An Affair Of Sorcerers

managed to bag you, Krowl. You certainly weren't Michael McEnroe, but you'd have to do. For the rest, Esobus and Smathers had to settle for more dumbies-like you-who'd be willing to accept a squawk box as a leader.'

It was all speculation, a barrage of words fired in a wide scatter pattern, and I paused to try to gauge Krowl's reaction. I decided I must be pretty close to the target; the albino's mouth was slightly open, and his breathing had grown rapid and shallow.

'You're the conduit,' I continued. 'You're the key to this operation. People come to you for help and advice in your capacity as a palmist and tarot reader. With your talent, you can hit a moving vulnerability a mile away. Then you reel them in. Also, of course, there's the prestige the suckers feel from being in secret association with the great John Krowl-in a coven, no less; that's the clincher. You suck them in, then farm them out to other members of the coven-like advising Harley Davidson to leave Jake Stein at William Morris and sign Sandor Peth as his manager. Right up to the moment they die-or are milked dry-they continue to believe that they're members.

'I'm betting the rift between you and your teacher came when McEnroe found out what you were up to; he heard you'd been extended an invitation and were going to join. He also knew that, despite all your talent, you were evil and could be exploited. That's when he dumped on you.' I paused, leaned slightly forward and smiled. 'As far as I know, you only messed up with one man-but that was some screw- up.'

'You don't know what you're talking about,' Krowl said defensively.

'The hell I don't. Frank Marlowe had you turkeys in his sights from the beginning.'

Krowl's eyes flashed. 'The man you're referring to didn't survive long, did he?'

'You murdered him, but you didn't control him. You cast Bart Stone, big-shot Western writer, in the role of sucker, and all the time Frank Marlowe was playing Exorcist. He was planning to rip you off. I think that's funny as hell. Who knows? Before you killed him, Marlowe may even have found out who Esobus is.'

Two more figures had joined the group outside. The cubicle was beginning to heat up, but I couldn't tell whether it was from the fire outside, or the fear inside me. Krowl motioned for me to get up.

'It's not going to do you any good to kill me,' I said quickly, my voice too high-pitched. 'I put my brother on to Peth. If I end up dead or missing, you're going to learn a new definition of the word, 'pressure.' '

'Peth is dead,' Krowl said smugly. 'In our world, the slightest mistake is paid for with death. Peth's mistake jeopardized us all, and he had to be eliminated. Now there's no proof of our existence; when you're dead, there'll be no one to lead the police to us.' He smiled broadly, triumphantly. 'In any case, we have many people, who think they're members, in a position to protect us.'

He was probably right. The book of shadows I'd read was proof of a sort, and there were undoubtedly others lying around in the other cubicles; but no one was ever likely to find one, any more than they were likely to find my ashes.

'There is one thing you can tell us,' Krowl continued. His voice seemed slightly off-key.

'Why should I tell you anything?'

'Because if you do, we'll spare the lives of the girl and her mother. I give you my word on that. We do have our own code of honor, and I offer you that.'

'You can stick your word and your code of honor up your ass, Krowl.'

'You were searching for what you thought was Frank Marlowe's book of shadows. I want to know if you found it; if you did, I want to know what you've done with it.'

The question struck me with the force of a blow to the stomach. It confirmed that the coven hadn't taken Marlowe's book of shadows, and they were very much afraid of what it might contain. Marlowe's diary was the last threat to them.

'I never found it,' I said quietly. 'I could play games and tell you I did; but I didn't.'

Krowl studied me for a long time, then nodded brusquely. 'I believe you,' he said at last.

'Good. It's the truth. So lay off the Marlowe woman and her daughter. There's no power for you in hurting them.'

'I am ready.'

The sound, shrill and distorted, filled the building.

'O pentacle of power, be thou fortress and defense for Esobus against all enemies, visible and invisible, in every magical work.'

'It's time,' Krowl said quietly, motioning with the gun for me to rise.

When I tried to stand, my condemned man's legs almost gave way under me. 'I've got one more question,' I said thickly, easing myself up by bracing my back against the wall. 'You talk about a code of honor: What the hell did the little girl have to do with it? You killed Marlowe because you found out he was on to you and investigating your operation. Okay. But why poison the child? What kind of honor is that?'

Krowl hesitated, then said, 'Debts must be paid; betrayals must be avenged.'

'You did avenge Marlowe's betrayal when you killed him. Why take it out on his daughter too?' Krowl remained silent, staring. 'Did someone else betray you, Krowl?'

Something dark moved across his eyes, but before I could chase it the voice came again, this time more forcefully.

'It's time!'

Krowl nodded toward the others waiting outside. As one, their right hands came out of their sleeves; each hand was holding a large, glittering blade. With a precision that would have made the Rockettes envious, the robed figures moved into the cubicle and surrounded me, the points of their daggers pinning me in the center of the circle they'd formed. Now Krowl put away the gun and took out his own knife.

Surrounded by sharp steel, I was herded into the huge outer chamber, close to the fire. Fueled by adrenaline, my legs were working all right, but there was no way I could duck away from or under the knives without being run through-which was what I suspected was going to happen anyway. At a word from Krowl or Esobus, eight blades would slice into me.

I glanced up at my last refuge of hope-the platform over my head. The mirror at the front of the elevated cubicle stared back at me like a baleful, pupilless eye reflecting the firelight.

As if to acknowledge my attention, Esobus began to chant.

'Black Bull of the north, Horned One, Dark Ruler of the mountains and all that lies beneath them. Prince of Evil, be here, we beseech thee, and guard this circle from all enemies!'

The group repeated the chant, then went into a series of other invocations in some archaic tongue that I couldn't understand. At one point I thought they might be sufficiently mesmerized to have lost track of the ceremony's piece de resistance; I tensed, ready to move. Suddenly, as if reading my mind, Krowl stuck me in the stomach with the point of his blade. The needle tip went through my shirt and into my flesh, drawing a dribble of blood that ran warm down my belly and into my groin. I stiffened and stayed that way. Krowl had nicked me without missing a word.

There was a long silence; then the mechanical voice intoned:

'Robert Frederickson.'

'Present; but I'd like to be excused.'

'I conjure thee; by night your eyes are blinded, by day your ears are stopped, by earth your mouth is sealed, by rock your limbs are bound!'