"I'm not sure I follow that reasoning."
"Of course you don't; that's because you're a good person. Most of us, if we hurt somebody, are quick to say we didn't mean it. Esobus-if there is an Esobus-makes no such rationalization, and seeks no forgiveness. It's looking-glass ethics: the search for a kind of salvation through evil. Anyway, I've heard a rumor that Esobus has created what you might call a 'super coven' here in the city."
"Why?"
Madeline shrugged. "I don't know, Mongo. I think it's just a story."
"I'm impressed, Mad; you do get around. Do you have any idea what Esobus' real name is?"
She shook her head slowly and deliberately. "I doubt that Esobus even exists," she said distantly, tension in her voice. "I think he's just a legend-something for Black Arts occultists to believe in. Like God. In the end, Esobus may turn out to be the Wizard of Oz."
"This Wizard of Oz sounds pretty dangerous."
Mad looked at me a long time, as though still lost in thought. "You still haven't told me what Esobus has to do with the girl's condition," she said at last.
"On Friday, the girl told me she'd heard her father say he thought either this Esobus or someone named Daniel had stolen his book of shadows. He was worried about it. That's the reason for all these questions."
"If a ceremonial magician took this man's book of shadows, it would have to be for a very good reason," she said quietly. "It would be like a minister stealing a sacred relic from someone else's church."
"What about this Daniel? Is he a ceremonial magician too?"
"Yes," she said tautly.
"But you don't know who he is?"
"I know who he is," Mad replied after a long pause. "But he won't talk to you about this-or about anything else having to do with the occult. You'll be wasting your time. These people have a saying: 'Those who know don't talk, and those who talk don't know.'"
"You've been talking, and I think you know what you're talking about."
Madeline smiled wryly. "A child's life is at stake. Besides, it's different with me; I'm a scientist. I'm interested in the pursuit of knowledge, not personal power."
"Most of your colleagues might find some irony in that statement," I said gently.
"To say the least. But I don't worry about what my colleagues think-only what they know. What they're not aware of they can't worry about."
"You get me to this Daniel, and let me worry about striking up a conversation."
She slowly walked around behind her desk, sat down. She suddenly looked much older, and very tired. "Daniel's real name is Richard Crandall," she said in a low, strained voice. "He lives and works in Philadelphia. I don't know his home address, but this is the name and address of the bank where he's vice-president." Madeline quickly wrote down the information on a piece of paper and slid it across the desk to me. I picked up the paper and put it in my pocket.
"Daniel is the most celebrated ceremonial magician in this part of the country," Madeline continued, reaching across her desk and touching my arm. "That doesn't mean anything to you now, but it might in a few days. You'll undoubtedly find Daniel strange, but he's a very strong-willed and powerful man. Until now, no one outside of the most sophisticated occult circles knew of his secret spiritual life, accomplishments or reputation. You now become the exception. His identity was a kind of 'gift' offered to me in honor of my own. . accomplishments. I'm giving you Daniel's real name because I realize you must do everything you can to save this child's life. But I have to ask you not to tell Daniel how you found out about him."
"I understand, and I won't. Do you think he's dangerous?"
"I've never met him personally. I know that he's respected-and feared-by those who do know him personally. That's something for you to bear in mind, my friend. My concern is that he could cut me off from my occult contacts."
"And they're important to you, aren't they?"
"You know they are," Mad said, then dropped her gaze.
I stared at the top of the scientist's head for a moment, then turned and walked toward the door. I was very conscious of the fact that every minute could count, and I was anxious to get to my car and begin the drive to Philadelphia. Yet something made me hesitate with my hand on the knob and turn back; perhaps it was the realization that I was entering a world I didn't understand at all, and was anxious about it. Madeline's seriousness had had an impact on me.
"Mad," I said softly, "what's this all about?"
She looked up at me and frowned, obviously lost in her own thoughts. "Excuse me?"
I smiled. "How is it you've never told me before about any of these hidden talents of yours? God knows we've sat through enough boring faculty parties together."
After a few seconds Madeline smiled thinly and seemed to relax. "What would your reaction have been if I had told you?"
"I'd have choked on my Scotch, of course."
"That's what I thought," Mad said wryly. She paused, tapped her desk once, then continued in a low voice. "It started as a hobby. I was curious about things like the statistical rise in the crime rate when there's a full moon. Astronomy evolved from astrology, you know, and astrology is ages old. I believe that anyone who rejects out of hand the tools that other men have found useful for thousands of years is a fool. The Occult is the Mother of Science, my friend."
"It seems to me that science is what replaced ignorance and superstition," I said evenly.
"That's true," Madeline replied easily. "Most of what you read about the occult in the popular press is nonsense." She paused, looked at me intently. "But not all of it is nonsense, I assure you. It's like digging for diamonds; you may have to wade through twenty tons of coal before you find even a small gem. I've been willing to get dirty."
"What if there aren't any diamonds? Maybe science has taken all there is to take from that particular mine."
"Oh, there are still diamonds there, Mongo. As far as I'm concerned, astrology-done properly-is really nothing more than the application of statistics. The question is simply stated: Can you correlate the position and movement of certain celestial objects with people's behavior? Insurance companies do almost exactly the same thing all the time; they charge rates based on a person's neighborhood, occupation, race and so on. You don't see many insurance companies going out of business, do you?" She raised her eyebrows, shrugged. "Either the trends of a person's life correlate with the predictions of his horoscope, or they don't. You'd be surprised at how often they do correlate. Statistics."
She paused, tilted her head to one side and looked at me inquiringly. When I said nothing, Mad opened her desk drawer and took out a series of charts and graphs. She rose, laid the papers out in front of her and motioned for me to come over. I did so, increasingly impatient to be on my way but anxious to hear everything Madeline had to say. She seemed excited now, totally absorbed in whatever it was she wanted to share with me. The charts were complex computer readouts of letters and numbers that made no sense to me whatsoever.
"This is a statistical analysis I'm working up," Madeline continued. "It will include all the horoscopes I've ever cast, as well as charts from other well-known astrologers. The subjects are letter-coded to ensure anonymity. I won't bother you with the details, but the idea is to codify specific astrological predictions in a research model that can be scientifically evaluated. If my hypothesis is correct, I'll end up with statistical proof that astrological techniques can be used to predict behavior."
For some reason I thought of Janet Monroe and her work with Esteban Morales. "Interesting," I said. "Where do you get your funding?"