Madeline's hair, a natural strawberry blond in old photos she'd shown me, was now a burnished silver. She wore it long, swept back from her face in a manner that gave her a sleek, sexy look. She was pushing fifty, but daily, vigorous jogging had given her the face and body of a thirty-year-old, and she had the glittering, playful eyes of a teen-ager. She was a sensual woman, and made no effort to hide the fact; she was attractive-and energetic-enough to have carried on a string of affairs with a procession of lab assistants twenty years her junior. Madeline Jones might have been many things, but a tease wasn't one of them. I'd had more than one thinly veiled invitation from her, but had passed each time. I wasn't sure why; maybe she scared the hell out of me-or maybe I simply didn't want to jeopardize a cherished friendship.
Madeline glanced up from a celestial map she'd been studying and grinned at me as I entered the office. "Hello, Sugar," she said throatily, sea-blue eyes flashing. "Remember to take your cold shower?"
"Please don't test me, darlin'," I said, going across the room and kissing her hand. "Damn, you're a good-looking woman!"
"You look tired," she said seriously.
"I am, babe."
"Oh!" she said playfully, pointing to the package I carried under my arm. "You've brought me a present!"
"Not exactly, Mad," I replied, unwrapping the gown and handing it to her. "I'm told you might be able to tell me what these symbols mean."
Madeline tentatively took the garment from my hand and examined it. When she looked up, her eyes were veiled. "What makes you think I'd know anything about these designs?" she asked guardedly.
"Garth told me about you, Mad. Lieutenant Frederickson. Did you know he was my brother?"
"I knew," she said icily. "He had no right betraying my confidence."
It was the first time I'd ever seen her angry; somehow, it made her even more beautiful. "Garth wouldn't have done it if it weren't absolutely necessary, Mad. This is an emergency. A little girl's life could depend on what I can find out about the symbols on this gown-and how fast."
I quickly filled Madeline in on the details of what had happened during the night. As Mad listened, her face became stiff and she seemed to grow increasingly agitated. When I told her about Kathy's condition, she raised the back of her hand to her mouth as if to stifle a cry. When I finished, she abruptly turned and walked to the opposite side of the room.
"The girl's lucky she has you as a friend, Mongo," the astronomer said very softly. "You were right; the symbols do mean something. I don't know what's been done to her, but something has been. . done. The girl's life is definitely in danger. The gown is covered with magical vengeance and attack symbols. It's meant that she should die. . and I think her death is meant as a warning to someone."
"You mean the girl was poisoned in order to send a message?"
"Yes," she said so softly that I could hardly hear her. "You might say that."
Mad's back was to me, muffling her voice even further. I walked across the room in an effort to see her face, but she turned away from me. I stopped where I was. "Can you tell from the gown who the warning is meant for?"
Madeline shook her head; the slight movement sent her silver hair undulating back and forth across the back of her head in shimmering waves. "No," she said. "As far as what's been done to her, witches would probably try to use something organic. There are certain herbs that could be used, like hemlock, but I don't know much about those things." She paused, then whispered, "It's so unbelievably evil to use a child like that."
"Mad, does the term 'book of shadows' mean anything to you?"
Now she slowly turned to look at me. There was surprise in her face. "A book of shadows is a witch's diary," she said. She sounded distracted, and the focus of her eyes slowly shifted until she was looking somewhere beyond me.
"A witch's diary?"
Madeline nodded. "It's a collection of spells, omens, dreams, coven rituals-anything the witch considers important. It's meant to be a record of spiritual growth."
"Can a man be a witch?"
"Most definitely," Mad said distantly. Her gaze slowly came back into focus on my face. "Anyway, a book of shadows is a witch's most precious possession. It's only seen by other members of the witch's coven-if it's shared at all."
Which seemed to mean that Frank Marlowe had been a witch. Without question, he'd been traveling in nasty company; and whoever had done him in hadn't lacked brains, nerve or skill. They'd known enough about herbs or drugs to poison Kathy with a substance that seemed to be virtually untraceable; enough about chemicals to arrange for a chemical fire by delayed combustion; finally, they'd been cool enough to lock the door behind them.
A message. But for whom?
Smart, yes; evil, definitely so. But there was something that just didn't make sense to me. Marlowe might have been strange, but I'd sensed that he was basically a decent man; I couldn't imagine him belonging to the kind of group that had probably killed him.
So far, I couldn't see how anything Madeline had told me could be of use in finding out what was wrong with Kathy. I decided to take a flyer. "Mad, do the names 'Daniel' and 'Esobus' mean anything to you?"
Mad's eyes widened and her face grew pale. "Esobus? Does Esobus have something to do with this?"
Her sharp reaction startled me, and I felt my stomach muscles tighten. "Possibly. Why, Mad?"
She put her hand to her brow, momentarily shielding her eyes. "It's incredible," she said in a weak, baffled tone, slowly shaking her head. " 'Esobus' is a witch name-a pseudonym. There have been rumors for months about a very powerful and evil ceremonial magician in New York using that name."
"What's a 'ceremonial magician'?"
Mad took her hand away from her face and sighed. "Mongo, what do you know about witches, or the occult?"
"Yesterday, I'd have made a smart remark about broomsticks and pumpkins," I said evenly. "Now I'm just listening."
Mad's eyes had gone out of focus again, and I wasn't even sure she'd heard me. "From a Christian point of view, you might describe a ceremonial magician as an upside-down priest," she said. "But it really has nothing to do with Christianity. A ceremonial magician is a priest of the occult-a master."
"A heavy witch?"
"Yes and no. Both are seekers of knowledge and power, but ceremonial magicians are really beyond witchcraft. Witches form covens. Thirteen is considered a magical number; as you probably know, it's the traditional number of witches in a coven. Witches try to work their will on the world, and they believe the coven protects them from being consumed by the very forces they're trying to summon forth."
Madeline's voice trailed off, as though she had lost her train of thought-or was thinking of something else. Her eyes looked roiled, muddy. I was about to say something when she continued: "Ceremonial magicians work alone. Witches believe that the ceremonial magician learns to control the world around him as he learns to control himself. There are some who are supposed to be able to control matter-or even create life."
"Do you believe that?"
She smiled thinly. "No, I don't believe that. But the story on Esobus is that he destroys life; he attempts to accumulate personal power through the conscious pursuit of evil."