Ash Return of the Beast

CHAPTER 24



Three Months Later…

Inside Moorehouse Manor

Ravenwood was half way across the darkened living room when she heard something. She spun around, pointed the gun with her finger on the trigger. Kane matched her move. A light came on.

Cowl was standing in the doorway between the dining room and the living room. His hair was dripping wet and he was wearing nothing but a blue terrycloth bathrobe. He threw his hands up. “Whoa! What the hell? Who the f*ck are you? What are you doing in my house?”

Ravenwood sized him up, and lowered her gun. Kane moved around to a position behind Cowl.

“FBI,” Ravenwood said, flashing her badge. “Are you Rodney Duckworth, a-k-a, Rye Cowl?” She didn’t really need to ask. She recognized his chiseled good looks from the photo on the flyer. At the moment, though, he looked more like a Hollywood version of a California pool boy than a Death Metal superstar, much less a master of ritual magick. But she had to admit, whatever he was, he certainly came well packaged.

Cowl gave an angry smirk. No one called him Rodney Duckworth. “Yeah. What the hell do you want?”

“We just want to talk,” Kane said. “Is there anyone else in the house?”

“No. Just me. I just got out of the shower. Why?”

Kane wasn’t buying it. “Is that right? Then who opened the front door when we knocked?”

Cowl shook his head. “What the f*ck are you talking about?”

“We knocked at the door. Someone opened it. If it wasn’t you then it was someone else.”

“Check the place out if you want,” Cowl said. “Nobody here but me and a few rats. You two are the only people who’ve been in here since I bought the place.”

“C’mon,” Kane said. “A guy like you must have parties here all the time. Sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll. Right?”

Cowl turned and glared at Kane. “I keep to myself.”

Ravenwood took a quick glance down the hall. “What’s down there?”

“Couple bedrooms, a bathroom and the library. What’s this all about?”

Ravenwood looked at Kane. “Wait here. I’m going to check it out.”

She returned a minute later and pointed to the curved staircase. “And up there?”

“Couple more bedrooms, another bathroom. C’mon. What the hell do you guys want?”

Ravenwood started up the stairs but paused on the second step. She lolled her head to one side as if she sensed something. She stepped back down and moved over next to Kane. “Okay. I think he’s telling the truth.”

“You got a nose for that, too?” Kane asked.

“Sort of. Put the gun away.” Then she turned to Cowl. “Relax. Put your hands down. Have a seat.”

Furnishing the old manor had not been high on Cowl’s list of things to do. The once elegant dining room now consisted of a fold-up card table and two kitchen chairs. The cavernous living room dwarfed the single old black leather couch and the matching over-stuffed chair, leftovers from the Moorehouse days.

Cowl moved across the room and sat on the couch. “I take it you guys didn’t come for an autograph.”

Kane remained standing and moved to within three feet of Cowl.

From Cowl’s perspective, Kane’s tall, bulky frame cast an intimidating presence in the dim light.

Ravenwood played the good-cop role and sat on the edge of the over-stuffed chair that was conveniently situated facing the couch. “Obviously you know about the situation that occurred at the concert hall before your show last night, right?”

“Yeah. Some preacher died in the restroom. What’s that got to do with me?”

“Well,” Kane said, “it had something to do with you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He was there to organize a protest against you and your band. You couldn’t have been too happy about that.”

Cowl smirked. “Oh, that. Big f*ckin’ deal.”

“Apparently it was a big f*ckin’ deal to someone.”

Ravenwood jumped in. “Where were you yesterday evening between four-thirty and five o’clock?”

“Here. I was going over the lyrics to one of our new songs, getting ready for the gig.”

“Can anyone verify that?” Kane asked.

“Just the rats.”

“You didn’t make any phone calls? Nobody called you?”

“Nope.”

“So you knew the preacher was planning a protest. That didn’t bother you?”

“Hell, no. You can’t buy that kind of publicity. Why would it bother me?”

Ravenwood gave an understanding nod. “Good point. Your band’s doing really well, I hear.”

Cowl leaned back into the couch. “You could say that.”

“Mega Therion means the ‘Great Beast’, right?”

Cowl’s eyes narrowed. He was surprised she would know that. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“I did a little research last night,” she said, shifting to a more conversational approach. “Found out you guys used to be known as Gravestone. Right? And apparently you were getting nowhere fast. Then one day you gave yourself and the band a new name and, like magic, you become a phenomenon over night. That’s pretty amazing. How’d that happen?”

Cowl wiped a sweaty palm on his robe and shifted uncomfortably. “Just lucky, I guess.”

“How’d you come up with the name, Mega Therion?”

“Read it somewhere, I guess.”

“Lot of guesses,” Kane said.

“Let me try a guess,” Ravenwood said. “I’m guessing you have a bit of an obsession with Aleister Crowley, right?”

Cowl shrugged. “I know a little about him. I wouldn’t call it an obsession.”

Ravenwood reached into her jacket pocket, pulled out the flyer on the back of which she’d figured out the Crowley anagram. She handed it to Cowl.

He looked genuinely puzzled. “What the hell is this?”

“You don’t know?”

“Know what? What is this?”

Ravenwood glanced at Kane and back to Cowl. She could see he had no idea what he was looking at. “It’s an anagram. Your name is an anagram for ‘Crowley’. You didn’t know that?”

Cowl stared at the names on the paper. “How the hell did you…?

“Not how did I,” she said. “How did you?”

He was still at a loss. “I didn’t. Seriously, I don’t know how––”

“Well,” she said, “it’s a hell of a coincidence, then, don’t you think?”

Cowl didn’t know what to think. His stomach was twisting into a Gordian Knot. “Yeah. I guess it is, because I––”

“So, if you didn’t know this, then how did you happen come up with the name, ‘Rye Cowl’?”

Cowl’s discomfort was turning to agitation. He didn’t like being backed into a corner. “What difference does it make? What does any of this have to do with that dead preacher?”

Kane took a step forward, closing the distance between himself and Cowl. “Answer the question.”

Ravenwood stood up. “No, that’s okay. I think we’re done for now.”

Kane looked at her. “What?”

“Unless you have something else you want to ask him.”

Kane thought about it and realized he really didn’t have any more questions. He just didn’t like the guy and was enjoying watching him squirm. He gave Cowl a long, intimidating stare before backing away. “All right,” he said. “But we’ll be back.”

Cowl sneered. “What for?”

Kane paused at the front door. “Call it a premonition. You know. Magick?”