The smoked glasses resembled two huge insect eyes on his colorless face. "I never said that," I replied softly to the eyes.
"And I'll sue you if you do, Frederickson! I don't involve myself with witchcraft at all."
"Maybe not, but I'm betting you know a lot of people who do. Did you talk to Esobus after I left here the other night?"
He laughed thinly, without humor. "What are you talking about?" he snorted. "Esobus is a fairy tale."
"Bullshit. I'm betting that particular fairy tale is damn well upset right now. Somebody in his coven doesn't quite live up to the going standard of nastiness. The hospital received a tape recording explaining what was wrong with the child. Thanks to whoever sent it, the girl's going to live."
I watched for a reaction; there was none. The black insect eyes simply stared back at me. Finally, Krowl said: "I'm glad the child is out of danger, but I'm going to give you a warning. I have no idea who the people are that you're after, but there's no doubt that you're on a fishing expedition-and you're fishing in my home. This time you came close to making accusations: I resent that. I've told you I know nothing about this matter, but you don't believe me. Have it your way: If you think I'm involved, prove it. Otherwise, I advise you to stay away from here. And keep your mouth shut." He paused, coughed dryly; it was a soft, slightly menacing sound. "I'll have your license, Frederickson. Believe me; I have very powerful friends."
I believed him, and I knew I'd probably made a mistake in coming to see him. I was on a fishing expedition, and Krowl didn't have to be a genius to know it. If he was involved with the coven, he was now definitely on notice that I was looking him over. The powerful friends he'd mentioned could easily chew me up and spit me out in the various regulatory agencies I was responsible to. I was going to have to back off until I could gather more evidence.
Of course, there was always the possibility that Krowl was totally ignorant of Esobus and his works, as Krowl claimed.
I doubted it. He'd never even bothered to ask what had been wrong with Kathy.
After a good night's sleep I rose at ten, feeling fairly decent. I ate a light breakfast and went over to the Medical Center for my shot. On the way it occurred to me that exactly one week before I'd been happily drumming away, planning to while away the rest of the summer nibbling at the Big Apple. I'd ended up with a mouthful of worms. It seemed years since I'd rolled up my practice pencils into the Tchaikovsky score and filed the package away in my drawer.
Kathy had been moved from Intensive Care into a private room. She was out of the coma, but under heavy sedation as a result of the washing-out process she was undergoing. I was allowed to look in on her; as I stood next to her bed looking down on her peacefully sleeping body, I felt tears of gratitude well in my eyes. I waited a few minutes, hoping that April would show up. She didn't, and I went downstairs to keep my appointment with Joshua Greene.
By now the injection procedure was becoming a familiar-if no more pleasant-ritual. After the shot, a nurse brought me tea and Joshua left me alone to dress. On my way out of the room I almost bumped into an excited and flushed April who was carrying a shopping bag that looked heavy. As always when I saw her, I experienced a small rush in my stomach and chest that had absolutely nothing to do with rabies shots.
"Robert!" she cried. "I was just on my way over to your apartment. I met Dr. Greene in the elevator and he told me you were down here."
"Ah, and you come bearing gifts," I said, smiling and pointing to the bag.
"It may be something better," April said, her voice taut and humming with excitement. "After you left yesterday, I drove home to Philadelphia to look for those things of Frank's I told you about. Now that Kathy's going to be all right, I thought it was time I tried to help you and Garth." She used both hands to lift the bag. "Here's what I found."
My heart began to pound as I took the bag from her and carried it over to an examining table. "Is this all there was?"
"I don't know, but this is definitely what he brought last Saturday. I recognized the bag. There may be more in other parts of the attic, but I wanted to bring this to you as quickly as possible."
Slowly and carefully, I began to take the items from the bag and lay them out on the table. There were a number of books on witchcraft, most of which looked academic and sophisticated. Many of the pages were heavily annotated in what April confirmed was Frank Marlowe's handwriting. There were also three notebooks, which I skimmed through quickly. They consisted of research notes on witchcraft and the occult in general. There was no mention of Esobus, or a supercoven.
At the bottom of the bag was a leather carrying case which contained a tiny tape recorder of the sort a person can strap to his body in order to make surreptitious recordings. There was also a small spool of recording tape.
"Have you listened to this yet?" I asked April, picking up the tape.
She shook her head and gripped my arm. "I'm not sure how the machine works; I was afraid I'd break the tape, or erase it."
I put the tape in the machine, turned it on.
"Black Bull of the north, Horned One, Dark Ruler of the mountains and all that lies beneath them, Prince of the Powers of Earth, be present, we pray Thee, and guard this circle from all perils approaching from the north!"
The chant was repeated twice. April whispered in my ear: "It's an invocation of protection. It may be the coven!" I nodded as another, lone voice came on the tape.
"Whence come you?"
"I travel east in search of light."
"What passwords dost thou bring Esobus?"
"Perfect love and perfect trust."
April gasped, and I shut off the machine. "It's Frank, isn't it?" I asked softly.
She slowly nodded, her eyes wide with shock. "Yes. It's Frank's voice. What we're hearing is an initiation ceremony."
"Frank's initiation ceremony."
"And the other voice …" I turned the machine back on.
"I, the Guardian of the watchtower of the north, forbid thee entrance. Thou canst not enter this holy place from the north, save thou first be purified and consecrated. Who vouches for you?"
A third voice came on the tape; it was distant and muffled, barely audible.
"I, guide of souls, do so. Let Bart Stone be one of us."
The tape ran out; I rewound it and played it over again twice. April went to a corner of the room and stood leaning against the wall, her hands to her temples. The third voice that had come in was totally unrecognizable. Obviously, Frank Marlowe had wired himself for his initiation ceremony, but the tiny recorder had picked up only the sounds of the group's chanting, Marlowe's own voice-and the voice of the coven leader. That voice had been amplified and distorted.
"The leader," April said tensely. "It sounds just like the voice on the tape that was delivered to the hospital."
"That's right. It is the same person."
"Robert, what does it mean?"
"It means you were wrong about Frank not being a part of Esobus' coven." I paused and carefully started replacing the items in the shopping bag. What I was thinking was so off-the-wall that it threatened to turn the entire case inside out, blowing away a major assumption I'd been operating on up to that point. Yet the evidence offered by the two tapes appeared to point to one, inescapable conclusion. I finally put my thoughts into words, if only to hear how insane they sounded when spoken aloud. "It also means-or seems to mean-that the person responsible for saving Kathy's life is Esobus himself."