Esobus keeping his identity secret even from the members of his own coven, the cubicle would probably be where the ceremonial magician held forth. A look inside the cubicle confirmed it. There was what I assumed to be a one- way mirror overlooking the area below. In front of the glass were a bare wooden writing desk and a straight-backed metal folding chair. The walls were bare, except for a small sign that had been lettered with India ink on heavy bond paper. It was neatly taped to the smooth wood just to the left of the glass, and read:
THE SEARCH FOR TRUTH IS NEITHER MORAL NOR IMMORAL: IT IS THE PREREQUISITE OF A CIVILIZED SOCIETY.
It seemed a curious motto for the leader of a coven that went around killing people and poisoning little girls.
I took the paper from the wall, folded it and put it in my pocket. Then I turned my attention to the small console of electronic equipment in the corner to the right of the desk. There were a tape deck, a microphone and equipment for voice distortion. I was certain that the message Joshua Greene had received at the hospital had been recorded on the machine I was looking at.
I went back out on the catwalk and walked around it. The gutting and reconstruction of the building was far from complete. There were a number of dusty corridors radiating off the catwalk to other sections of the building. I walked down one corridor and found myself in a large, bare area that looked as if it had once housed heavy equipment. I didn't have time to explore all the other sections, and I was anxious to examine the main floor. I returned to the catwalk.
There was probably a stairway leading downstairs if I looked long enough for it, but I was in a hurry. I found some heavy rope on a scaffold that had been left in a corner. I anchored the rope, then dropped it over the railing and shinnied down. At the bottom, just in case I wanted to get back up in a hurry, I coiled the rope end and hid it behind a section of black drapery. On the other side of the drapery, on the concrete apron of the main area, I discovered a large cubicle whose walls and ceiling seemed to have been constructed from prefabricated materials. A quick swing around the area behind the drapery showed that there was a total of twelve such cubicles.
I stepped into one, found the light switch and turned it on. Again, fluorescent lights flickered on. My heart almost stopped as I heard a sudden, pneumatic hissing sound. I wheeled and dived for the entrance. In a way, I was lucky that my reflexes were slightly off; if I'd been a split second faster, I'd have been decapitated or cut in half as a steel plate dropped from a hidden niche above the cubicle doorway and hit the floor with a solid, loud clang.
I got my arms up just in time and absorbed the force of my hitting the plate with my forearms. Panicked at being caught like an animal in a trap, I leaped up and hurled myself against the steel; the plate set me right down on the floor again. This time I stayed down, held my head in my hands and tried to calm nerves that were shrieking with fear. The plate was solid, and all I'd get from banging against it would be a broken shoulder and a headache.
If I had to play rat, I decided I might as well try to be a smart one: I got to my feet and carefully examined the surface of the plate. Fifteen minutes of this convinced me there was no way to escape; obviously, one had to make arrangements for walking out before walking in. That, I thought, didn't seem to bode well for my future-which could be very short. But I knew that the terror generated by dwelling on the fact would only sap my strength. There was nothing I could do but wait and see who-if anyone-was going to show up. I took out my gun and looked around.
The cubicle had been designed as an all-purpose private retreat for one of the coven members. There were a cot, a small library of sorts with an esoteric collection of occult books; there was even a black-draped altar with black candles. In the center of the altar was a large, hand-bound book with hand-tooled leather covers and thick parchment pages. A book of shadows. Having absolutely nothing better to do and needing something to keep my mind off my situation, I sat down on the edge of the cot, placed my gun next to my right thigh and began to leaf through the book.
It belonged to a man by the name of Jan Watson, a ceremonial magician from North Dakota. There were numerous pages of mystical diagrams, recipes for herb medicines and poisons, records of dreams and their magical interpretation in an occult framework. There was also a record of what Watson referred to as altered states of consciousness reached during coven ceremonies-most of which seemed incredibly ugly and vicious.
Apparently, I hadn't been the first persistent burglar to force my way into the coven's headquarters; according to Watson's book of shadows, three other men had been trapped as I was, then put to death in sacrificial rites. It seemed an effective, if somewhat tacky, method of cutting down on the neighborhood crime rate. It also made me feel slightly better. It seemed to mean that they wouldn't simply leave me there to starve to death. Also, I much preferred waiting around for a sacrificial rite to being gassed or shot from some hidden aperture in the walls or ceiling.
The most intriguing sections of Watson's book of shadows were those dealing with the formation of the coven a year and a half before; there were detailed records of the group's activities and proceedings. It made fascinating reading-right up to the point when the plate sighed open and John Krowl stepped into the room. I started to grab for my gun, then froze with my hand in the air.
Krowl was wearing a red, hooded robe with black occult symbols embroidered across the front. Dressed in the robe, his white hair framing the ghostly-pale flesh of his face, he made quite a striking figure. But it wasn't his costume that impressed me as much as the enormous black.45 automatic in his hand. The lights had been turned off in the main chamber, and there was a loud hissing sound from the activated gas jets. Behind Krowl, courtesy of Consolidated Edison, firelight flickered and danced like heat lightning.
Moving very deliberately, keeping the.45 aimed steadily at my chest, the albino came across the room, picked up my gun from the cot and threw it skittering behind him into the darkness. Then he moved back to a safe distance, by the entrance.
The only way out was through Krowl, but he'd have to be set up first. I'd have to try a little game of Concentration; to see just how good he was.
I closed Watson's book, crossed my legs, looked up at Krowl and tried to smile. 'Dr. Livingstone, I presume?' I was grateful for the fact that my voice came out steady, but with what I hoped was just the right amount of underlying hysteria. The hysteria wasn't difficult.
Krowl looked at me for a few moments, puzzled, then grinned crookedly. 'You're a tenacious fool, Frederickson.'
'The gun and the gas fire are rather newfangled, aren't they?' I asked, giggling inanely. 'I don't mean to offend you, but, frankly, it spoils the image.'
'The advantages of living in the twentieth century,' he said smugly. With the heavy artillery in his hand, at what he obviously-and with good reason-thought was the end of the matter, Krowl was showing that he could be positively droll.
'I can't believe you're going to kill me with a gun,' I said in the same thin, breathy voice I'd been using. 'I mean, a shooting would be so
It was time to try for the secret square and hope it didn't turn out to be a rubber duck-or a dead dwarf. I lunged forward, hitting the floor and rolling, aiming at Krowl's legs. The gun exploded in my right ear, partially deafening me; concrete splinters sprayed my face. Even as I came up into a crouch, I knew I'd missed. Krowl was standing over me, holding the gun steady with both hands. The barrel was inches away from my head, and I stiffened, closing my eyes and biting into my lip in anticipation of the next shot-which I doubted I'd even hear. It didn't come. I opened my eyes, wiped the blood off my mouth.
'You'll die, Frederickson,' Krowl snarled, 'but you'll die in a way
Krowl motioned me back. I sank to the floor, bracing my back against the wall, cursing silently and methodically at myself for missing the only chance I'd probably ever get, and at drug-and-disease-wasted muscles that wouldn't work properly. 'You're missing a couple of members,' I said, trying desperately to think, to plan. 'I'd hate to be sacrificed at anything less than a full-blown official gathering.'
