trying to find the people responsible. Garth said that you might be able to help me. I have to find a ceremonial magician who uses the witch name 'Esobus.' Have you ever heard the name?'

Krowl quickly reached for his glasses and put them on. 'What makes you think I'd know anything about this?'

'I just told you: Garth told me you might know who Esobus is.'

The albino started to put the cards in the layout back into the deck. Both his hands were trembling now, and he looked sick. Suddenly he pushed the cards away and walked quickly to a bookcase filled with occult icons and books. He leaned against it, arms outspread and forehead touching the leather-bound volumes, as though drawing strength from the symbols and words there. He spun around as I started across the room toward him.

'Get out!' Krowl said firmly. His flesh had returned to its normal parchment color, and he'd stopped shaking. It was quite a transformation. 'What right do you have to come to me under false pretenses and start asking questions?'

'Hey, buddy; I'm just asking you to help a little girl who's dying. Esobus works out of your bailiwick, not mine. I can see that you're afraid; okay. I absolutely guarantee that no one will ever find out you gave me his real name.'

'I don't know anything.' He half-turned toward a louvered door behind him. 'Jonathan! Come here!'

'Bullshit,' I said quietly. 'You sure as hell know something; you looked like you were about to toss your cookies when I mentioned the name. Come on, Krowl. Anything you tell me will be kept in the strictest confidence. Nothing is going to happen to you. Tell me Esobus' real name.'

A huge man, almost seven feet tall, appeared in the doorway, and Krowl motioned toward me. 'Get him out