In The House Of Secret Enemies

Uranus shook her head. 'Not at the level at which this coven operated. You don't just 'leave' a coven like that. And, even if a member had died, they would never choose a boy like Bob to take his place. Borrn's coven is highly skilled. They would never accept an initiate.'

'Maybe the book belongs to somebody else.'

'I doubt it. A witch's diary is his most precious possession. He almost never lets it out of his sight.'

I put the book back in its place and started for the door. 'Garth should be here in a few minutes,' I said. 'You fill him in. I'll talk to him later.'

'Where will I tell him you've gone?'

'Tell him I've gone to have my fortune told.'

It took a bit of looking, but I finally found Borrn's store-front operation. It was the only open door in a narrow alley bounded on both sides by crumbling warehouses with boarded-up windows. I went through it.

The room was small and cramped, permeated by the smell of incense. Borrn sat in the middle of it like a spider in the middle of an invisible web that was no less deadly for the fact that I couldn't see it. In front of him was a plain wooden table on which was a crystal ball. It was the only exotica in the room; the rest consisted of bookshelves filled with books, most of which looked well-worn. I wondered whether he actually read them, or had picked them up in a secondhand bookstore. Borrn himself was dressed in a very unmystical outfit consisting of faded denims and dungaree jacket. I felt vaguely disappointed, like a boy who'd peeked into a clown's dressing room.

Borrn rose as I entered. He was not a big man, but he had presence, the kind of self-assurance that comes from being able to make a living doing what you like and being good at it. He was short and stocky, with brown hair and piercing black eyes.

'Can I help you?' His voice was soft, almost lilting, like the swish of a garrote before it bites into flesh.

I gave him a phony name. Business or no, I didn't want my name popping up at a later date on some astrologer's list of clients. 'I hear you tell fortunes.'

I'd offended him. Borrn sat back down and crossed his arms over his chest. 'I do not 'tell fortunes,' as you put it. I advise you to look on Forty-second Street.'

'What do you do?'

'If you are serious, I will read your palm. I charge twenty-five dollars for a one-hour consultation. However, I do not think you are serious. You would have known that I am not a fortuneteller.'

'What do you call palm reading?'

'The palm is a map of your past and an indication of what your future may hold. It does not tell your destiny; you decide your destiny.'

'It still sounds like the same thing.'

'It is not. If I tell you there is a red light two blocks from here, that does not affect your freedom to decide to stop for it or to run it.'

'It sounds a little complicated to me. How about doing my horoscope?'

He motioned me to sit down. I did.

'I believe your horoscope would be useless to you,' he said in the tone of a doctor criticizing a medication. 'I'm sure it will come as no surprise to you to be told that you're a dwarf. Your horoscope would probably show a great affliction in the physical area, but the rest might not necessarily hold true. A horoscope is like an insurance company's actuary tables. You differ markedly from the norm; your dwarfism-the immediacy of it-would consistently influence your life far more than the planets.'

'All right,' I said, holding out my hand, 'see what you can do with that.'

'Are you right-handed?'

'Yes.'

'Then this hand is the record of what you have done with your natural talents. The left is your subconscious, your potential. Later we will compare the two.'

He took my right hand and began to manipulate it, bending the fingers back and forth, pressing the mounds of flesh at the base of the palm and fingers. He had a soft, delicate touch. To this point he had been rather pleasant, a natural psychologist; I had to remind myself that the worst evil often comes in the nicest packages.

'Were you once in the circus?'

The question startled me, until I reflected on the logic of it. 'Sure,' I said evenly. 'We call it 'Dwarfs' Heaven.''

Borrn shook his head. He seemed puzzled. 'But you weren't there in the capacity of a clown, or a freak. You were important, had a wonderful reputation and considerable publicity. I. . see great coordination and drive. I would have to say that you were an acrobat. Or a tumbler.' He looked up at me. 'Is that right?'

I decided Borrn had one hell of an act. I resisted the impulse to look at my own hand. 'What else does it say?'

Borrn turned his attention back to my hand. 'The head line is very long and complex. I would say that you have-or once had-multiple careers. You have a great deal of intelligence, and may be a teacher, probably at an advanced level, as your hand shows that you are impatient with stupidity. Also, you are dying.'

The last went through me like a jolt of electricity. I yanked my hand away. 'It comes with the package,' I said tightly. 'That's why you don't see many dwarfs in old-age homes. Did Harley Davidson's hand say the same thing?'

That gave Borrn a little jolt of his own, but he had remarkable control. Something flashed in his eyes, then went out, leaving his eyes looking like two cold lumps of coal. The effect was startling, as though he had suddenly contracted and was watching me from somewhere deep inside himself, far behind the dull eyes I was watching. 'Who are you?' he asked. 'What do you want?'

'Davidson was one of your clients. Did you know that he's dead?'

'I do not discuss my clients,' Borrn said in a voice that was so low it was barely audible. 'Get out.'

'You may have to discuss Davidson with the police. I think you may have had something to do with his death. What did you tell him that would make him want to take his own life?'

I expected some kind of reaction and got none. I knew instinctively that Borrn was not going to say more. He sat very still, like some kind of statue executed in perfect detail, but still without life. Again, I had the impression that he had retreated to somewhere deep within himself to a trancelike state where, as far as I was concerned, he had left the room and would not be coming back. I swallowed hard. His eyes were blank, looking at and beyond me. I suddenly knew that he could stay that way for hours if he chose to do so. Nothing I could say or do would have the slightest impact on him.

It was the most effective brush-off I'd ever seen. I got up and left.

I didn't go far. It had been a long day, and I'd covered a lot of territory, geographic and emotional; but there was still a way to go, and I was anxious to get to the end of whatever road it was I was traveling on. Borrn had gotten to me in a way he probably hadn't anticipated. He'd known too much about me. That meant one of two things: He had actually seen things in my palm, or he had a dossier. To me it was no contest. I wanted to find the dossier, then find out who had given it to him, and why.

I killed what remained of the afternoon in a local bar over beer and a steak sandwich. Then I went out and bought a penlight and a navy blue sheet. Finally I went back to the alley. It was dark.

It took me all of thirty seconds to burgle my way into the store-front. I shrouded myself with the sheet to hide the light from the penlight and began to go through Borrn's rather extensive library. I wasn't sure what I was looking for; whatever it was, I didn't find it. Most of the books were highly technical treatises on astrology, replete with countless charts and tables that made my eyes water. That was it, except for a crumbling copy of something called the Kabala and other books on mysticism. There were no personal papers or records of any kind.

I sat down in Borrn's chair and tried to think. I'd apparently struck out in Borrn's office, and I doubted strongly that I would find any 'Borrn' listed in the telephone directory. Besides, judging from what Uranus and Garth had said, I wasn't going to get any information from people in the neighborhood who might have any.

I raised a good dwarf chuckle by reflecting on the fact that I might just have to 'scry' up some answers. I reached out and touched the crystal ball in front of me. It was heavy leaded glass. I absently pushed at it and heard a soft click behind me. I turned and whistled softly.