Trifecta (84 page)

Michelle nodded.  Boyfriend trouble.  Nasty of him to throw
the poor girl out.  She would never ask Suzanne anything personal, but Michelle
felt sorry for her and offered her a coke.  They sat in the living room, watching
the cat from there.

"Are you one of Omar's sisters," Michelle asked,
hoping to learn more about him.

Suzanne nodded yes.  "He made me a witch, night before
last."

"A witch!"

"Yes." 

"All his sisters are witches?"

Suzanne nodded and smiled shyly.  "Omar is like the
leader of a huge coven.  He's a Necromancer.  Didn't you know?"

Michelle shook her head.

"You look absolutely flabbergasted," the girl
said, smiling.

Michelle was still shaking her head in disbelief, unaware
her eyes were like saucers.  "I just thought he was some wealthy businessman
with a vacation place here."

"Oh, I suspect he is very wealthy.  He travels all
over the world.  Omar has covens in many countries."

"Well, I can understand that.  Although I never, in
a million years, would have guessed.  He is very handsome..."

"Oh yes," Suzanne agreed eagerly.  "And
so nice.  He stopped over especially to give me Lucifer's dinner.  He loves his
animal friends."

"He gave it to you this evening?"  That was strange. 
Omar said he was going to be away.

Suzanne nodded.  "Just a few minutes ago, as a matter
of fact.  He asked me, because he's conducting a ceremony on the other side of the
island tonight.  All of his older sisters will be there.  I guess that's why he
chose me to bring the food."

"Do you know Samson Stoker?" Michelle asked. 
"His chauffeur?"

Suzanne stared at her and didn't say anything.  Michelle
watched her complexion blanch a dead white color.  She looked petrified with fear
for a second.  Finally Suzanne shook her head and said she didn't think so.

"You'd remember if you saw him," Michelle said. 
"He's a mute.  An enormous man with a broken nose.  Omar employs him as a driver."

"That's not all he does," Suzanne said vaguely. 
"I don't want to think about him.  I have to go..." 

As Suzanne hurried to the door she stumbled and almost
fell.  Michelle got up and followed her.  The girl was acting strange and Michelle
was disappointed.  She wanted to ask Suzanne more about Omar.  If Omar was a leader
of witch covens did that make him a warlock?  What was a Necromancer?  It was all
so incredible and intriguing.

"Won't you stay for dinner?  I have a huge tuna salad."

"No.  Thank you.  I have to leave."  Suzanne
almost ran away down the hallway past the guard who was watching with lecherous
interest.

Michelle went into the kitchen and got out the salad. 
Lucifer was still eating his dinner.  "Well, we have your special food for
breakfast, Lucifer."

The plastic bowl was on the counter where Suzanne had
left it.  Before Michelle put it in the refrigerator she opened the plastic lid
and glanced inside.  It looked like a chicken heart and a liver.  Or maybe it
was beef.  It was too large for a chicken and too small for a cow.  Michelle
grimaced when she sniffed strange odors and put it in the refrigerator. 

She wasn't looking forward to chopping up that grisly,
bloody stuff tomorrow morning when she got up.

V
incent knew Omar Satinov's name and where he lived
now, but with Suzanne gone it would be harder to expose the fake.  Still, that was
what he had come to the islands for and Vincent was determined not to give up. 
After what had happened to Suzanne though, he was uneasy.  He knew he would have
to confront Omar sooner or later, but he wanted to personally see him in action
first.  Preferably without his knowledge.

Vincent found himself back at the House of Hermetic occult
store that evening in downtown Honolulu.  He stood, waiting for the old woman with
the chin mole, to finish waiting on three women who were purchasing some merchandise. 
Vincent didn't mind at all.  He enjoyed looking at the trio because they were young
and each was gorgeous in her own way.  The tallest had bright red hair and spoke
with a pronounced French accent.  One was skinny as a waif, with dead white hair
and an angelic face.  The third appeared pure Hawaiian, with curly black hair and
a beautiful figure in a tight short skirt.

The old woman finally raised hooded dark eyes to Vincent
as the young girls turned to leave with their packages.  "Back again?" 
She smiled, but didn't seem at all mirthful.  "A magic potion?  A love spell? 
An herb to regain your manhood?"  She stared at him malevolently for a moment. 
"Ah, no.  Information."

Vincent nodded.

"If you follow those women, you'll find what you want."

Vincent turned and watched the three women as they filed
out the door.  A tiny bell attached to the ceiling struck the door and tinkled their
exit.

"I don't understand."

"You want to watch witches in action?"

"You mean those young girls...?"  It was ludicrous. 
His first assessment of the old woman had been correct.  She resided in bat city. 
He wasn't going to run after some strange young women like a love-struck boy, hoping
they wouldn't notice the short fat man with the yellow buck teeth stalking them. 
The women were obviously tourists out for cheap thrills in an occult store.  Probably
buying Love Potion No. 9 for an erring boyfriend.

"Oh, too bad.  They left," the old woman said. 
She didn't sound sorry at all.

