Dan looked down. In spite of the wind, which must have been blowing at nearly ninety miles an hour, the surface of the pool was absolutely still, and three
floodlights were shining across it so that it looked like a mirror. The ducks had either flown away or been blown away, but the fountain was still playing as if there were no wind at all.
All that disturbed the water were the floating bodies of seven or eight SWAT officers, lying facedown.
Dan and Ernie were still staring at them when two more officers appeared on the opposite side of the pool, blindly weaving their way toward them.
“Stop!” Ernie screamed at them, waving his arms. “Stop!”
Dan leaned close to him. “It’s no use! They can’t hear you and they can’t see you!”
Ernie tried to pull himself along the railings to the end of the pool, but he was too late. The first of the two officers stumbled into the pool, closely followed by his companion. They started to splash across it, slipping from time to time, but still managing to keep going. They bumped into some of the floating bodies, and stopped, and bent over, fumbling around to find out what they were. When they felt their waterlogged uniforms, one of them began to panic and wade wildly around in circles. The other officer stepped slowly backward, blindly trying to retrace his steps.
The first officer slipped and fell into the water on his hands and knees. He stayed there, his head lowered as if he had lost the will to get up and try to climb out of the pool.
“Let’s go get him!” Ernie shouted. But before they could reach the end of the railings, Dan saw a dark shape approaching the officer underneath the surface of the water.
“Ernie! What’s that?”
Ernie peered at it hard. “It’s a guy,” he said, at last.
“He’s upside down, like a reflection. But—there’s no guy there!”
Ernie was right. Reflected in the water, his image wobbling slightly in the ripples, was a man wearing a dark suit. His reflection was standing directly in front of the crouching officer’s reflection, but in reality there was nobody there.
“Come on!” said Dan, but Ernie crossed himself and held back, the wind whipping up his necktie.
“This is more black magic!”
“This is
all
black magic! Come on!”
There was another rumble of thunder, right over their heads, and then an ear-splitting crackle of lightning.
In the reflecting pool, the man in the dark suit leaned forward and grasped the crouching officer by the back of his neck. The officer struggled and thrashed his arms and tried to twist himself free, but the reflected man pushed his head upward, toward the surface. In reality, the officer’s head was forced
downward
, under the water—although there was nobody anywhere near him, and it looked as if he were trying to drown himself.
Dan tugged out his gun and pointed it at the reflected man.
“It’s a reflection!” Ernie shouted at him. “What is the point?”
All the same, Dan fired twice, and the gun kicked in his hands. The bullets broke up the reflection for a few seconds, but they didn’t have any effect on the reflected man at all. He continued to hold the officer’s head under the water, until the officer had stopped struggling and floated inertly on the surface.
Ernie had reached the end of the railings now, and he clambered down into the water. He waded over to the drowned officer and dragged him to the edge of
the pool. Dan stepped into the water after him, his gun still raised, searching the pool for any sign of the reflected man. He thought he saw a shadow moving through the water toward the country club, but the floodlights were shining so brightly on the surface that he could have been mistaken.
He went over to join Ernie, who had taken off the officer’s helmet and his body armor and was giving him CPR. He tried for over five minutes, but it was clear that the officer was dead. Without his helmet, he looked so young, freckled and snub-nosed like somebody’s kid brother.
In the end, Dan said, “Forget it, Ernie. He’s gone. The best thing we can do for these guys is get the hell out of here and find some other way of beating these goddamned witches.”
Here, in the pool, it was eerily still, even though the wind was furiously blowing all around them, and SWAT officers were stumbling everywhere, blinded and hysterical. The country club was in chaos, like some medieval vision of hell. The sky was still black, and the driveway was crowded with abandoned vans and squad cars, their red lights flashing.
Dan made his way to the edge of the pool and was about to climb out when he saw something running diagonally across the driveway toward the dining rooms. It was tall and light-colored, with an attenuated head. It looked more like a huge insect than a man, and yet it ran upright, like a man, and it appeared to have arms and legs like a man.
For a moment it disappeared behind a row of yew bushes, but then it reappeared, and it was heading directly for a SWAT officer who was kneeling on the driveway with his head lifted as if he were praying, which he probably was.
“Ernie,” he said, as Ernie reached the edge of the pool, “what the hell do you think
that
is?”
