The Madness of Mercury (17 page)

“I’d take LaVey any day of the week,” I replied. Don was well versed in the folklore of Anton LaVey, a San Francisco character who, before he passed to the other side, lived around the corner from me in a small house painted entirely black. He was infamous for his Friday night Sabbats. “At least he didn’t bother his neighbors.”

“Unless you count the time the lion got loose in his house and ripped out the plumbing.” Don chucked. “He and his family had to barricade themselves in the bathroom till the neighbors heard them screaming and called the cops and the animal control people from the zoo.”

“Look, Don, I have to go home sometime. I can’t live like this and I don’t want to give up my apartment. But I can’t have prayer vigils and riots on the sidewalk when my clients arrive. My manager is grumbling about evicting me. But I am not going to hide out forever.”

“Can the cops do anything?”

“I heard they’ve been told to lay off the Prophet and his followers. If they grab one or two demonstrators, they can charge them with some municipal code about requiring a permit. If I had the money to fight them, I could hire a lawyer and get a restraining order, but I don’t, for all the good that would do. I’d have to have the cops camped out on my doorstep every day and we know that’s not possible.”

“Julia, believe me, this kind of stuff scares me too. He’s managed to gain an enormous power base in a very short time. The mayor, the police chief, the city council. They all think the sun rises and sets in his you know what. He’s also become quite a mover and shaker in real estate circles. I’ve kept digging, as promised. He has a company, Revelations LLC, and within the last year it’s become the owner of hundreds of properties. If he’s in bed with the real estate developers and the politicians, there’s no telling how powerful he might become.” Don paused to take another bite of his pastrami. “I think there are people who don’t buy into the con, but I guarantee you, they’re afraid to speak out against him. There are rumors that he destroys people—either financially through litigation, or by any means necessary. I’m just sorry you’ve been hit with this. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

“Actually, there is something. I’d like to find out his birth date, and if possible, the time. Maybe I can find a chink in his armor.” I shuddered. I still couldn’t shake off the feeling that had come over me in the theater. “Those people were transported, Don. It’s a cult, not a church.”

“Be forewarned. I’m inclined to believe some of the rumors floating around. There’s nothing I know for a fact, but he’d be vicious to have as an enemy.”

“I may have already made him one. With my column.” I thought about the attack in the parking garage, which I still had no intention of telling Don about—I’d never hear the end of it. “And by the way, I asked Samantha to run that same letter and response again, the one to the woman who was worried about her mother’s involvement with the church.
Desperate in San Leandro
.”

“Whoa.” Don shook his head. “What are you trying to do?”

“I’m sending a message that I’m not afraid of him. I just don’t understand who would follow this guy.”

Don shook his head. “Some are desperate. Some, unhappy. Some just want to be led.”

E
IGHTEEN

B
Y THE TIME
I
reached the Eye for Gale’s meeting, a
Closed
sign hung on the front door. The windows were lit, and displays of recent books, haphazardly but artistically arranged, were surrounded by Wiccan objects, magic mirrors, and dark plaster gargoyles. In one window, Tarot cards were splayed across a velvet shawl, their intricate designs promising entry to mysterious and magical worlds.

Cheryl had drawn the heavy interior drapes so that our meeting would be hidden from street view. I knocked at the front door and she opened it a moment later for me. As the invitees arrived one by one, I helped her clear the central area. We hauled folding chairs from the storeroom and set them up in a loose semicircle. Fortunately, none of the damage from the firebomb had affected the front of the shop. Cheryl had arranged a large urn for coffee and a tray of small sandwiches and cookies. Everyone was milling about, chatting, checking out the latest book displays and munching on the offerings.

I was doing my best to maintain a positive attitude, but I couldn’t escape the feeling that we were tilting at windmills, outmanned and outgunned. Eventually I counted twenty-five attendees, plus Gale, Cheryl, and myself. Everyone practiced one of the occult arts professionally. I recognized at least two other astrologers. One was a woman I knew only slightly, but whose work I respected. I’d referred clients to her at times, and she to me. The other astrologer was a man who practiced outside the city and dealt mostly in the business and stock market area. All were people who knew Gale, knew her shop, offered their talents occasionally for psychic fairs, or benefitted from her connections for their clientele.

Zora the medium was at the refreshment table, helping herself to liberal amounts of food. I hoped that Nikolai had had a chance to arrange her services for the following evening’s séance. Zora is a plus-sized woman, fond of wearing several draping layers of clothing, lots of jewelry, and multiple rings on her fingers. She has a brusque, street-tough personality that I’ve always found intimidating, but Cheryl has assured me she’s very reliable and has excellent references from her clientele. I started to head in her direction to speak with her, but before I could do so, the meeting was called to order.

“Okay, everyone, let’s get started.” Gale stepped to the center of the circle of chairs. “First, I want information from anyone who’s been harassed or threatened in any way, and whose business has been interrupted because of this … Army of the Prophet. You can talk openly tonight, or, if you prefer, send me an email with all the details.”

A tall woman with short, wispy silver hair raised her hand. “I don’t know what good this will do. I came out of curiosity, but what can we really do?”

Gale nodded. “I’ve talked to my lawyer, and he feels I have a pretty good claim for intentional interference with economic something or other. At any rate, it’s enough to obtain a restraining order, and probably most of you could claim this too. If you’ve been intimidated by this group, it’s something you can do individually, or else we can organize a class action together.”

