License to Ensorcell

  Chaos watch, O’Grady! I told myself. You’re slipping toward Chaos!

  The universe has evolved forces of Order to counter those of Chaos and keep the balance. No matter how imperfect we are and how badly we employ them, human beings have created institutions of Order that mimic those evolved energies. Justice instead of revenge, for example: I reminded myself that I’d sworn to serve the balance, and with a Chaos breach to solve, that meant serving Order in the hope of Harmony. In this situation I had to trust in the principle of justice instead of seeking revenge.

  At the moment Nathan was talking with a representative of the force of justice, who probably already had his hands full of Chaotic problems on what should have been a quiet Sunday afternoon. I thought of the family of that nurse, her life of helping other women ended by Johnson’s silver bullets, and of the driver of the carjacked truck, as well. I swore to myself that they too would have justice. I took one more deep breath and let my rage dissipate, which enabled me to leave the car as a civilized human being instead of a vengeance-crazed creature.

  Nathan clicked off his phone with a satisfied little nod.

  “How did Sanchez respond?” I said.

  “He’s taking it seriously because I pointed out that our psychopath might have mistaken Michael for you,” Nathan said. “He wants me to go interview your aunt’s family and then report back to him. A squad car’s on its way here to take photos and dust down the truck for fingerprints, all that sort of thing.”

  “Are we waiting for them?”

  “It would be best if we did. I don’t want evidence disappearing before they get here.”

  “Okay. That’ll give me time to call Aunt Eileen.”

  “I don’t envy you the task.” He spoke quietly but sincerely. “Do you want me to call—”

  “No. But I think it’s time to tell her who you really are.”

  “Go ahead, but I’d prefer it if you left the situation at my working for Interpol.”

  Aunt Eileen took the news that Michael had gone missing surprisingly calmly, though the calm sounded to me like the kind of shock that keeps a person from truly understanding a bad situation.

  “I had such a strange dream about him last night,” Aunt Eileen said. “He was standing on a street that ran through sand dunes. What was odd was that there were streetcar tracks down the middle of the street, but nothing else around. He was trying to call you, but his phone wouldn’t work.”

  I hoped he still existed in a place where he could find another phone, but I didn’t say that, of course. “That sounds prescient.”

  “I hate those. I never know what they mean until it’s too late for me to do anything about it. I’d rather not know anything about the future. The present’s usually quite messy enough.”

  “I’ve got to agree with that. Which reminds me in a weird sort of way: I don’t know when the police will be finished with Uncle Jim’s truck.”

  “Well, when they are, I’ll drive him over to fetch it.” Her voice weakened as the shock wore off and left her half in tears. “Nola, I hope and pray Michael’s all right.”

  “So do I.” I had to snivel back my own sudden stab of fear. “Look, I’ll be coming over with a police officer. You’ve already met him, though I never gave you his real name.”

  “Morrison?”

  “Yeah, but his real name is Ari Nathan. He’s an Israeli officer from Interpol. I’ll tell you more later.”

  “All right, dear. Israeli?” Her voice brightened. “At least he’s not a Protestant or something worse.” She hung up before I could say anything further.

  I turned around to speak to Nathan and saw that he’d opened the trunk of the unmarked squad car. He retrieved a roll of bright yellow DO NOT CROSS—CRIME SCENE tape, then stood looking around him.

  “What’s wrong?” I said.

  “This area’s too big to close off with one roll of tape,” Nathan said. “Well, I can at least block the path behind the thing.”

  Seeing the tape made me feel like vomiting. My brother, my little brother, the youngest of us all, was the subject of a police investigation into what might turn out to be murder. Nathan strode off around the lake. When he began stringing the tape from tree to tree, I couldn’t bring myself to help him. I leaned against the hood of the squad car and watched from a distance.

  Nathan had used up all the tape by the time the San Francisco police finally arrived, a patrol car first, then a van. A cop wearing only a pair of blue swim trunks got out of the van. He began pulling on a wet suit. The sickness in my stomach intensified.

