“From Mr. Winthrop Buckley.”
“Ah. Mr. Buckley’s wife is a particularly ardent devotee.”
“Yes, he told me.”
“Have you consulted a spirit counselor before?”
“No. Only a clairvoyant on occasion.”
Vargas nodded, smiling as he moved one of the smaller chairs close to the table across from the high-backed one. He held it for Sabina until she was seated, then moved around opposite. The seat on his chair was set slightly higher, so that when he perched he gave the oracular effect of looking down at her from a height.
Before he could speak, Sabina said, “I understand you have been in San Francisco only a short time, Professor. Did you establish the Unified College elsewhere?”
“Yes. Many years ago.”
“May I ask where?”
“In the East.”
“Chicago? New York?”
“I have shared my gift of spirit counseling with many believers in many locales,” Vargas said glibly and evasively. He leaned forward, the light illuminating his dark features and giving his eyes a hypnotic shine. “Now then, shall we begin?”
“By all means,” Sabina said. More questions would only make him suspicious.
“My assistant informed me that you seek to communicate with a loved one who has recently crossed the Rubicon.”
“My brother Gregory. There are certain... pressing questions he left unanswered.”
“The nature of those questions?”
“They regard our family finances. Investments... stocks, bonds, and the like.”
Was that a glint of avarice in Vargas’s penetrating gaze? It was difficult to be sure in the eerie table glow. “You are now in charge of these investments?” he asked.
Sabina said, “Yes, with the aid of our attorneys. But Gregory made all the decisions, you see, very profitable ones, and I don’t wish to carry on with anything he might not approve of.”
“Ah, I see.”
“It is possible for you to summon him?”
“All things are possible in the realm of the spirit world. But it is not I who may summon him, but Angkar. I am merely a teacher of the light and truth of theocratic unity, merely a humbly blessed operator between the Beyond and this mortal sphere.”
“Angkar?”
“My spirit guide. He lived more than a thousand years past and his spirit has ascended to one of the highest planes in the Afterworld.”
“A Hindu, was he?”
“No, an Egyptian nobleman in the court of Nebuchadnezzar.”
That statement was the first bit of proof that Professor A. Vargas was a charlatan, and a less than thorough one in his researches. For Nebuchadnezzar had not been an Egyptian, Sabina knew from her world history lessons as a girl, but the king of Babylon and conqueror of Jerusalem some six centuries B.C. She refrained from mentioning the fact, of course, though if she had, Vargas no doubt would have covered his mistake by claiming he’d meant Nefertiti or some such.
He placed both hands on the table in such a way that enormous rings on each of the middle fingers glittered in the light. They were of intricate design and bore hieroglyphics similar to those on the amulets. Sabina had the impression that he had displayed them deliberately for her inspection.
She said obligingly, “Are your rings Egyptian, Professor?”
“This one is.” Vargas lifted his left hand. “An Egyptian signet and seal talisman ring, made from virgin gold.” He presented his right hand. “This is the Ring of King Solomon. Its Chaldaic inscription stands as a reminder to the wearer that no matter what his troubles may be, they shall soon be gone. The inscription — here — translates as ‘This shall also pass.’”
“Yes, as my brother’s troubles have,” Sabina said in feigned consternation. “How long will it take for Angkar to summon him?”
“That is a question I cannot answer at this time, Mrs. Milford. I must first have more information about your dear departed brother. Then in order to connect with the discarnate, I must place myself in a metagnomic trance and seek to inform Angkar of your desire to speak with Gregory’s astral spirit.”
My, my, Sabina thought wryly. Metagnomic trance. Another mistake, though most of Vargas’s disciples would have been too captivated by his facile patter to have realized it. Metagnomy was not a type of trance, but a form of clairvoyance in which a sensitive supposedly could see the future while mesmerized. His research had been shoddy indeed.
She said, “I understand you will be conducting a séance here on Saturday night. Would it be possible for me to attend?”
“Certainly. I advise that you do.”
“Then it’s possible that you... I mean Angkar can summon Gregory’s spirit at the sitting?”
“Possible, yes, if Gregory is among our many friends on the astral plane and your impulses are properly attuned so that a zone beyond spatial and temporal laws may be entered and a rapport thus established. But I cannot promise that contact will be made so quickly. That is Angkar’s province, not mine.”
“I feel that my impulses are already attuned with Gregory’s. We were very close, you see.”
“I have no doubt,” Vargas said. “But that may not be the case now that Gregory’s spirit resides in the Afterworld. The ways of spirit life are not those of earth life. We cannot truly understand the discarnate, for only small portions of the Great Mystery are revealed to mortals through the powerful presence of spirit guides such as Angkar.”
More gobbledygook designed to fool the gullible. “How do I properly attune my impulses?”
“With my guidance. May I have your hand, please?”
“My hand?”
“As a sensitive, I am often able to determine the strength of one’s impulses by means of spiritual contact.”
Sabina let him take her hand again. He held it for a moment, then very gently began to stroke it, first the backs of her fingers, then her palm. His touch was light, caressing, all the while his gaze holding hers.
Spiritual contact, my eye! This definitely was not impersonal hand-holding; it was intimate and subtly sexual, as if he were testing her willingness to respond. A. Vargas was after more than just money from attractive female acolytes, by heaven — a rake as well as a fake.
She didn’t let him get away with it for long. She withdrew her hand and said coolly, “And are my impulses strong, Professor?”
“They are,” he said through one of his unctuous smiles. “Quite strong, indeed. However, inasmuch as Saturday’s séance will be your first, I suggest one or two additional audiences in order for me to do everything in my power to prepare you.”
And attempt to seduce me if you think I might be willing.
“Is that agreeable, Mrs. Milford?”
“Oh, yes,” she lied.
“You understand that it may take several sittings before Gregory is summoned and you are able to speak with him?”
“As many as necessary,” she lied again.
“Splendid.” Vargas once more leaned forward into the light, his gaze still fixed unblinkingly on hers. “Now please be so kind as to tell me about your brother and his earthly activities.”
Sabina had prepared a detailed family and business history, which she proceeded to unroll. Vargas asked several questions, not a few of them designed to elicit information about the wealth of the alleged Milford clan. The only truism was the name of the “family attorney,” Archibald Maguire, who was in fact a prominent San Francisco lawyer. Maguire was counsel for cousin Callie and her husband, Hugh French, as well as Carpenter and Quincannon, Professional Detective Services. He had been amenable to assisting her and John in the course of their investigations in the past (for a fee, of course), and so she would arrange with him to corroborate her fabricated story about the Milfords in the event Vargas should decide to check up on it.