John Levitt - Unleashed

“And there’s another being I’ve felt as well-I had no idea what it was until I heard about your ‘Wendigo’-although I don’t think that’s really what it is. But here’s the thing-nothing else like that is out there. If there were, I could feel it, I’m sure.”

“Maybe it’s invisible to you,” I said, thinking about Morgan’s vision.

“No, I’d still sense it, even if I didn’t know what it was. But if it were a practitioner, now…” She shook her head. “That wouldn’t register. But what I don’t get is why any practitioner would do such a thing.”

“Well, it’s worse than that,” I said. “I did some digging, called a cop friend. You remember Macklin, Victor?” He nodded. “He told me that not only were the victims torn apart but all their internal organs were missing-heart, liver, kidneys-everything.” Ruby spun around and smacked her hand on her forehead.

“Of course. The organs.” She grabbed my arm. “The skulls. What about the skulls? Were they cracked open?”

“They were. And the brains were sucked out as well.”

“Son of a bitch.” She started pacing back and forth, muttering, until Eli stuck out a large hand and corralled her.

“This means something to you, I’m assuming.”

“It does. It’s typical, I’m sorry to say, of a very specific type of spell work.”

“Black practitioners? Again?”

“Not necessarily. It’s a spell used to extend life. Through the ages there have been more than one practitioner who’s tried it, and they weren’t all dark arts guys-mostly older practitioners, though, ones who thought they could cheat death that way. You take the organs and the life force from young men and women, transfer it into your own chi, and gain a few years of youth and vitality. Theoretically you could continue that way forever, although each time it takes a little more to get the same effect.”

“Is that possible?” I asked, glancing over at Eli for confirmation.

“Supposedly,” he said. “I have read about such things in my researches, but it’s all been speculation. It would take a strong practitioner. I’ve never met anyone who’s run across an actual case.”

“Well, I have,” Ruby said. “Or at least Giancarlo has-it was before my time.”

“Maybe,” said Eli. “But it seems an incredible coincidence that something like this would surface at exactly the same time as the fake Ifrit and the Wendigo. Are you saying there’s no connection?”

“There are coincidences in this world. But maybe here’s the connection. Consider this: When Mason found the Wendigo, it knew his name. Now, sure, it could have found out with a little research, or even by just hanging around. But until Mason showed up at Muir Woods, it would have had no reason to know he even existed, am I right? But not only did it know Mason’s name; it was almost as if it was waiting there for him.”

“Exactly. So?”

“So, maybe a practitioner told it about him-as soon as he and Victor figured out the fake Ifrit wasn’t responsible for those attacks, you’d start looking around for another suspect. A preemptive strike, perhaps.”

“Maybe,” said Eli. “But consider this: Mason, before you ran into the Wendigo, who or what did you and it have in common?”

“Rolf?”

“Rolf never saw him, didn’t even know what he might be, much less where you would be.” I thought for a few seconds.

“Well, there isn’t anything else.”

“Are you sure? How did you know where to find him?”

“Through Morgan’s vision, of course. But…”

Now, that was interesting. She’d seen me; she’d seen Lou; she’d seen the woods. And although she hadn’t seen the Wendigo, she’d certainly felt his presence.

“Exactly,” Eli said, seeing the look of dawning comprehension on my face. “Morgan saw you in the vision. She saw where you would be. She sensed the Wendigo. And the Wendigo has showed himself very comfortable in dimensions of the mind, places that are both of the spirit and of the flesh, places not exactly one or the other. He had no trouble finding Sherwood, remember.

“Visions, true ones, operate on a psychic plane outside of our ordinary space and time. And clearly, that outside perspective is something very familiar to our Wendigo. So when she saw him, and you, he also saw her. And you. And he knew what she knew-your name, for example.”

“And the Wendigo isn’t the only thing she’s had a vision of,” I said, slowly. “She’s seen something else-actually, she didn’t see it, but she sensed it, and it scared the crap out of her, far worse than the Wendigo did. No offense, Ruby-she couldn’t see what it was, either, but unlike you, she could feel it.”

“So either way if there’s something else out there, it’s not only aware of you; it’s aware of her as well,” said Victor. “That’s not good.”

“No, it’s not,” Eli said. “I think this woman might well be in need of some protection.”

“She’s going to be thrilled about that.”

“Can’t be helped. The least we can do is ward her house, so she’ll have a safe haven. Even if it turns out to be a rogue practitioner after all, it can’t hurt.”

“And we’d better get on it,” Victor said. “Ruby, do you want to come along?”

“No,” she said. “I’ve got things to do. But I’m sure you guys can handle it. I still think it’s a practitioner-no matter what this woman saw in her vision, if there were a monster prowling around, there’s no way I wouldn’t feel it. Still, I guess I could be wrong, and it certainly couldn’t hurt to give this woman some protection.”

She left, looking thoughtful and worried.

THE PHONE CONVERSATION WITH MORGAN WAS as awkward as I’d expected. Not surprisingly, the idea she might be in mortal danger didn’t sit well with her. She wasn’t upset with me, however. She was mostly mad at her mom.

“If she hadn’t started spouting off about my being psychic, I wouldn’t have done a reading for you and I wouldn’t be involved with this now,” she said.

“True, but a very close friend of mine wouldn’t have been rescued, either,” I told her. She was less than impressed.

“Good for her; not so good for me,” she said.

She did like the idea of making her home safe, though. Who wouldn’t? When she gave me her address, I was surprised to learn it was over in Bernal Heights, not so far from my own place.

“I thought you lived on the other side of town,” I said.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t so sure at first I wanted you to know where I lived. I picked a coffee shop over in my old neighborhood to meet.”

“And I reassured you?”

“Not really, but Louie did. That’s one of the things he’s good at, right?”

“Yes, it is,” I said. “We need to get this done right away.

We’ll be over in an hour or so, if that’s all right.”

“You and Louie?”

“Me and my friends. They’re very good at this sort of thing.”

HER HOUSE IN BERNAL HEIGHTS WAS RIGHT ON Holly Park Circle, across from Holly Park itself. Bernal was once a working-class neighborhood and in many respects still is, although houses there, like everywhere in San Francisco, are now out of the price range of true working people. Way out of the range of a working musician.

At one time Bernal Heights was a favored spot for motorcycle clubs and other counterculture types seeking to keep a low profile. It hasn’t been yuppified as much as the Mission, but it’s getting there. Jimmy’s bar, one of the sketchiest in the city, is located there, as well as the Wild Side West, perhaps the oldest lesbian bar in the city, although it’s hard to tell anymore since the clientele has become so diverse.

There was frantic deep-pitched barking from inside Morgan’s house when I rang the bell. Lou looked interested. The door opened and a huge Rottweiler pushed its way into the doorway, guarding its turf, growling softly. Lou bounded over to sniff noses and it jumped back three feet.