Play with Fire

chapter Forty-Six

THE LOW, TAN brick building on East Thirty-Fourth Street might have been mistaken for a school, apart from the triangular orange flag that flapped in the breeze above it and the large sign near the front door that read “Sikh Temple of Austin.”

When Morris’s blue Mustang skidded to a halt at the curb, he saw that a number of the others had arrived already and were standing on the sidewalk in front of the dimly-lit building or across the street, in the shadow of a closed Rexall drugstore. In between, on both sides of the street, a number of cars were parked haphazardly – their drivers had apparently been in as big a hurry as Morris was.

He spoke to Ellie Robb first. “How many of the Sisters are here?”

“Fourteen. They’ve all been alerted, of course, but some were probably a good distance away when the word went out.”

“We can’t wait. Spread them out around the building, will you, and tell each one to start her spell whenever she’s ready.”

“Right.” Ellie turned on her heel and moved away swiftly. The members of the Sisterhood would each be putting down the same anti-black magic spell, which would be strengthened by every additional white witch who joined in.

Morris saw Fenton and O’Donnell and waved them over. Each wore an amulet around their neck designed to protect against black magic, and Colleen carried a wand. “Have you done a recon?” Morris asked.

“Simple construction,” Fenton said. “Two stories. Small windows. Front, back, and sides – one door apiece.”

“The locks look easy,” Colleen said. “A simple disengagement spell should do the trick.”

“Good,” Morris said. He looked at the police car parked directly across from the entrance. “Cops okay?”

“Both asleep,” Colleen said, “along with two rent-a-cops who arrived right after them. They’ll remember nothing when they’re awakened.”

“Excellent,” Morris said.

Ellie Robb came back and said, “Everyone’s in position, except for one Sister who I asked to stay in front and direct the new ones as they arrive.”

“All right, then,” Morris said, and blew out a breath. “Time to go in. Libby and me in front, Fenton and O’Donnell left side, Peters and Ashley right side, and Ellie, you’ve got the back door. Assignments clear?”

Nodding all around.

Morris looked at his watch. “We go in exactly sixty seconds from... now.”

The small group dissolved like a football huddle breaking up. Libby had her wand ready in one hand. Morris was carrying a long-barreled Desert Eagle automatic. Its load of .50 caliber silver-tipped cartridges had been blessed, just like Morris’s switchblade, by the Bishop of El Paso.

Libby glanced at the immense pistol. “Where was that when the werewolf dropped by Adelson’s the other day?” she murmured.

“Home. Didn’t think I’d see any werewolves in Boston. Live and learn.”

At the elegantly carved wooden front door, Morris said, “Okay, get it open, please.”

Libby lightly touched the tip of her wand to the lock, said a few words in Latin, listened for the “click,” then looked at Morris. “Done.”

Morris looked at his watch. “Fifteen seconds. Ten. Five. Time to go.”

Morris grasped the knob, which turned without resistance. He and Libby walked in quietly.

Only a few of the ceiling lights had been turned on. There was enough illumination to see that it was a surprisingly plain room, with none of the statues, candles, or elaborate architecture that Morris knew from other religions. There was also plenty of light to see the small group of people who were kneeling in a circle near the front of the temple.

They looked up, startled, as Morris and Libby walked in. Bare seconds later, the side doors burst open, almost as one, to admit four of Morris’s colleagues. A moment later, he saw Ellie Robb enter from the back door.

One of the Satanists – if that’s what they were – stood up, holding what looked like a wand. He pointed it at Morris and Libby and said a couple of words that Morris couldn’t hear. Then a ball of flame the size of a grapefruit headed their way, very fast. Libby waved her wand once, said a single word, and the fireball disappeared. “Is that the best you got?” she said softly.

Then Ashley let go a burst of some kind of energy that was too fast for the eye to follow – and a moment later the arm that had held the fireball-shooting wand was smoldering on the floor. Its former owner, who appeared to be a man in his mid-twenties, stared at the severed appendage for several seconds. Then he remembered to scream.

All of Morris’s team had kept moving toward the group. Fenton and O’Donnell were displaying their IDs now, yelling, “FBI, freeze! Don’t move, or we’ll shoot!”

The other four Satanists, three men and a woman, had gained their feet and stood in shocked surprise. The one who’d fired a wand at Libby was back on his knees, though, screaming in pain and clutching the place where his shoulder had been. Blood poured between his fingers.

“I don’t think that was strictly necessary, Ashley,” Morris said.

“It’s done now,” Ashley replied, not sounding remotely contrite. “Oh, all right, here.”

She bent over the injured man, yanked his remaining hand away from the bleeding stump, and pressed her own hand firmly against it. She said two words in a language Morris didn’t recognize, and at once wisps of smoke began to rise from the wound.

The screaming redoubled, which Morris would not have thought possible. Then it stopped, as the man mercifully fainted.

“See?” Ashley said to Morris. “Cauterized. He won’t even bleed to death now.”

Morris directed his attention to the wounded man’s three associates, who were now clearly terrified. Two of them held wands. “Drop them,” Morris said. “Now!”

Their hands opened immediately, letting the slim, foot-long magic instruments fall to the carpeted floor.

Morris looked at the would-be Satanists more closely. Barely out of their teens, all dressed in the black, creepy-looking clothing that is usually associated with the goth subculture.

Libby picked one of the wands and examined it. “It’s precharged,” she said. “Nothing more than an occult storage battery. I’ve seen them before One of these, and a few words of power, and you can work magic – once, maybe.”

Some of the limited light came from the five squat black candles that burned in a circle on the rug. In the middle of them lay a cat, dead. It had been sloppily disemboweled.

“Who are you people?” Ellie Robb demanded. “And what in the Goddess’s name are you doing here?”

“It was this guy showed up, today around noon,” one of the men said. “He was a magician – he showed us the cool shit he could do. He said we could get power just like him, if we did like he told us.”

Morris felt his stomach sink like an elephant in quicksand. “This man,” he said, “came to you, gave you the wands and a ritual and said to come here and... butcher some innocent animal.”

They nodded, although the phrase “innocent animal” seemed to confuse them.

“He told you to come here tonight, didn’t he?” Morris said. “It had to be tonight.”

More nodding from the goths. “Dude even did a spell over us,” the woman said. “He said it would make us strong, and, like, scary.”

“Scary,” Ashley said. The contempt in her voice could have curdled milk.

“I think–” Morris said, but then stopped. In the distance he could hear sirens. He listened for a few moments. There were several sirens wailing at different pitches, but they didn’t seem to get closer. They weren’t headed for the Sikh temple at all.

“Sounds like fire trucks,” Morris said. He looked at his companions bleakly. “Guess there’s a big fire someplace – someplace else.”