“Well, it’s not important,” I said. “Thanks for the help, though.”
“Anytime.”
After I hung up for the second time, I did some serious thinking. What was Ramsey doing sniffing around the cops? Was it just his general clumsy attempt at investigation, or did he want to find out how much they knew? Maybe Ruby had put him up to it, but she had to know how lame and ineffective he was. The only thing he’d accomplish would be to draw unwanted attention. I’d have to check with her.
The information from Macklin was interesting, but it hadn’t really helped at all. Instead of narrowing down possibilities, it opened up even more of them. Such as, what if the killings had nothing to do with any theoretical entity wandering around? Nothing kills just because it’s evil. Everyone and everything acts from motive, even powerful beings with unknown abilities. Power. Fear. Simple hunger.
And missing organs? That smacked of a more human agency-a black practitioner gone bad, for example. I had no idea what those organs might be used for, but it wasn’t a random happenstance. But the witnesses had seen an animal. Or something not human.
I thought some more, then pulled out the scrap of paper with Ruby’s number on it and called. After a few pleasant ries, slightly less juvenile than the ones I’d traded with Macklin, I got down to business.
“Have you talked to Victor lately?” I asked.
“I have-in fact, I’m on my way over to his house later this afternoon. I’ve got some ideas I want to run past him.”
“Does that include any ideas from the cops?”
“Beg pardon?”
“The cops. Did you know Ramsey’s been bugging the cops about these murders, stirring up interest?”
“Oh, fuck. I’m sorry. I’ll talk to him.”
“You do that. He can cause trouble for us all, you know.”
“I know. He’s been helpful, but he’s beginning to wear on me anyway. It might be time to send him on his way.” She paused. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t have to tell Victor about that, though. It makes me look like a flake.”
“Tell Victor about what?”
“Thanks,” she said. “Why don’t you come by, too? We can run some ideas past each other.”
“That would be great, if I had any. But sure, I’ll be there.”
“About one, if that’s okay? If I can get some other stuff done by then.”
RUBY WAS STRETCHED OUT ON THE COUCH IN the study when I arrived at Victor’s. She unwound herself from the couch, slinked her way over to me, and held out a cool and dry hand, giving me a little squeeze as she did. I think she knew the effect she had on me and enjoyed teasing me, but not in a mean way.
“Ruby’s got an interesting take on this,” said Eli. “She doesn’t think there’s a creature out there at all.”
“Why not? We didn’t dream up the fake Ifrit,” I said.
“Or the Wendigo, either.”
“No, that’s not what I mean,” she said. “I’m talking about there being another creature.”
“Well, something’s been killing people, and it’s not the two we know about.”
“Something or someone.”
“Like a black practitioner, you mean?” Her face took on a grim expression.
“That’s exactly what I mean. I’ve been casting some scry ing spells, ones designed to locate uncanny things. Something Giancarlo taught me. That’s how I tumbled to that Ifrit creature, the one you’ve been hunting. I can’t use my talent to actually locate it, but I can feel its presence.
“And there’s another being I’ve felt as well-I had no idea what it was until I heard about your ‘Wendigo’-although I don’t think that’s really what it is. But here’s the thing-nothing else like that is out there. If there were, I could feel it, I’m sure.”
“Maybe it’s invisible to you,” I said, thinking about Morgan’s vision.
“No, I’d still sense it, even if I didn’t know what it was. But if it were a practitioner, now…” She shook her head. “That wouldn’t register. But what I don’t get is why any practitioner would do such a thing.”
“Well, it’s worse than that,” I said. “I did some digging, called a cop friend. You remember Macklin, Victor?” He nodded. “He told me that not only were the victims torn apart but all their internal organs were missing-heart, liver, kidneys-everything.” Ruby spun around and smacked her hand on her forehead.
“Of course. The organs.” She grabbed my arm. “The skulls. What about the skulls? Were they cracked open?”
“They were. And the brains were sucked out as well.”
“Son of a bitch.” She started pacing back and forth, muttering, until Eli stuck out a large hand and corralled her.
“This means something to you, I’m assuming.”
“It does. It’s typical, I’m sorry to say, of a very specific type of spell work.”
“Black practitioners? Again?”
“Not necessarily. It’s a spell used to extend life. Through the ages there have been more than one practitioner who’s tried it, and they weren’t all dark arts guys-mostly older practitioners, though, ones who thought they could cheat death that way. You take the organs and the life force from young men and women, transfer it into your own chi, and gain a few years of youth and vitality. Theoretically you could continue that way forever, although each time it takes a little more to get the same effect.”
“Is that possible?” I asked, glancing over at Eli for confirmation.
“Supposedly,” he said. “I have read about such things in my researches, but it’s all been speculation. It would take a strong practitioner. I’ve never met anyone who’s run across an actual case.”
“Well, I have,” Ruby said. “Or at least Giancarlo has-it was before my time.”
“Maybe,” said Eli. “But it seems an incredible coincidence that something like this would surface at exactly the same time as the fake Ifrit and the Wendigo. Are you saying there’s no connection?”
“There are coincidences in this world. But maybe here’s the connection. Consider this: When Mason found the Wendigo, it knew his name. Now, sure, it could have found out with a little research, or even by just hanging around. But until Mason showed up at Muir Woods, it would have had no reason to know he even existed, am I right? But not only did it know Mason’s name; it was almost as if it was waiting there for him.”
“Exactly. So?”
“So, maybe a practitioner told it about him-as soon as he and Victor figured out the fake Ifrit wasn’t responsible for those attacks, you’d start looking around for another suspect. A preemptive strike, perhaps.”
“Maybe,” said Eli. “But consider this: Mason, before you ran into the Wendigo, who or what did you and it have in common?”
“Rolf?”
“Rolf never saw him, didn’t even know what he might be, much less where you would be.” I thought for a few seconds.
“Well, there isn’t anything else.”
“Are you sure? How did you know where to find him?”
“Through Morgan’s vision, of course. But…”
Now, that was interesting. She’d seen me; she’d seen Lou; she’d seen the woods. And although she hadn’t seen the Wendigo, she’d certainly felt his presence.
“Exactly,” Eli said, seeing the look of dawning comprehension on my face. “Morgan saw you in the vision. She saw where you would be. She sensed the Wendigo. And the Wendigo has showed himself very comfortable in dimensions of the mind, places that are both of the spirit and of the flesh, places not exactly one or the other. He had no trouble finding Sherwood, remember.
“Visions, true ones, operate on a psychic plane outside of our ordinary space and time. And clearly, that outside perspective is something very familiar to our Wendigo. So when she saw him, and you, he also saw her. And you. And he knew what she knew-your name, for example.”