“My God…Linda, what is Briggs? I mean, what role does he play in relation to Gordon?”
“I’ve wondered so often myself. Sometimes I think he’s just another victim, but a willing one. Sometimes I see him as the éminence grise behind Gordon’s latest activities. They’re hand in glove, anyway, never doubt that.”
Her face was averted, her voice rapid. She could hardly speak of the man, her loathing was so great. Michael realized that the basis for her aversion was more than a spiritual rejection. Perhaps it had not been Briggs’s dabbling in questionable theology that had caused his expulsion, but rather his inability to conform to the basic tenets of the priestly orders. He wondered whether Gordon was aware of his colleague’s attitude toward his wife; and knew that, if Gordon was what they had conjectured him to be, this would only be another weapon in his hands.
In the middle of the afternoon, Napoleon returned.
Michael hadn’t noticed his long absence; he had too many other things to worry about. He was in the kitchen making another pot of coffee when the heavy body thudded down onto the counter; and then he remembered that Napoleon never missed coming home for breakfast.
He reached out for the animal, expecting the usual snarl and rebuff. But Napoleon’s lackluster stare remained fixed on thin air and he did not move. Michael passed his hands over the cat’s body. He found no new wounds. Whatever else he had been doing, Napoleon had not been fighting. Which was in itself a sign of something wrong.
Lifting the unresponsive bulk, he carried it into the bedroom.
“He’s sick,” he said, sounding like a nervous parent.
Linda looked up from the book she was not reading.
“Let me see.”
Michael dumped the cat onto her lap and Linda investigated.
“I don’t know,” she said doubtfully. “He’s a mess-why don’t you chaperon him better?-but what’s left of his fur feels sleek enough. And his eyes look okay…”
Returning her look owlishly, Napoleon made the rusty grinding noise that passed for a purr. When Michael reached out for him, he eluded his master’s hand with the old agility, and leaped down off the bed. Michael trailed along after him while Napoleon made a thorough inspection of the apartment, from bathroom to kitchen. Having arrived at his food dish, he squatted down in front of it and began to gulp with a ravenous intensity that relieved much of Michael’s worry.
He wandered back into the bedroom.
“He’s eating.”
“I expect he’s all right, then. Michael…Would you think me ridiculous if I found his return reassuring?”
“I never thought of that. Hell, honey, it’s illogical. Cats are supposed to fawn on demons.”
She didn’t answer. Michael sat down wearily on the edge of the bed and put his hand on her ankles. He ran his finger under the thick silk, making sure it was not too tight.
“Don’t,” she said.
“It’s stupid,” Michael burst out. “You can untie it yourself any time you want to.”
“But it would take time. You’d have some warning.”
“For God’s sake-”
“What time is it?’”
“About two.”
“Don’t lie.”
“All right! Three. Well, maybe three thirty…”
“Another hour,” she said. “We must leave a wide margin.”
“I’ll call Galen again.”
“You’ve called twice in the last hour. They’ll give him your message.”
“And if he doesn’t come by the time your deadline is up?”
“I won’t stay here tonight.”
“A hotel room won’t be any safer,” Michael said, deliberately misunderstanding her.
“It’s not a hotel room I’m contemplating.”
“Linda, you can’t do that! If you get yourself committed to some hospital, the only one who could possibly get you out is Gordon himself. I don’t even have the legal right to ask questions. You can’t lock yourself into a room and throw away the key.”
“I will not stay here tonight.”
“You’ll have to,” Michael said. “I won’t let you go.”
She looked up at him, a pale ghost of humor in her face.
“Funny. You’re driven to the same extremity I tried to force you to earlier. Yes, you can keep me here. Bound and gagged…Have you thought about how it would look, if someone forced his way in and found me like that?”
“Constantly,” Michael said with a groan.
“And you’d risk that?”
Michael reached out for her, compulsively, but she fended him off with a strength that had panic behind it.
“Don’t, don’t ever do that! You kissed me last night, before-”
“You don’t mean…” Michael hesitated. He was surprised, and disgusted, to realize that his predominant emotion was jealousy.
“There may be a connection,” she said. Her eyes refused to meet his. “I won’t…go into details. But there may be.”
“I see.”
“That would have to be one of the conditions we must agree to, if I do stay.”
“I’m not that big a fool,” Michael said roughly. “Even if I do act like it most of the time. What other conditions?”
“Have you got any sleeping pills?”
“Never use the things. What makes you think they would help? I’d be inclined to suspect the reverse. The less control you have over your conscious mind…”
“Since you don’t have any, there’s not much point in debating that.”
“How true. Anything else?”
“Find a key for that door. And barricade it.”
“Honey, for the love of Mike-what if there’s a fire, or a burglar, or-something else? We can’t anticipate his moves; he might do anything. If I couldn’t get to you-”
“It’s a risk we must take.” Her eyes were hard as stone; the eyes of a fanatic. “Another thing. I want you to search this place from top to bottom. Make sure Gordon hasn’t left any other little souvenirs, like the notebook.”
“You think…?”Michael cogitated. “I wonder.”
“I’m not thinking, I’m just grasping at straws. But according to some occult theories, there must be a physical connection between the spell and the person whom it is meant to affect-like the doll, which uses the victim’s own hair or nail clippings. Why not a physical connection, a focus, for the warlock’s spells? Gordon isn’t careless about his belongings. That notebook was left here deliberately.”
“I agree. I’m sloppy, but not unconscious; the book was planted under a pile of material I wouldn’t ordinarily refer to. Wait a minute. If your theory is right, he must have planted something at Andrea’s house.”
“He’s been there any number of times.”
“He went there looking for you, before you came here the first time,” Michael said. “He admitted entering the house.”
“So it’s possible. I’m not sure of this, Michael. I think it’s worth checking, though.”
“I’m trying to figure out when he could have hidden the notebook.”
“Hiding it wouldn’t take more than a few seconds. It must have been here for several days, Michael. Because the summoning that brought you to Andrea’s didn’t come from me. There’s only one person who could have sent it.”
“The idea had occurred to me. But I can’t think of any reason why he should do such a thing.”
“His reasons aren’t comprehensible to normal people. I can think of an analogy, though: the pathologically jealous husband who keeps accusing his wife of infidelity until finally, in sheer desperation, she goes out and acquires a lover.”
“Yeah, I knew a guy like that. His wife finally left him, and he took it as proof that he’d been right about her all along. All right.” Michael stood up. “I’ll search the place. The fact that Briggs was so ostentatious about removing the notebook might have been a bluff, to conceal the existence of something else.”
He was not willing to admit, even to himself, the flaw in his reasoning: that if Briggs had removed the notebook, it might be because Gordon no longer needed it. Once the link was established…