  “He’s a police diver, isn’t he?” I said. “He’s going to look for Michael’s body in the lake.”

  “They have to rule out every possibility,” Nathan said. “It doesn’t mean they expect to find him there.”

  I nodded, unable to speak. This time, when Nathan held out his hand, I took it, just for a brief clasp, but it helped. A police sergeant, the driver of the van, strolled over to ask who I was.

  “The sister of the missing boy,” Nathan spoke for me. “She’s the one who reported that he hadn’t come home on schedule. Now, when your man does the underwater search, tell him not to ignore any recently dead animals.”

  “Okay.” The sergeant nodded, then trotted back to the van. I realized that to him, the situation was just business as usual.

  By that time passing cars had begun to slow down to allow their passengers to rubberneck. I turned my back on them and propped myself against the hood of Nathan’s car. The police diver pulled on a mask and waddled, awkward on his swim fins, into the lake. In the shallow water, he didn’t need scuba gear. With a splash he dove. Like a seal he surfaced, sucked in some air, and dove a second time.

  Eventually he waddled out, dripping pond weeds and water, carrying a very dead duck. The few feathers it had left were singed black. The blue lightning had caught one member of the flock. With his free hand he pulled off his mask.

  “This was the only thing I found.” He held up the duck. “God only knows what killed it, huh? I thought it was worth a look.”

  “Yes,” Nathan said. “Save it for Forensics.”

  Again, I found it impossible to speak. I could comfort myself by thinking that if the blue lightning had caught Michael, he’d be lying dead on the marble steps. It must, therefore, have missed him. Not much comfort, I admit, but all I had.

  Just as the diver began stripping off his wet suit, another unmarked car drove up. Sanchez got out and strode over to consult with Nathan. I returned to the front seat of our car to give my wobbly legs a rest. After a few minutes Nathan slid in behind the wheel and pulled his door shut.

  “Sanchez has taken over,” he said. “It’s his territory, after all. He’ll call when he has something to tell your family.”

  “Whatever,” I said. “Do you remember how to get to Aunt Eileen’s?”

  “Not very well. I’ll drive more slowly if you really want me to.”

  “Please. I’ve had enough shocks for one day.”

  We managed to arrive at Aunt Eileen’s without causing any accidents. As we climbed the stairs to the front porch, Uncle Jim opened the front door to greet us. He’s a tall, hulking man, not fat exactly, just large all over, and at that time his gray hair still sported a wide streak of its original red. He threw one arm around me and squeezed out a hug to half-drag me inside.

  “Glad you’re here,” Uncle Jim said. “I think he’s run away. First the trouble with your damn mother, and then I never should have yelled at the kid over that damn TV. Jeezus H, he’s a good kid under all the crap, and I—”

  I could smell whiskey. “Uncle Jim, it’s not you. Don’t blame yourself, okay? I talked to Michael yesterday, and he told me you’d worked things out.”

  “Oh.” Uncle Jim pondered this in a sudden calm. “Then why the hell did he leave my truck in the park?”

  “That’s what the police are trying to figure out.” Aunt Eileen hurried into the room. She was wearing a pink playsuit from the ear
ly Fifties, shorts and a short-sleeved blouse all in one ugly button-up piece. The color almost matched her fuzzy slippers. “Jim, darling, why don’t you go rest in your study? I put the old TV in there so you could watch the ball game.”

  “Watch the ball game when my nephew’s gone missing?” Jim pulled himself up to the full height of indignation.

  “Well, there’s nothing you can do.” Aunt Eileen turned to Nathan. “Or do you need to talk with him?”

  “Probably not, Mrs. Houlihan.” Nathan had most likely smelled the whiskey cloud.

  Grumbling to himself, Uncle Jim shuffled off down the hall, heading for the study and the Giants game. Eileen led me and Nathan over to the family side of the room, where she hovered in front of the brown armchair. Heat blasted out of the wall unit. I shed my jacket in a hurry. Nathan hesitated, then left his on.

  “Where’s Brian?” I said.