“I haven’t been bothered, but I’m worried. This makes my stomach go in knots,” a man in a business suit piped up.

“It just means they haven’t identified you yet, but they probably will soon,” Gale responded.

A young woman in jeans and high-top sneakers raised her hand. “Why are they doing this? What do they want?”

“They claim they’re driving sin from the city.” Gale laughed. “As if such a thing were possible. But we’re not the sinners.”

Eric, a past-life reader, addressed the young woman. “I’m sure there’s more behind it, undoubtedly an economic motive that doesn’t bear investigation, but that’s the banner they’re flying. We just happen to be a few of the scapegoats.”

“Has anyone seen last Sunday’s paper?” The man in the business suit spoke up again. “There’s a picture of this Roy character with the mayor at some society fundraiser. He really gets around.”

Gale spoke. “The reason I want to hear from everyone who’s here, and everyone who couldn’t make it, is that we may have a better chance as a group.”

A tall woman with a mane of curly blond hair spoke up. “I don’t particularly want to be identified with a ‘group.’ My clients are very private and their business is personal. It’s important that I remain incognito, at least in the sense that I don’t advertise. My clients hear about me through word of mouth.”

Gale turned to her. “Marguerite, I’m sure that’s true for everyone here. All of you are discreet with your clients’ business. But if you’re identified, you’ve been tagged, so to speak. Now some of you”—Gale nodded in my direction and glanced at a few others—“I already know have had bad experiences and lost some income. But send me a detailed email anyway, so I can organize the info and pass it on to my attorney. It may or may not make sense to obtain a restraining order as a group. I just don’t know yet. But please let me know if, and again that’s an ‘if,’ you’d like to be included in such a group. If not, please let me know that too. I completely understand.”

A plump woman with gray hair, who was dressed entirely in black, raised her hand. “A lawsuit may be a very good idea at the practical level, but how about using our occult powers to stop this man?”

Marguerite sat up and stared at the plump woman. “What are you talking about, Yvonne?”

“Well … ” Yvonne hesitated. “I’m Wiccan—I know this method could work. I’m proud to say I was part of the gathering in California in 1971 to end the Vietnam war. Occult powers were also used with great success to prevent Hitler from invading England in World War II.”

Eric nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard of that.”

“It was on August 1st, 1940. Lammas Day, which is a very old pagan holiday. It was called ‘Operation Cone of Power.’” Yvonne turned to address the group. “A cone of power is a field of psychic energy raised for a particular purpose. On that day, hundreds of witches from covens throughout southern England gathered in the New Forest to stop the Germans.”

Gale frowned. “I’ve never heard of this. What did they do?”

“Well, the coven and all its members dance in a circle, chanting and drumming. As the energy increases, the cone rises. When it reaches its apex, the energy is sent out to cast a spell. Some people say they can actually see the energy as a shimmering light. Wiccans believe that it stopped the Spanish Armada in 1588 and defeated Napoleon in 1700.”

Gale shrugged. “Well, it’s as good an idea as any I’ve heard.”

Cheryl stood up. “All that being said, it’s very important that we have a central clearinghouse for all our information, both on this Roy character and for any actions taken against you. And after tonight, we should all stay in touch with one another. I’ll keep the information confidential—you don’t have to worry. It’s terribly important that as a society we band together. I can’t stress that enough.”

“I agree,” several people answered, and all in the group nodded.

“Anything you hear would be greatly appreciated. I want to know anything we can find out about this guy, especially his past history. We know he’s operated in the South, but he seems to have come out of nowhere and hit the city like a lightning bolt. What are his connections here? That kind of stuff. If you hear anything, then please pass it on.”

There was a general consensus that the meeting had concluded. People stood up, chatting with one another and milling about, most heading back to the snack trays. The noise level started to rise.

I spotted Zora at the edge of the crowd. She had loaded a plastic plate with five or six tiny sandwiches and a few cookies. She was eating daintily, picking up the sandwiches with the tips of her long nails, her rings flashing. She swiped at a crumb in the corner of her mouth with a red nail. Tonight her ensemble was topped with a fringed shawl in a luscious fabric. She waved a finger in my direction and I headed over.

She polished off the last hors d’oeuvre on her plate and wiped her mouth. “You know, I have to say this—I’m not so sure about that cone of power thing. A good idea, but keeping everyone focused and on the same page psychically
is
very difficult. I think a candle burning ritual might be more applicable. What do you think? Have you had any experience with candle rituals?”

I hoped she wasn’t trying to sell me her services. “No. I’ve never tried anything like that.”

“Very efficacious, my dear. You see, when one concentrates, channels are opened to the deep mind. It is possible to exert your will, but it’s also likely that you will receive important information about whatever problem is at hand. But that’s not what you wanted to talk to me about, is it?”

“Actually, no. Have you already spoken with Nikolai?”

“Yes, and I’m very excited about this and flattered that Nikolai thought of me.”

“He said he’d arrange to pick you up. He has my client’s address.”

“Nikolai’s perfect for a séance. He’ll give it just the right touch—very theatrical—but most importantly, he’s very talented.” Zora thought for a moment, raising a tiny cookie to her mouth. “Why tomorrow night, if I may ask?”