Vincent turned around, following the old woman's gaze and
saw the three women driving past in a topless red sports car.  They all seemed to
be oddly staring right back at him, even the driver, who was the redhead, although
he was sure they couldn't see him inside the dark shop still illuminated almost
entirely by candle light, even at night.

"I've found the man I was seeking," Vincent said. 
"The one we talked of previously.  His name is..."

"Stop!"  The old bag harshly interrupted.  She
was actually making the sign of the cross, and then poking three fingers at him. 
He had seen the gesture before, to ward off evil, in Italy.

"Oh, come on," Vincent said, aggrieved by her
attitude.  "Let's not play games.  Look, I'll buy some things.  I just want
a little information."

Vincent started mindlessly picking up candles and figurines,
tarot cards and a few more wooden Hawaiian deity dolls with gargoyle faces.  Hell,
he could buy the whole damned store if he wanted to.

The old woman closed her eyes for a moment while Vincent
busily picked up items and lined them up on the counter in front of her.

"You're going to throw that stuff in the handiest
trash can.  Why don't you just give me the money?"

Ah ha, the old bat wasn't as stupid as she looked.  Vincent
pulled out his wallet. 

She had closed her eyes and was making a deep humming sound. 
It sounded like a lion growling.  Probably for effect, Vincent thought.  She probably
held phony psychic readings and ran bogus seances too, pretending to contact the
long dead for her true believers.  Not that he cared.  It was good entertainment. 
If her clients had to sometimes pay, well, that was their loss.  He only concerned
himself with the truly malicious quacks who took their victims for all they were
worth.  This pathetic and rundown shop proved the woman didn't roll her clients
for the big bucks.

The humming grew louder and deeper.

Not bad, Vincent thought, although he was becoming a little
alarmed.  The humming sounded like it was coming from all around him now.  It was
like a swarm of invisible stereophonic bees.  Hard to believe it was from the larynx
of the skinny old bird standing there with her eyes shut.

Suddenly her eyes snapped open.  "Get that young girl
out of here.  She's in great danger."  The voice was deep and resonated eerily,
but Vincent was sure she had practiced with a tape-recorder to get that peculiar
effect.

And that proved it.  The woman was a charlatan.  Suzanne
was already gone.  She had been in danger, Vincent knew, but she was probably back
in her dorm room on campus by now.  Or eating dinner with her parents.  But, he
wondered, how did the woman know that he'd had a young girl with him?

"You must go to three tables.  There will be great
peril. You have to understand that the risks are exceedingly high.  And you must
not confront him alone.  He will eat you.  Literally."

The woman cleared her throat and blinked several times,
as though just waking up, or throwing off an alien persona.  Vincent watched with
admiration.  It was a great performance.  Not overdone, just perfect, and certainly
worth the money he pressed into her palm and which disappeared under the counter.

"Thanks," Vincent said off-handedly.  "That
was a big help.  Now I need to know where to find those three tables."

"I'm through."  The woman turned her back on
him.  "Look at a map."

There was a audible and collective in-drawn breath
from about a hundred people as Omar drew out the Seven Black Candles of Death from
the folds of his voluminous black robe.

The ceremony was taking place at Three Tables Beach, located
on the windward side of Oahu.  It was a popular place for novice surfers to the
crashing waves that slammed into this more unpopulated side of the island, because
there were three large rocks in the lagoon that were almost perfectly flat, thus
the name, Three Tables Beach.  The rocks diminished the intensity of the surf, so
that those coming to learn to surf, or just to body surf without boards, found the
gigantic waves hurtling toward shore gentled in the big rocks just before they reached
the beach.

It was late at night, almost twelve, the witching hour,
and the people in the circle performing the rituals were seated now.  They were
exhausted after the initiation of two new witches, the charms that were prayed over,
the dancing, the drinking of sacrificial wine and the sex, which was encouraged
during the ceremony.  It was at this moment that Omar had taken the black candles
of death from within his robe and all knew a death rite would be performed tonight. 

Those initiated into Omar's religion of witchcraft were
within the gigantic circle, surrounded by several flame torches which cast warm
flickering light within.  The sand inside the circle had been raked perfectly flat
and all inside wore white robes and were barefoot.  Omar, as high priest, wore black.

The onlookers were seated around the circle, watching. 
The waves crashed on the beach behind them rhythmically and were lit up by a full
moon.  The sand was damp and a bit cold but no one seemed to notice, so entranced
were they with the tall man who had been leading the ceremonies.  He held all enthralled,
as though he were a mass hypnotist and the group on the beach a bunch of lemmings
he could lead into the sea if he so chose.  He was Peter Pan leading the mindless
multitudes into an enchanted paradise.

Omar's magic seemed to promise each individual in the crowd
their fondest desire.  Want a love potion?  He had one guaranteed to work.  Three
of his highest witches were making special fluids in a cauldron over a bonfire just
a few feet away, taking solicitations.  Request a reversal of fortune?  There were
special charms made from animal skin and hair.  Want your boss to give you a better
position, higher pay, more power?  It was all there for the asking. 