But before Ernie could answer, the man-insect collided with the kneeling SWAT officer, sending him flying. The SWAT officer tried to climb to his feet, but the man-insect was on him instantly, with teeth and claws and feet. There was a blizzard of blood and ripped-apart clothing and ribbons of scarlet flesh. Then there were loops of yellowish intestines and bones. Half of the SWAT officer’s rib cage was tossed out of the carnage, and it rolled across the driveway.
Even though they were blinded, the officers around him must have sensed that something was seriously wrong because they scattered in different directions. But the man-insect caught hold of another one and clawed at his clothes with even more ferocity.
“Holy Mother of God,” said Ernie. “That’s what must have happened at the White Ghost’s house. Look at that thing!”
Dan said, “
Things
, plural. Look.”
Out of the woods appeared at least ten more man-insects, running toward the blinded SWAT officers, their legs moving like pistons.
“Let’s go,” said Dan, and lifted himself out of the pool. He turned around and offered Ernie his hand, but as he did so, Ernie’s eyes widened, and he shouted, “Behind you,
muchacho!
”
Dan slowly heaved Ernie out of the water. Then, without turning around, he drew out his gun. The wind was moaning and screaming like a chorus of damned souls. They could barely hear each other shouting.
“How far behind me?”
“Five yards! Not much more!”
Dan found himself breathing deeply and steadily. Every time he woke up in the morning, it was always in the back of his mind that he might be killed or seriously injured before the day was over. But he had always imagined that he would be hit by a stray bullet as he drove along Olympic or stabbed at random by some crackhead Crip on Eighty-third Street. He had never thought that his whole body might be ripped apart and his bones scattered like sticks.
He cocked his gun and swung around. The man-insect was standing so close to him that he took an involuntary step backward and then another and almost fell back into the pool.
It was nearly seven and a half feet tall with a narrow, elongated head that was more like the skull of an antelope than the head of an insect. It appeared to be fleshless, with skin that was parchment colored and
very dry. It didn’t have horns on top of its head, but a kind of jagged crown made of cracked shards of bone.
Its eyes were a dull red, and when it blinked, its eyelids rolled upward.
A
kukurpa
, a hungry spirit from the mythology of the Uitoto Indians in the depths of the Amazon rain forest. Except that it was real and could be summoned with the Night Wind to tear apart the enemies of those who had called it up.
It had skeletal shoulders, raised up like wings, and spindly arms with terrifying claws. Its body was covered in fine, tawny hair, similar to a dog’s coat, and its skin was loose. Between its thighs hung a long pale brown penis like a braided bell rope, and testicles like dried fruit.
There were claws on its feet, too, and curved spurs of bone protruded from its heels.
It took one spastic step toward them, and Dan fired twice. The first bullet thumped into the creature’s chest, leaving an inch-wide hole. The second blasted a spray of bone fragments from the crown on top of its head.
The
kukurpa
barely flinched. It raised its left arm, and Dan fired again, hitting it in the side of its chest. As it jerked toward him, he fired twice more, at point-blank range. The next thing he knew, it struck him on the shoulder. Its arm was as hard as a pickax handle, and he was knocked off his feet onto the decking. His gun tumbled into the pool.
He bunched himself up in the fetal position, his eyes shut tight, expecting at any second to have the clothes ripped off his back and the flesh pulled away from his ribs.
God forgive me. Gayle forgive me. Please don’t let it
hurt too much
.
But then he was suddenly drenched with something wet and warm, and he heard a hoarse, despairing shout.
He rolled over to find that he was plastered with blood and to see the
kukurpa
attacking Ernie.
“No!” he shouted. He grabbed hold of the railings and pulled himself onto his feet. “Get off him, you freak!
Get off him!
”
But the
kukurpa
’s claws were lashing at Ernie in a frenzy, and when Dan tried to pull it away, it knocked him over again, onto his back, so hard that all the wind was jolted out of him.
Ernie lifted his left arm to protect his face, but the
kukurpa
tore his entire arm out of its socket and tossed it away into the darkness. Blood was spurting everywhere, and even as he climbed to his feet again, Dan knew that Ernie didn’t stand a chance of survival. Ernie glanced up at him, and there was an expression in his eyes worse than agony and worse than dread. It was resignation.
The
kukurpa
tore into him like a threshing machine, relentless and unstoppable. Dan turned away as it lashed into Ernie’s chest and stomach, and slashed his intestines into bloody rags.
