An Affair Of Sorcerers

of here,' he said to Jonathan. Then to me: 'Don't come back here again.'

I waved an embarrassed, reluctant Jonathan off and headed for the door, where I paused with my hand on the knob, turned. 'I don't know what your problem is, Krowl,' I said softly, 'but I want to make a prediction of my own. I'm betting that I can be an even bigger pain in the ass than Esobus. I'm making up a creep list, and it looks like you're on it. If that girl dies because the doctors don't have information you could have given me, I'm going to be back. You think on that, you son-of-a-bitch.' I took a card out of my pocket and handed it to the bemused Jonathan. 'Here's my number; you call me if you want to talk.'

I made a point of slamming the door behind me.

I walked to a phone booth at the end of the block and called Garth. I let the phone ring ten times and was about to give up when Regina finally answered.

'Hi, Regina. It's Mongo. Let me talk to Garth, please.'

Garth came on the line a few seconds later. 'Jesus, Mongo,' he growled. 'You pick the most incredibly inopportune-times to call.'

'Think of me as your conscience.'

He grunted. 'How's the little girl?'

'The same.'

'Did you get anything from John?'

'A hard time. He doesn't like me; I don't like him.'

'That's too bad. He's a great contact. If anyone knows who Esobus is, I'd have laid odds it would be John.'

'And you'd win. Krowl knows something, all right; I thought he was going to pass out when I mentioned Esobus. The problem is that he threw me out. He's afraid of something. If Krowl won't tell me about Esobus, I'm going to start finding out about Krowl. How well do you know him personally?'

'Not well enough to tell you anything useful. I met him through some of my other contacts.'

'Okay. I want you to do something for me. Have you heard of Harley Davidson?'

'The motorcycle or the singer?'

'Ho-ho. I thought he was out on the Coast, but it turns out he's one of Krowl's clients. He may have digs here in the city. If so, some of the Special Details boys may know where to find him. Make a couple of calls for me in the morning, will you? Davidson used to be a student of mine, and he may be able to give me a better line on Krowl.'

'Will do. Incidentally, a friend of yours has been very busy lately.'

'Who?'

'Daniel-or Crandall, or whatever the hell his name is. He's been cutting a pretty wide swath through the underground here. You've got company; the word is that he's looking for Esobus too. The difference is that those nice folks are afraid of him. I hear he's scaring the shit out of people.'

'Yeah? Well, good for him. Get back to me on Davidson as soon as you can, okay?'

'Check. May I go now?'

'You may go now. Listen; save some energy, will you?'

Garth cursed good-naturedly and hung up. I dug another dime out of my pocket and called Madeline Jones. Madeline had also known Bobby Weiss before he'd become Harley Davidson. Weiss had enrolled in my classes because he was interested in criminology; I was sure he'd taken astronomy because he'd lusted after Madeline.

'Hello?' It was a stranger's voice-hollow, thin and strained.

'Uh … is Dr. Jones there?'

'This is Dr. Jones speaking. Mongo?'

'Yeah. Mad? God, you sound terrible.'

'I. . have a cold. And I'm very tired.'

'Sorry to be calling so late.'

'It's all right. Is something. . wrong?'

'First of all, I just saw John Krowl. I'm sure he knows something about Esobus, but he won't talk to me. I'm afraid our relationship got off to a rather rocky start.'

'What. . makes you think John knows anything about Esobus?'

'Big reaction when I mentioned the name. Anyway, I was hoping you'd talk to him for me; assure him that I'm relatively straight and that anything he tells me will be in strict confidence. I know you think Esobus is a myth, but it looks like you're wrong. Hearing the name definitely upset Krowl. I just don't have the time to lean on him. Will you talk to him?'

There was a long pause at the other end of the line, and I repeated Madeline's name.

'Yes, Mongo.' The stranger's voice was barely a whisper. 'I'll talk to John, but I don't think he'll have anything to say to me.'

'Well, I'll appreciate your making the effort. And I may have another lead. Do you remember Bobby Weiss?'

'Uh. . vaguely.'

I wondered; rumors around faculty circles had it that the student and the middle-aged woman had been lovers. 'I think he may be in New York,' I said. 'I was wondering if you'd heard anything from him.'

Again there was a long silence; again I repeated her name.

'I'm sorry, Mongo,' she managed to say at last. 'I'm just so. . exhausted I can't think. I don't know what's the matter with me.'

'Mad, have you seen a doctor?'

'No. I just need. . some rest. I haven't heard from Bobby. I'm sorry I can't help you there.'

'It's okay. Listen, sweetheart, you take care of yourself. Okay?'

'Yes,' Mad answered dully. 'I will. Thank you, Mongo. Goodbye.'

When I hung up, I found that I was concerned about Madeline. I quickly reminded myself that I had enough other things to worry about, and that Madeline-to say the least-was a strong woman who could take care of herself.

There was nothing more to be done that night. I went home, took a hot bath, then fell asleep as soon as I lay down on the bed.

Nightmare time. I'd have expected something to do with werewolves and goblins, but it wasn't like that at all. I was at the bottom of some desert valley in which the colors were all wrong; low, green plastic sky, gray cactus and sagebrush, purple sand and stone. I was surrounded by figures that looked like people, but weren't. As if to confirm my suspicion, one of them pulled back his lips to reveal long snake-fangs. Slowly, in ballet-unison, all of the figures lifted their arms and wriggled their fingers: suddenly the air was filled with the deadly, rustling song of rattlesnakes. Then the figures began to change into snakes. A few, unable to complete the transition, exploded soundlessly. The rest completed their metamorphosis-almost; I was ringed by rattlesnakes with human faces.

It was all too absurd to take seriously. I knew I was dreaming, and I decided to wait patiently until I woke up.

My patience became a little strained when the snakes started to crawl toward me. Dream or not, the human faces on the scaled, limbless bodies repulsed me. I didn't want to be bitten. I instinctively reached out for a rock; one of the snakes hurtled through the air and buried its fangs in my right thumb. It hurt far more than such dream- things should, and I was relieved to feel the heavy-lidded, swirling sensation of vertigo that was always my passport to consciousness. The screen inside my head went blank and I slowly became aware of my bed, my pillow, the sheet over me, the hum of the air conditioning.

I was definitely awake, but my thumb still hurt. Something was wrong.

Something was gnawing on my thumb.

Tiny needles of fire and ice were vibrating in my flesh, grinding down to the bone. I sat bolt upright in bed and shrieked when I saw the dark, fluttering shape hanging from my thumb. I jumped out of bed and violently shook my hand, but the thing wouldn't come off. Bony, cold wings flapped against my hand, and I knew with sudden, chilling certainty what it was-and what was wrong with it.

Groaning aloud with revulsion and terror, I reached over with my left hand, wrapped my fingers around the