The ceremony was almost like a gipsy carnival.  People
brought their friends.  Palm reading?  Hypnosis?  Charms?  Potions?  Beauty creams? 
A cure for your disease?  A cure for impotence—or just a terrible hangover?  All
was available for a small pittance and the belief in the pagan religion expounded
by the dark man. 

And who would not desire such a spectacular religion? 
It guaranteed all that heaven promised, right here on earth.  And who among them
could disbelieve?  They had seen the joyous ceremony.  The dancing.  The drinking
of spirits.  Open sexual encounters.  It was fun!  It was natural.  And the dark
man said it was all good!

His preaching espoused the love of life and the rigorous
enjoyment of all.  And now he was showing his domination and held all enthralled
because he could take it all away.  He had the power of Death.

Ginger was Omar's high priestess during this ceremony,
looking absolutely gorgeous in a white robe with her long curly red hair shifting
seductively in the breeze.  She had knelt before him, after bowing down devotedly
three times.  Now she held a long taper and started lighting each of the black candles
ceremoniously, which Omar had placed on the wooden alter in the middle of the circle. 
It was at this time that there was usually the killing of a sacrificial animal,
a goat or a lamb, or even a pigeon or chicken, but Omar would not tolerate such
practices.  He considered animals to be innocent and good.  People were the beasts. 
But there had to be blood for this rite.

The women in the circle started chanting.  The
sacrifice, a young women, was led to the center of the circle and Omar produced
a long sword.  He kissed it and held it high.  The woman seemed mesmerized and
did not scream or flinch when he sliced her robe open.  She was not wearing any
clothing beneath the white robe and her breasts and belly were exposed to the
crowd, which was already in a lascivious mood from the sex rites during the
witch initiations, and most were at least partially inebriated from the wine
that had been passed around almost continuously during the entire time that the
ceremonies had taken place.

Omar would rather have had a virgin because it made the
magic more powerful, but he hadn't been able to find one.  He had to have enough
blood to startle the crowd and virgin blood was more potent, but he would make do.

Vincent, sitting atop the bluff, was watching the
scene through binoculars.  He knew about the candles of death and the belief that
sacrificial blood would make the death rite more powerful, but he was sickened by
the need for gore.  So far it had all been fun and games as far as he was concerned. 
But now he was worried for the sake of the young girl who stood perfectly still
as her robe was stripped from her body.  She was beautiful in face in figure.  Probably
of the mixed blood so prevalent in the islands.  She could have been part Caucasian
and Hawaiian with a hint of Oriental mixed in too because of her straight, raven
black hair, which reached almost to her buttocks.  He thought she couldn't be much
older than twenty.

She had a glassy eyed stare and Vincent wondered if she
had been drugged or hypnotized.  He guessed that Omar had employed both so she wouldn't
feel much pain. 

Vincent hands became clammy and his breath came
faster anticipating Omar's next move.  He felt light headed and dizzy, almost like
he might pass out as Omar took his long pointed sword out and moved toward the woman. 

Omar took the sword point and placed it on the woman's
neck, just above where her Adams apple would be.  He used enough pressure to puncture
the skin and then rotated the sword so that he opened the wound a little wider. 
Blood flowed down the woman's neck and between her breasts. 

Omar enjoyed this part of the ceremony, but could not go
too far or hurt the woman too badly or the crowd might turn on him.  It became apparent
after a while that he was making a pattern with the puncture wounds and blood flowed
down the young woman's body in stripes.  Down her arms.  Down her chest.  The blood
ran down her legs and back.  She stood, perfectly still, unmoving all the while
Omar punctured her skin and her blood finally fell in the sand.

The crowd was unnaturally quiet.  Vincent hoped
the woman would not be terribly disfigured, but it appeared that the mutilation
was partly a trick.  The wounds were really too small for so much blood to flow. 
Omar probably had a fake sword that emitted the blood-like fluid that now stippled
the woman's body.  Still, it was like watching a bad horror flick and he felt himself
gagging as it seemed to go on for hours.  Really, the woman would have fainted from
blood loss by now, Vincent told himself consolingly, if the wounds had been real. 
Still, Omar continued until the woman was covered with the small puncture marks. 
The last he placed in the middle of her forehead and blood ran down her nose and
dripped from her chin to the sandy beach.

It had to be fake, Vincent kept telling himself, as finally
the woman was covered by a robe and led out of the circle.  He couldn't tell if
she was walking by herself because she was surrounded by Omar's priestesses.  They
led the sacrifice to the striped tent where they kept all of the so called magic
potions, talismans and charms.

Now Omar took a picture from his robe.  Vincent tried
in vain to get a glimpse of the person that the whole death ritual was for, but
all he could discern from the distance was the likeness of a woman with long
blond hair.  Omar made a commanding motion to one of the women and had a torch
brought in from outside the circle.  He placed the torch in the sand in the
middle of the circle.  He was tall enough to reach up with the picture and put
it in the flame.  He seemed to hold it there for a long time.  Vincent thought
he must have used a flame retardant because his hand as well as the picture was
in the flames.  Then there was a burst of sparks from the torch and the picture
turned black and disintegrated.