He limped up the decking, back toward the country club’s main entrance. His head felt empty, like a gas-filled balloon, and he could hardly manage to keep his balance. He passed one ripped-apart SWAT officer after another. There were so many body parts in the gardens outside the convention center that it could have been the scene of an air crash.
He saw two or three
kukurpas
moving in their strange stilted way through the shadows behind the trees, but he no longer cared. If they wanted to tear him apart, too, there was nothing he could do to stop them. He walked straight to the steps outside the private dining rooms, where the three witches were still standing.
As he approached them, the wind began to falter, and the leaves and rose petals whirling in the air began
to sink to the ground. By the time he reached the steps, there was nothing but a soft breeze blowing, and the glittering lights of West Hollywood had reappeared out of the darkness.
Dan stood in front of the witches and pointed back toward the pool. “One of your things just killed my partner.”
“The perils of police work,” said Lida Siado. “You can’t tell us that you we didn’t warn you.”
“You’ve massacred these men. Do you really think that you’re going to get away with this? They’ll bring in the National Guard.”
“They can bring in whoever they wish,” said Miska. “All will meet the same fate.”
Just then, the White Ghost appeared in a dazzling white tuxedo, followed by the Zombie in a green velvet smoking jacket, and Vasili Krylov in a pinstriped Bill Blass suit.
“
Bonswa
, Detective.” The Zombie grinned, showing his golden teeth. “Sorry for what just happened here, but you knew what our lady friends would do to you if you tried to pull us in.”
“There were more than a hundred officers here tonight,” Dan told him. He was so shaken that he could hardly speak.
“You can send a thousand if you like,” said Vasili Krylov. “You can send ten thousand. We have the power of hell behind us, my friend. All hell, let loose.”
“That thing killed my partner! He was my friend. He was a husband and a father. He had two little boys. And that thing tore him to pieces!”
“We are deeply sorry for your loss,” said the White Ghost. “We never wanted violence, believe me. We simply came to have a friendly dinner with Signor Guttuso. We had an arrangement with the police department. We never expected you to interrupt us.”
At that moment, Giancarlo Guttuso came out, accompanied by four bodyguards with shiny black hair and shiny black suits. Giancarlo Guttuso was at least seventy years old, with wobbly jowls and a face the color of liverwurst. He made his way between the mobsters and the witches, and pushed past Dan without even looking at him.
When he saw the carnage in the garden, however—the bones and the blood and the long hose reels of intestines—he stopped and looked around, and his face was distraught. His bodyguards took hold of his arms and quickly led him away, and even they were coughing in disgust.
“I don’t think that Signor Guttuso will be making any more complaints about us,” the Zombie remarked. “In a way, Detective, you and your friends saved us a great deal of unpleasant wrangling. Once Signor Guttuso saw a live demonstration of what we are capable of doing to protect our interests, he accepted that we could take over as much of his business as we wanted.”
“You won’t get away with this,” Dan repeated.
“You don’t think so?” asked the White Ghost. “How will you prove in court that we had anything to do with this? Hah? A natural disaster, that’s all. It was a freak of the weather that killed all these men—a localized hurricane. A tragedy, for sure. But an act of God.”
“That creature of yours killed my partner!”
“But it didn’t kill
you
, did it,
msyé?
” said Michelange DuPriz. “Has it occurred to you to ask
poukisa?
”
“
I
can tell him why!” called out a thin, shrill voice. “
I
can tell him why he’s still alive and why he can still see out of his peepers!”
Michelange DuPriz and Lida Siado both stepped to one side. From behind them, Dan was stunned to see the fourth witch appear in her wide felt hat and her
raggedy cloak covered with hooks and dried herbs. As always, she was carrying her staff with the cat’s head on top.
“Surprised to see me, my good sir?” the fourth witch mocked. “Thought I was locked up in the choky, did you? You can’t keep one of his majesty’s favorites confined like that!”
Dan dropped to his knees, defeated. Now this evening’s tragedy made sense. He couldn’t imagine how the fourth witch had broken Annie’s sigil and escaped from her cell, but here she was, with her overwhelming magical power. It seemed as if she and her three sister witches were unbeatable.
“Don’t be depressed, Detective!” said the fourth witch, hobbling down the steps. “If we all learn to rub along together, there won’t be any further need for blood to be shed!”
Dan looked up at her wearily and said nothing.
“If we all treat each other with a little more respect, we won’t have to tear each other’s lights out, shall we, or roll our heads around like bowling balls.”
