“Maybe. She was unconscious when I found her.”
“God knows what else she was forced to watch.”
“And take part in,” I added.
“Assuming she did see her parents die, don’t you think that — along with everything else — might not be enough to shock a girl to death?”
“I don’t know, Garth. You’re the one with all the explanations.”
“God, Mongo, you don’t believe that stuff Daniel told you?!”
“I believe the Marstens believed. And Daniel.”
“You’re right, Mongo. They are occult symbols.”
I watched Dr. Uranus Jones as she continued to finger the satin gown, examining every inch of it. Uranus was a handsome women in her early fifties — good looking enough to have carried on a string of affairs with a procession of lab assistants twenty years her junior, or so rumor had it. Her gray-streaked blond hair was drawn back into a ponytail, which made her look younger.
The walls of her university office were covered with astronomical charts, many of which she had designed herself. It was an appropriate decor for the office of one of the world’s most prominent astronomers. But I wasn’t there to discuss astronomy.
Uranus had a rather interesting dual career. As far as I knew, I was the only one of Uranus’ colleagues at the university who knew that Uranus was also a top astrologer and medium, with a near legendary reputation in the New York occult underground.
“What do they mean?”
“They look like symbols for the ascending order of demons,” she said quietly.
“What does it mean as far as the Marstens are concerned?”
Uranus took a long time to answer. “My guess is that the Marstens were witches practicing the black side of their craft. I’d say they were into demonology and Satanism, and they were trying to summon up a demon. Probably Baliel, judging from the symbols on this gown. From what you’ve told me, I’d speculate that the Marstens were using a ritual that rebounded on them. The rebound killed them.”
“Rebound?”
“The evil. It rebounded and killed them. They weren’t able to control the power released by the ritual. That’s the inherent danger of ceremonial magic.”
“What ‘power’?”
“The power of Baliel. I assume that’s who they were trying to summon. He killed them before they could exercise the necessary control.”
I studied Uranus in an attempt to see if she was joking. There wasn’t a trace of a smile on her face. “Do you believe that, Uranus?”
She avoided my eyes. “I’m not a ceremonial magician, Mongo.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It wasn’t meant to be. You asked about the symbols on the robe, and I’m responding in the context of ceremonial magic. I’m describing to you a system of belief. It’s up to you to decide whether that system could have anything to do with the fact that Kathy Marsten is dying. It’s your responsibility to choose what avenue to pursue, and, from what I understand, you don’t have much time.”
I wasn’t sure there was a choice. According to Doctor Juan Rivera, the practitioners of the system called medicine had just about played out their string. I risked nothing but making a fool out of myself. Kathy had considerably more to lose. There was a sudden ringing in my ears.
“All right. Within the context of ceremonial magic, why is Kathy dying?”
Uranus looked at me for a long time, then said: “Baliel is claiming a bride.”
“Come again.”
“The gown: it means that the child was to be a part of the ritual. My guess is that her parents were offering her up to Baliel in exchange for whatever it is they wanted. He killed her parents, and now he’s taking her.”
“You’re saying that Kathy is possessed?”
“Within the context of ceremonial magic, yes. And she will have to be exorcised if you hope to save her. To do that, you will need to know the exact steps in the ritual the Marstens were using. Needless to say, that’s not something you’re likely to find in the public library. And I don’t mean that to sound flippant. Assuming that such a ritual does exist, it would have taken the Marstens years to research from some of the rarest manuscripts in the world.”
The ringing in my ears was growing louder. I shook my head in an attempt to clear it. It didn’t do any good. “God, Uranus,” I whispered, “this is the Twentieth Century. I only have a little time. How can I justify using it to chase… demons?”
“You can’t, Mongo. Not in your belief system. Because demons don’t exist in your belief system. But they did in the Marstens, and Kathy Marsten is dying.”
“Yes,” I said distantly. “Kathy Marsten is dying.”
“Consider the possibility that you are what you believe. What you believe effects you. The witch and the ceremonial magician perceive evil in personal terms. Baliel, for example. Most men today prefer other names for evil… Buchenwald, My Lai.”
“She was talking about the mind of man,” I said, “That’s where the demons are. It’s where they’ve always been. The question is whether or not evil can be personified. Can it be made to assume a shape? Can it be controlled?”
Garth shook his head impatiently. “That’s all crazy talk, Mongo. You’re too close to it now. Give it some more time and you’ll know it’s crazy. There’s an explanation for everything that happened. There aren’t any such things as demons, and you damn well know it.”
“Of course there aren’t any such things as demons,” I said, lifting my glass. “Let’s drink on that.”
“Uranus, what’s a ‘book of shadows’?”
She looked surprised. “A book of shadows is a witch’s diary. It’s a record of spells, omens. It’s a very private thing, and is usually seen only by members of the witch’s coven.”
“A few hours before the fire Kathy Marsten asked me to get back her father’s book of shadows. She said it had been taken by a man named Daniel.”
Something moved in the depths of Uranus’ eyes. “I know of Daniel,” she said quietly. “He’s a ceremonial magician.”
“Meaning precisely what?” I asked.
“A man who has great control over his own mind, and the minds of others. Some would say the ceremonial magician can control matter, create or destroy life. The ceremonial magician stands on the peak of the mountain called the occult. He is a man who has achieved much. He works alone, and he is dangerous. If he took someone’s book of shadows, it was for a reason.”
“Then there could have been bad blood between this Daniel and the Marstens?”
“If not before Daniel took the book, then certainly after.”
I didn’t want to ask the next question. I asked it anyway. “Do you think one of these ceremonial magicians could start a fire without actually being in the room?”
“Yes,” Uranus said evenly. “I think so.”
“I want to talk to this Daniel.”
“He won’t talk to you, Mongo. You’ll be wasting your time.”
“You get me to him and let me worry about the conversation.”
A Philadelphia bank seemed like an odd place to look for a ceremonial magician. But then nobody had claimed that Daniel could change lead into gold, and even ceremonial magicians had to eat. It looked like this particular magician was eating well. He was sitting in a bank vice president’s chair.
He looked the part; that is, he looked more like a bank vice president than a master of the occult arts, whatever such a master looks like. Maybe I’d been expecting Orson Welles. In any case, he matched the description Uranus had given me; about six feet, early forties, close-cropped, steely gray hair with matching eyes. He wore a conservatively cut, gray-striped suit. There was a Christmas Club sign to one side of his desk, and beside that a name plate that identified him as Mr. Richard Bannon.