"I know little," he said finally. "But I suspect much, and fear even more."
I slammed my open hand down on my desk. "Why don't you cut out the cryptic bullshit and tell us something straight out, just for a change?"
Vollman raised his head and looked at me. He didn't seem to change expression, but I was suddenly very aware that I was sitting opposite a five hundred year-old monster who's probably killed more people than I've had meals.
But I've faced down creatures as scary as Vollman before. I didn't blink or look away. I wan't afraid of him – or so I told myself.
The old man held my gaze, then nodded, as if he had just confirmed something. "Very well, Sergeant. But what I know does not, regrettably, amount to a great deal."
Vollman settled himself in his chair before going on. "The symbols you showed me were, in fact, from the language of ancient Sumeria. They do not constitute a word, but rather seem to form the first three letters of the name of an ancient god."
"What god?" Karl asked him.
Vollman looked uneasy for the first time since I had met him. "I would prefer not to say the name aloud. This is a powerful and quite malevolent deity. It probably makes no difference whether its name is spoken, but I have learned something of prudence in my long life."
I knew what he meant. There are some names it's better not to say out loud, if you don't have to. Speaking of the devil doesn't necessarily make him appear – but it might.
"All right," I said. "Would you be willing to write it down for us, instead?"
"Yes," he said. "That I am prepared to do."
I found a pad in one of my desk drawers and handed it to Vollman, along with a pen. After a moment's hesitation, he wrote something on the pad and passed it back to me.
He had written the word "Sakosh."
It meant nothing to me. I showed the pad to Karl, who glanced at the name, looked back at me, and shrugged. He'd never heard of it, either.
I tossed the pad on my desk. "So, somebody killed a vampire last night with a silver blade, then carved the name of some old Sumerian god on the guy's forehead. What's this got to do with the Opus Mago and George Kulick?"
"Perhaps nothing," Vollman said. "But I hold very little faith in coincidence."
"Me, too," I said. "So?"
"So, the man in the alley was clearly a sacrifice, yes?"
"Fair assumption," I said.
"A sacrifice is used in magic to give power to a spell or incantation."
"Right."
"Most magical rituals that involve sacrifice call for the death of an animal. The sacrifice of a human being is used only in the blackest of the black arts, when some great evil is being contemplated."
"Agreed."
Vollman looked at Karl, then back at me. "Then ask yourselves this question, which has been haunting me for the last several nights: how monstrous must a spell be that requires the sacrifice of a vampire?"
There was a silence that Vollman finally broke by saying, "And remember the Opus Mago is a forbidden book precisely because it contains spells to be used for invoking the most potent of the dark forces, which are precisely the kind of powers that would require such an... extreme... sacrifice."
"So your theory," Karl said, "is that whoever stole the Opus Mago plans to carry out one of those blacker than-black rituals, and that the guy who got his throat cut is supposed to kick-start the process."
Vollman nodded. "That is the conclusion that I have reached, based on the available information."
Karl's chair creaked as he leaned forward. "So how do we find the guy who's doing this shit?"
"If I knew that…" Vollman shrugged instead of finishing the sentence.
"If you knew that, you wouldn't need us," I said. "That's the most honest thing you've ever said to us, even if you didn't really say it."
Vollman didn't respond to my dig. Istead, he asked politely, "Have your police colleagues produced any useful leads in the case of George Kulick?"
"Not a damn thing," I said. "No witnesses, no murder weapon, and the forensics stuff is pretty much useless."
"They found some stray hairs on the corpse," Karl said, "but whether they come from the perp or from the vic's girlfriend, or his mother, or whoever, we don't know. And a DNA match won't work until they have a suspect to match it to."
"I was just remembering something you said the other day," I told Vollman. "Whoever would mess around with the Opus Mago would have to be a wizard of 'supreme arrogance,' or something like that. I had the impression that you believe most practitioners of the Art wouldn't be caught dead with that book, so to speak."
"You are correct," Vollman said. "Even I have not read it – apart from a quick perusal, to verify its authenticity."
"You wouldn't read it," Karl said. "Okay, who would?"
Vollman raised his hands a few inches before dropping them back in his lap. "I have no idea."
"But among the local supes you're the man," Karl said. "You told us so yourself. So you ought to know which of the practitioners would have the stones to try a spell from this book."
"I ought to know, yes, and I do," Vollman said. "The answer to your question is, 'no one.'"
"None of the local wizards, witches, sorcerers, or wannabees would give it a try? You're sure?" Karl was like a terrier with a rat. He gets that way sometimes.
"Quite certain. The person in this area with the greatest chance of surviving such an attempt is, frankly, myself. And I would not venture such insanity."
"So it's an outsider," I said. "Somebody who came here for the express purpose of stealing the Opus Mago and making use of it."
Vollman thought about that for a while, or pretended to. Finally, he said, "You must be correct, Sergeant. I can think of no other explanation."
"Why here?" Karl asked. "Why Scranton?"
"Remember, there are only four copies of the Opus Mago known to remain in existence, Detective," Vollman said. "Kulick was the guardian of one of them. There were only so many places the thief could strike."