  “Upstairs in his room,” Eileen said. “He’s horribly frightened and can’t admit it. He’s blaming himself for not going with Michael this morning, but that would only mean they’d both be missing, I suppose. I just don’t know what to think.”

  “I’d like to talk with your son,” Nathan said. “If I may.”

  “Of course. I’m sure he knows more than I do. You know how boys are, keeping things to themselves. Should I call him?”

  “I think it would be better,” I broke in, “if Nathan talked with him without us girls right there.” I was remembering the scent of marijuana in my brother’s hair.

  “Good idea,” Nathan said, then turned to Aunt Eileen. “If you could show me up?”

  “Yes, I’d better. It takes a while to learn your way around this house. It’s all the add-ons, I suppose.”

  “Very well. Another thing—can you give me a good, clear photo of Michael? The police need one for the television news. We need a description of what he was wearing when you last saw him as well.”

  She started for the hallway with him right behind. I flopped into the blue armchair, which had been moved around to take up the empty place left by the stolen television. In a few minutes Aunt Eileen returned and sat down heavily in the brown chair, which faced mine.

  “When they’re done upstairs,” she said, “would you go talk with Brian? He needs reassuring.”

  “Sure. I’ll be glad to.”

  “Thank you, dear. He’s been so upset, first Jim ranting and raving at him, and now this. I keep thinking of the poor driver of that truck the thieves used.”

  “Yeah, so do I. It’s not a happy thought.”

  “Losing the TV seems so trivial now. We’ve heard nothing about the burglary, by the way. I don’t suppose the police have the time to worry about little things like that.”

  “They should. It’s a felony,” I said. “That system must have cost a couple of thousand at least.”

  “Three thousand plus, as Jim reminds me several times a day. Not that it seems to matter much now. This is so awful! Nola, be honest. Do you think Michael’s dead?”

  “No. As far as I can tell, he’s still alive. I just don’t have any idea where he is.”

  “I see. Do you think the burglary had anything to do with this?”

  “It could, yeah. But then again, it might just be a coincidence.” Chaos, I thought, reaching a grimy claw toward my family. “It’s probably got something to do with Pat’s journals, the ones Michael gave me. Pat had gotten himself into trouble, and he wrote about it.”

  Aunt Eileen leaned her head back against the chair and closed her eyes. “What kind of trouble?” she said. “I hope he didn’t bite someone again. Or did he get some girl pregnant?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. As far as I know, he never did anything wrong himself. Someone approached him about getting involved with drugs, serious drugs. He turned them down. He was planning on going to the police about it.”

  “If he wrote all that down, no wonder they wanted the journals.” She sat up straight again and fished a tissue out of the pocket of her playsuit to wipe her eyes. “But why take the television?”

  “To make it look like an ordinary robbery.”

  “Oh. Yes, I can see that.” She sighed and shoved the tissue back into her pocket. “I still don’t understand why Michael’s disappeared.”

  “Neither do I, but I’m wondering if that Sam Spade guy from your dreams thought he was me.”

  Eileen grimaced and looked away for a long silent minute. “Well,” she said at last, “I hope your Mr. Morri—I mean Nathan can find him. Nathan’s his last name?”

  “Yeah, and he’s just a colleague. Honest.”

  Aunt Eileen raised a skeptical eyebrow. I was saved from the gimlet eye when Nathan came clattering down the stairs. He stood hesitating in the doorway. I got up and went over to talk with him.

  “Brian didn’t know much.” Nathan spoke in a soft voice. “He did tell me that he and Michael were riding bikes in the park when they saw that doorway. This was a month or so ago. They liked to pedal up to the top of Twin Peaks and then coast down O’Shaughnessy all the way to Seventh and the park.”

  “I don’t even want to think about how fast they’d be going when they hit level ground.”

  “Quite so. I told him to stop doing it, not, I suppose, that he will. At any rate, they left the house every chance they had, he told me, because your uncle was raging about the property taxes.”

