I should have destroyed them, or given them to Eli for study, but I couldn’t bring myself to give them up. At least I knew better than to use them myself, but I did it anyway. I’d given a few to Rolf, who thought he could employ them to create his own Ifrit. That hadn’t worked out so well. But maybe the stones could be used to help fix the very problem they’d caused. Eli and Victor might be able to keep that magic under control.
“How many of those stones do you think we’d need?” I asked, trying to be casual about it.
“A lot. In effect, we’d have to use them to build a metaphorical cage to contain it.” As soon as I asked about how many would be needed, Victor’s head swiveled toward me. He stared, thoughtfully at first, then with growing suspicion.
“Why do you ask?” he said.
“Just curious.”
He was on it like a bird dog on a quail. Damn him for being so sharp.
“Curious? I’ll bet. You kept some of them when you found them, didn’t you?” He shook his head in exasperation. “There were more of them than you let on, weren’t there? I should have known.”
My first instinct was to deny it, but what was the point? Technically I hadn’t done anything wrong.
“Yes, I still have a few,” I said. I expected Eli would be angry at this, but all his face showed was disappointment.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this, Mason?” he said. I shrugged.
“I don’t know, really. I was going to toss them, but when it came right down to it I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of them. And I knew how you’d feel about that, so…”
“They do get a hold on people. That’s one of the reasons why they’re dangerous. You use things like that too much, and before you know it, they control you instead of the other way around.” His face hardened. “You haven’t… been using them for anything, have you?”
I shook my head.
“No. Honestly, I was afraid to, and Lou would have taken my hand off if I’d tried. He really doesn’t like them.”
“That’s because he, at least, has some sense.” Eli came all the way across the room and peered into my face from a foot away. “Are you sure you haven’t been using them?”
“I’m sure. I think I would have remembered something like that.”
After a long moment, he clapped me on the shoulder, almost knocking me off my feet.
“Well, that’s all right, then.”
Victor pushed his chair away from the desk and rocked back on its two legs, teetering precariously. He often did that, and I always hoped he would overbalance one day and flip backward ass over teakettle. But he never did. He pointed a finger at me. There was a lot of finger-pointing going on.
“Okay,” he said. “Again, let’s assume we can use the stones, and we can build a trap. How are we going to find this Wendigo thing. Lou?”
“I don’t think so. He couldn’t track the fake Ifrit, and I don’t think he’d have any better luck with this.”
“Too bad. But how did you find it in the first place, then?”
“Well, that’s an interesting thing,” I said. “Basically, a woman I met told me where to look.”
“Oh? Who? And how would she know that?”
“She’s a psychic, or something like that. I met her accidentally.”
“How do you meet someone accidentally?”
“It happens. But that’s irrelevant. She had no idea what she was telling me.”
“Could she tell you where to find it again?”
I considered that. It hadn’t entered my mind, but it was possible she could.
“I don’t know. But it’s worth a try, I guess.”
“First things first,” said Eli. “I want those green rune stones.”
“I’ll bring them by tomorrow, I promise.”
“Why not right now?”
“I’ve got things to do. I want to talk to my psychic friend, for one.” I also wanted some time to get used to the idea of giving the rune stones up, but I didn’t say that.
“All right,” Eli said. He looked at me hard. “Just make sure you bring them. All of them.” I wasn’t fooling him. I got up to leave, but Victor held up a hand.
“Hold on a minute,” he said. He reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a standard 12-gauge cleaning kit-cleaning rod, patches, and Hoppe’s No. 9 solvent. “By the way, you fired the shotgun, so make sure you clean it thoroughly. A dirty gun is a lazy man’s weapon, and a lazy man is a liability.”
I took the kit, but I didn’t need the advice. My grandfather had drilled that into me long ago. As I drove home, I actually felt a sense of relief. I hadn’t touched those stones since I’d picked up that fateful bag, but they had been weighing on my mind for a while. Nothing ominous, just a low-level combination of curiosity and unease. I hadn’t been entirely forthright with Eli, which he was well aware of, but he had decided to let it pass. I think he understood those things could take hold of the imagination.
At home, I took a quick shower to wipe off the grime and nervous sweat that had piled up. Then I spent a while figuring out what I was going to say to Morgan. I could ask her out for coffee, but she would likely say no. She’d asked me to call her, but it was because she was worried, not because she was looking to hook up. My call might be misinterpreted. Not that she would have been altogether wrong.
Telling her over the phone that I wanted her to help me track down the mythical Wendigo wasn’t going to go over well, either. That approach could well lead to a restraining order. So I needed a use a different slant.
The first time I called, her machine picked up. I didn’t leave a message; this had to be finessed, and that takes talking in person. When I tried again a few hours later she answered on the first ring.
“Morgan? This is Mason. The jazz guy, remember?”
“Of course,” she said. “How are you?” Her tone was noncommittal, and I couldn’t tell if she was happy to hear from me or regretting giving me her number.
“Getting by. Just wanted to check in and tell you the news. I did end up in Muir Woods, despite your warnings.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry; I’m fine.”
“How could you?”
“I had to. You were absolutely right, though. I’m lucky I got back okay.”
“What happened?” she asked. “You sure you’re all right?”
“Positive. But it’s a bit complicated. I’m not really sure what I found there, and I’d love to talk to you about it. Maybe you could help clear it up for me. Could we meet for coffee somewhere?”
There was a long pause as she thought it over. What she had seen in her vision had shaken her, as well it might have, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to get involved any further. But she was curious-who wouldn’t be? And it never hurts to just talk. That’s one of the great lies people tell themselves.
“Uh, yeah, we could do that.”
“I’ve got my van, so you pick the place,” I said.
Another moment, then, “How about Martha’s? There’s one on the corner of California and Divisadero. It’s not too far from where I live.” It would take me about twenty minutes to get across town.
“Great,” I said. “Half an hour okay?”
“Fine,” she said. “See you then.”
The area around California and Divisadero lies between the tony Upper Fillmore and the posh Pacific Heights. It has no real identity, instead sort of bleeding off into each one without having the cachet of either. And unlike its wealthy neighbors it’s middle class, at least as much middle class as you can find in San Francisco. Some places in the city, like North Beach, could only be in San Francisco. Others could be transplanted into any good-sized city in the country without seeming out of place, and this area is one of them.
A few outside tables were clustered outside this Mar tha’s, right by the door. I left Lou to hold a table and went inside for a latte. Morgan wasn’t there yet. I hoped she hadn’t changed her mind. Ten minutes later, I saw her crossing the street toward us. She was wearing those same loose jeans again, but with a shapeless sweatshirt on top. I got the feeling she’d changed into it before coming over, trying for aggressively neutral. She gave me a quick nod and passed by the table, going inside inside to get her own cup of coffee. While I waited, I called Lou over.