"Protecting myself from a physical body is a piece of cake, comparatively – there are a hundred spells that could do it. But guarding against a pure spirit is harder, because of all the different ways it can manifest. And the fact that he was a wizard makes it even trickier."
"Why should it? Dead is dead, no? Except when it's undead."
"I wish it were that simple. A dead man is a dead man, Stanley. But a dead wizard is… well, a dead wizard."
Rachel turned to face forward. "Come on, let's get this circus on the road, before I come to my senses."
After a while, the silence in the car started to get uncomfortable. For me, anyway. "Proctor," I said. "That name has… associations for me. Something to do with the Salem witch trials, maybe?"
"Very astute. I'm a descendant of John Proctor, who was hanged as a witch after being denounced by his housekeeper."
"Your family history of witchcraft goes back a long ways, then." I said.
"That it does – on both sides. My mother, whose maiden name was Brown, was a direct descendant of the Mathers – Increase, and his son, Cotton."
"Mathers – like in Leave it to Beaver?"
From the corner of my eye, I saw a glimmer of a smile.
"I've always thought that ought to be the title of a porn flick. Or maybe it was, and I missed it."
"I didn't know witches liked porn."
"Don't generalize from one example, Stan. And d beplay dumb, either. You know who the Mathers were."
"The guys behind the witch trials."
"That's an oversimplification, but – yeah."
"Sounds like an interesting family."
"It was that, all right. Proctors on one side, Mathers on the other – and me in the middle."
"You mean they used to-"
"Let's not talk any more, Stan. It's distracting me."
"Distracting? From what?"
"Praying."
Grave 24-C looked like all the other plots in this corner of the city cemetery, apart from the freshly turned earth on top. There'd be no headstone, of course. Anybody willing to spring for a marker to put on George Kulick's grave would probably have paid for a proper funeral in the bargain, and he'd likely have buried the guy in a better class of graveyard, too.
I helped Rachel Proctor set up for the ritual of necromancy, which was supposed to reach its climax at midnight. My help had mostly consisted of performing vital tasks such as "hold this" or "bring that."
As she laid out her materials, Rachel said, "I'm going to follow the Sepulchre Path of necromancy. It's the easiest, but it should allow us to get the information you need. If I do it right, it will temporarily grant me the power of Insight, which is the ability to see what the deceased saw in the last moments of his life."
"Could be pretty ugly, considering how he died," I said. "Can't you just call up his ghost and ask him who the killer was? I've heard of that being done."
"Yes, it can be done." She carefully opened a packet containing a dark blue powder and poured some into a bowl. "But probably not by me. That would require the Ash Path, which is far more difficult. You'd need a real adept to have a chance of pulling that one off. And when it comes to this stuff, an adept I ain't."
A little later I asked, "How many, uh, necromantic rituals have you been involved in, so far?"
Without looking up from what she was doing, she said, "Including tonight?"
"Sure."
"One."
"Oh."
She had made three concentric circles on the ground near Kulick's grave. The outer ring, I could see, was made of salt. The two inner circles were laid down using powders that I didn't recognize. The one making up the middle circle was red. The innermost circle was in white. "This is where you'll stand when it starts," Rachel had said. "Whatever happens, do not leave the inner circle until I have given the spirit leave to depart and I explicitly tell you it's safe. Always assuming I'm able to summon his spirit in the first place."
"What's so special about the inner circle?" I asked.
"The white circle is the strongest, kind of like the innermost ring of a rampart," she said. "It is your place of refuge, and mine, too, if things get hairy. Kind of like a shark cage when Jaws is in town."
I didn't remind her how relying on the shark cage had worked out in the movie, let alone the book.
"Why don't you just stay in the white circle the whole time, if it's safest?"
"Because I need access to the altar, which cannot itself be within the circle. Did you bring a personal object of Kulick's, as I asked you – something he had a lot of physical contact with?"
I produced a silver Montblanc pen. "Here. This was found on his desk blotter. Looks like he used it quite a bit."
"Good. Then we can begin."
Just outside thee, er ring, Rachel had set up the small portable altar we'd brought with us. On it burned three candles – red, white, and black. They sat at the points of a triangle drawn on the altar; the lines were red at the sides, but black across the bottom. She had also placed there several other objects, including bowls, small bottles, and a variety of instruments – some of which I recognized, others whose function I could only guess.
I was glad it wasn't windy, otherwise those candle flames wouldn't have lasted long. Then it occurred to me to wonder whether Rachel had anything to do with that.
Using a long handmade match that she sparked into life with a thumbnail, she lit two sticks of incense, placing each one in a container at opposite ends of the altar. It didn't take long for the smoke to make my eyes water.
"What the hell is that?" I asked.
"One is wormwood, the other is horehound," she said. "And I'd be careful about using the 'h' word right now – you never know what it might summon by accident. In fact, it would be better if you didn't talk at all, Stan."
I've been told to "shut up" before, but never so politely.
Facing the altar, Rachel stood with her hands spread wide. Then she began what I later learned is known as a "Quarter Call":
Spirits of Air,
We call to you.
The Breath of life the Knowledge of life, the Wind of life, it blows from thee to me, be with us now.
Then she turned forty-five degrees to her left, and continued:
Spirits of Fire,
We call to you.
The Heat of life, the Will of life, the Fire of life, it burns from thee to me, be with us now.
She made another quarter turn. She was facing me now, but I don't think she even saw me.
Spirits of Fire,
We call to you.
The Heat of life, the Will of life, the Fire of life, it burns from thee to me, be with us now.
Another turn, and she chanted:
Spirits of Earth,
We call to you.
The Flesh of life, the Strength of life, the Earth of life, it moves from thee to us, be with us now.
Then she faced the altar again.
I call upon Hecate, goddess of the crossroads.
Bless my work, and my endeavors.
Protect and keep me safe from harm.
From every place that harm is wrought.
From every evil that walks.
Protect me, wise one, guard me now.
O great Hecate, I beseech thee:
Watch over me this night that I might do this work both faithfully and well.
In thanks for your protection
I make this offering now.
There was a small wooden box on the altar. Rachel raised the lid and quickly reached in. Her hand came out holding something that moved in her grasp.
I looked closer. She was holding a brown-andwhite mouse, its tail twitching like a hooked worm. I wondered whether she'd trapped it herself or bought it at a local pet store. Either way, things weren't looking too good for Mr Mouse right about now.
Black magic requires a sacrifice – a blood sacrifice. It has its roots in the ancient religions, and their gods always required blood. In the case of some, like the Aztecs, the blood had to be human.