  “As he does twice a year every year,” I said. “Huh, this is interesting, if it’s not a coincidence. Jerry and Annie noticed the first Chaos symptoms in late January.”

  “Yes, very interesting. Sanchez tells me that Persian white began showing up at around that time, too. They had an uptick in street arrests involving it.”

  “No coincidence, then. But about Michael—”

  “Michael was convinced that some kind of energy curtain was hanging inside the pillars. Brian says he couldn’t see anything. I gather that Brian then teased him about it. Told him he was seeing things because he smoked too much dope, that kind of silly stuff.”

  “Which is probably why Mike went back when I told him I couldn’t see it, either,” I said.

  “Good guess. He took it like a dare, I’d say. I would have, at his age.”

  I could see him doing just that. “Look,” I said, “I’m going to go talk with Brian, too. Let’s hope Aunt Eileen doesn’t drag out the family photos again.”

  “It’s fine with me if she does. The police will need a picture of Michael, something they can ID him from if necessary.”

  Necessary, I thought. Like if they find his body somewhere. I winced and headed for the front stairway, the one close to the living room. Like so much of the house, it never would have passed an inspection, which was doubtless why the Houlihans never bothered to get building permits. Some Houlihan who thought he knew carpentry had put these stairs in way back before World War Two, and they creaked, complained, and bounced under my feet as I climbed.

  Brian kept his room far neater than many teens, certainly neater than I’d kept my half of the room when I was his age. He had a black pressboard desk overflowing with papers and schoolbooks, and rock posters littered the white walls, but the only thing on the floor of the narrow room was the blue and gray striped rug. When I came in, Brian himself was lying on his bed looking miserable. He sat up and swung his legs over the side. I took the only chair.

  “I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I never should have ragged on him like that.”

  “It’s okay, Bri! You couldn’t know.”

  “That something was really there, you mean?”

  I started to explain, but he kept talking in a burst of self-deprecation.

  “I know I don’t know shit about anything,” he said. “I’m not like the rest of you. I know I don’t have any talent—”

  “Whoa!” I held up one hand for a silence. “That’s not what I meant at all.”

  He did stop and for the first time looked at me, really looked, that is, instead of keeping his gaze somewhere near me. It had nev
er occurred to me before that Brian might envy the family members with wild talents. Those of us who had them usually considered them a damn nuisance at best and a hindrance to our long-term survival at worst.

  “I meant that you couldn’t know that Michael would stop there at the pillars,” I said. “I bet he didn’t know it himself until he drove by.”

  “Oh.” Brian considered this briefly. “Maybe not. I figured he was really going to see Lisa, and the pillar thing was just an excuse.”

  “Lisa? That’s the new girlfriend?”

  “Yeah. I told Inspector Nathan about her, too.” He paused and looked to a poster of U2 as if he were contemplating an icon. “Was that cool?”

  “Sure. The police have to know everything. You never know what might be important.”

  “Okay. But what happened to Mike? I don’t understand.”

  “Nobody does at the moment. I’m working on the theory that someone saw him there and didn’t like the idea for some reason.” I could hear the doubt in my own voice.

  “Did they kidnap him, you mean?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t. I just know that he’s gone somewhere where he shouldn’t be. Which reminds me. From now on, be careful, will you? You and Mike look a lot alike. Don’t go out at night alone. You know what happens to those guys in the horror movies who ignore all the warnings.”

  “Yeah.” He tried to smile, but his voice quavered, and he swallowed hard. “They didn’t kill him, did they?”

  “I doubt it. I’d know if he were dead. You can trust me on that.”

  “Okay.” He paused for a long moment. “I just feel like shit for teasing him.”

  “Don’t. It’s not your fault. Whatever happened to Mike, you didn’t do it.”

  “Okay.” His voice dropped to a whisper.

  I left before my presence brought him to tears. He didn’t need embarrassment on top of everything else.

  I’d just come back downstairs when a phone began ringing in the kitchen. Aunt Eileen got up and hurried to answer it, but the ringing stopped when she was only halfway down the hall. Uncle Jim had picked it up in his study.