The moment Remo entered the passenger waiting area, her eyes went to his lean body. Remo had shucked off his coat, shirt, and tie, leaving only a white T-shirt above the waist and exposing his wiry, understated musculature and unusually thick wrists.
The woman in black was looking at his wrists in particular. Women sometimes did that. It was not the wrists themselves that attracted them, but an indefinable something that made Remo what he was. A combination of perfect balance and coordination that was as alluring to the opposite sex as animal musk.
Remo found the attention as boring as playing gin rummy with blank pasteboards.
He found sex even more boring. The techniques of Sinanju extended to sexual ones. Just as Remo had learned the myriad arts of the silent assassin, he had mastered perfect sexual technique. Unfortunately, for Remo, perfect sexual technique was as mechanical as changing a flat.
Remo pretended not to notice the weirdly pale woman. It wasn't easy. Everyone else was staring at her, which only made Remo's feigned indifference all the more obvious.
A little boy in a Transformed Tae Kwon Do Teen Terrapin trick-or-treat outfit walked up to the woman and asked, "Where's your broom?"
Instead of answering directly, the woman made a pass with one hand and said, "I cast a spell on you, impertinent boy!"
The boy started sneezing uncontrollably and ran away crying, "Mommy! A witch hurt me!"
Everyone in the terminal laughed at the overimaginative boy except Remo, whose sharp eyes caught the sprinkling of black powder and the scent of fresh pepper in the air.
All eyes were on the mysteriously smiling woman. She moved in Remo's direction. Remo moved off. She followed. Remo ducked into the men's room and washed his hands slowly.
He was relieved when his flight was called. When first-class boarding was announced, Remo started for the gate.
The cobwebby apparition slinked in front of him, throwing a sickly smile over her black shoulder.
Hi.
"You look it," said Remo sourly, hoping to quash further conversation.
The hope died when he found that she had the seat next to him. First Class rapidly filled up, killing any hope of his sliding into another seat.
The seatbelt sign came on, and the plane moved quickly to the taxiing position and thundered into the sky.
It droned out over Boston Harbor and turned south.
At that point, the tall, languid woman in black asked, "Are you aware of witches?"
"I'm aware of the one sitting next to me," Remo said thinly. "But only because she smells like rotting toadstools."
"It is not enough to look the part. One must smell the part."
"I'd rather smell car exhaust."
"My name is Delpha. Delpha Rohmer. I come from Salem."
"Figures."
One brush-stroke eyebrow rose. "You have not heard of me?"
"No."
"You must not read very much. I've been on all the talk shows, and profiled in everything from People to Boston Magazine."
From her low-cut cleavage, Delpha Rohmer produced a warm white business card that smelled like a stinkweed potpourri. She offered it.
Without touching, Remo glanced it over. The card read:
DELPHA ROHMER OFFICIAL WITCH OF SALEM, MASSACHUSETTS
In small Gothic letters in one corner was the legend: "President, Sisterhood for Witch Awareness."
This motivated Remo to ask, " 'Witch Awareness'?"
"You think I am in costume for the holiday, mortal?"
"Halloween isn't what I'd call a holiday."
"Correct. It is a sacred day to those who practice Wicca."
"Wicca?"
"Wiseness. The religion of pre-Christian womanhood. It is the oldest religion known to woman."
"Never heard of it," Remo said flatly.
"You're a man."
"What's wrong with men-don't they count?"
Delpha Rohmer looked Remo up and down, in a way that made him think of a vulture eyeing something that was not quite dead.
"They have their place," she said breathily, restoring the card to its nesting place.
Remo decided not to ask where that place was. He hadn't a clue, but he knew he didn't ever want to end up there.
The stewardess came by to inquire of their needs. Delpha pulled down her tray and demurred. Remo asked for mineral water. "Straight up. No ice."
Remo noticed Delpha dealing out a pack of oversized cards on her tray. At first he thought she was playing solitaire, until he noticed the faces of the cards. They were crudely drawn and crude, period. They depicted medieval figures, mostly female, all nude. The few men included one called "The Fool," who was dressed as a priest, and another called "The Hanged Man." One card, titled "The Lovers," showed two naked women embracing.
"Tarot," Delpha said, noticing his gaze.
"I didn't ask."
"You asked with your eyes. It was enough."
"Forget my eyes asked, then."
"Shall I do your Tarot?"
"Only if you'll do it out on the wing," Remo said.
"Men fear what they do not understand. It has always been thus with my kind. In the Middle Ages, we were persecuted. Those were the Burning Times. Today, those who practice the Craft are ridiculed. But after tonight, I will change that."
"Good for you."
"Tonight," Delpha went on in her sonorous voice, "the entire world will see that Wicca is no mere fantasy. For tonight is Samhain, November Eve, the night the Great Goddess sleeps."
"Your night to howl, right?"
"No. My night to break the spell that has fallen over one of the most pretentious idols of pagan malehood."
Delpha continued to turn over cards and look at their faces. To Remo, it looked exactly like solitaire.
"Yes," she went on, examining a card. "It is definitely an omen of evil."
Remo looked at the card. It said, "The Hanged Man."
"No argument there."
"There can be no doubt, the Rumpp Tower has been owl-blasted."
Remo started to blurt out, "Rumpp Tower?" but "owl-blasted?" slipped onto his tongue first.
"The ignorant would call it 'bewitched,' " Delpha murmured.
"The smart would call it bullshit."
"You would not say this, if only you knew what has happened to the great modern Tower of Babel."
"Okay," Remo said. "I'll bite. What's happened to the Rumpp Tower?"
"I am still attempting to divine the exact forces at work. But retrograde spirits have seized it for their plaything."
"Uh-huh."
Delpha turned over another card. "Their intent is unclear. This may be only a sign of their coming in force. Or perhaps Baphomet merely intends to claim one of his own."
"Baphomet?"
"The Great Horned One. The Lord of Death."
"That anything like the devil?"
"Baphomet is the All-Satan. He is also known as Lucifer, Shaitan, and Beliel. There is no doubt that Randal Rumpp has sold his soul for gold, and Baphomet has come to claim it."
"You can tell all that by playing Go Fish?" Remo asked.
"The Tarot does not lie."
"It doesn't even whisper. And I'm still waiting to hear what happened to the Rumpp Tower."
Delpha Rohmer looked up from her cards. She regarded Remo's strong, skeptical face with its prominent cheekbones.
"People who go in, do not emerge," she whispered. "And those who attempt to flee its enscorcelled confines fall through the earth."
"I heard that. Yeah," Remo said vaguely.
"But if Ishtar is with me, I may be able to undo his black sorcery."
"Sort of fighting fire with fire?"
"I am a white witch!" Delpha Rohmer said indignantly.
"Then why are you tricked out like Morticia Addams' third cousin, Moronica?"
"White lace yellows like crazy," said Delpha Rohmer flatly.
At that, Remo grabbed a passing stewardess in clown face.