“Go to hell,” Dan told her.
“I probably shall! And pay my respects to his majesty and then return! Come on, my good sir, I know you’re grieving for your friend, but all of us have to meet death one day or another, and at least his death was quick, and dare I say heroic in its own insignificant way?”
Dan didn’t know what to say. The pain he felt for Ernie’s death was almost too much for him to bear. The fourth witch stood very close to him—so close that he could smell her rancid odor, dried urine, and lavender. But there was an extraordinary expression on her face—thoughtful, almost tender, as if she could feel how grief stricken he was.
“You mustn’t hate me,” she said. “I shall be around
for a very long time now, and hating me will get you nowhere.” She laid one of her bony hands on his shoulder. He tried to twist away, but she dug in her fingernails, gripping him tight. “You will never be free of me, my good sir, not until you go to meet your friend.”
“So why am I still alive now?”
“You are alive because I
want
you alive. You are alive because you are useful to me. You have something that is shared by no other man in the world.”
“Oh, yes. And what the hell is that?”
“If you
knew
, my good sir, you would no longer be useful. And if you were no longer useful, I should have to kill you, too. With centipedes, perhaps, or lightning, or I would ask my sister Lida to conjure up one of her
kukurpas
for you.”
“If I really thought that I was any use to you, I would kill myself anyhow,” Dan told her.
“No, you wouldn’t. It’s not in your nature. You are the kind of man who will fight death to the bitter end. Just as you will try to fight
me
to the bitter end. But you will never succeed in besting me, I am happy to say.”
“So what happens now?” Dan asked.
“You may go. You have to tell your surviving colleagues what happened here this evening, don’t you? And you have to tell your unfortunate friend’s wife and children that he has met with a sticky end. And you have to go back to your young lady friend and discuss how you can get your revenge on us.”
She gripped his shoulder even tighter, until it felt as if her fingernails were going to break his skin. “You should rest, too, my good sir, and try to have pleasant dreams. When your waking life is a nightmare, what other escape can you find?”
She released him, and he stiffly stood up. He looked at Michelange DuPriz and Lida Siado and Miska
Vedma and their smugly smiling employers, and pointed his finger at each of them in turn, the same way that Lida Siado had pointed at the SWAT officers when they attempted to arrest her.
He said nothing, but he left no doubt that he was making each of them a promise: that he would come back for them, as soon as he could, and punish them for what they had done here tonight, whether he did it legally or not.
He weaved his way between the empty squad cars and SWAT vans, their lights still flashing, and climbed into his Torrent. He swerved away, back along Mulholland, but after he had driven less than a mile he pulled to the side of the road and took out his cell phone.
He called Captain Friendly, back at the station.
“Fisher? What the hell is going on? We’ve totally lost contact with Lieutenant Harris.”
“There’s been a problem, sir.”
“Problem? What kind of a problem?”
“Maybe
problem
is the wrong word.”
“All right. So what’s the right word?”
“Massacre. They’ve all been killed. All of them except for me.”
“Fisher, are you drunk?”
“No, sir. You need to alert Deputy Chief Days and the coroner and maybe the governor, too. I’m not too sure what the procedure is when a hundred officers get torn to pieces.”
“Where are you now, Fisher?”
“On Mulholland about a mile east of West Grove. Listen, have we lost any prisoners from the cells? Any of them escaped?”
“Not to my knowledge. Why?”
“I just need to know if any prisoners have gotten out, that’s all.”
“Listen, Fisher—come on in. Don’t talk to anybody else. And I mean
nobody
.”
“Yes, sir.”
Before he switched off, he heard Captain Friendly say, “—Fisher…sounds like he’s smashed—”
He called Annie. She took a long time to answer, and when she did she sounded as if she had her mouth full.
“Annie? It’s me.”
“Dan! Are you okay?”
“Not really. The whole thing’s been a disaster. The witches have killed all of them—the same way they did the last time, at Orestes Vasquez’s house.”
“Oh my God. How could they?”
“The fourth witch was there, that’s how. Somehow she managed to get out of her cell.”
“But she
couldn’t
. Not even a grand wizard could have gotten past that sigil.”
“I’m telling you, Annie, she was there. I saw her, and I talked to her. I was the only survivor.”
“I don’t understand it. I simply don’t. Her wrists and her knees and her ankles were bound by that Enochian incantation. Even if she’d persuaded somebody to take the sigil off the door, she still couldn’t have escaped.”