Vincent 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.
Well, that was certainly fake, Vincent thought. The explosion of sparks could only be some sort of chemical that he had hidden in his sleeve. But the crowd didn't seem to think so. They had seen his hand in the fire. Some were moaning because they thought he was in pain. They probably believed he was a great sorcerer.
Vincent was sickened by the whole thing, and especially by the crowd of worshipers. They had not emitted a sound while it appeared as though the young girl was being given deathly mutilations. But when it appeared as though Omar must be burning his hand they had protested with screams and moans. Vincent was disgusted. He vowed he would prove Omar a nasty, evil charlatan.
Vincent kept moving his binoculars through the crowd on the beach looking for the huge man that Suzanne had described to him. The man who had raped her, wearing horns and a cape. But he couldn't find anyone who fit that description.
Much later that night, Vincent had the surprising thought that if he couldn't find his proof regarding the sorcerer, Omar, he would have to kill the man himself. He had stayed long after everyone except Omar and the witches had left. At the end of the night's revelry, Omar brought the out sacrificial victim again. The young woman looked perfectly fine when she walked into the circle to the jubilant shouts of the crowd. The blood had been removed from her body. She was wearing a short white robe and raised her arms in benediction, along with Omar. Then darkness engulfed all; the torch's light suddenly gone, blinding everyone for a few moments.
When the crowd became accustomed to the dimmer light of only the moon, the magic circle was empty. It seemed like everyone inside the circle had abruptly disappeared. This was the signal that the evening's events had ended. The crowd started gathering their belongings and walking up the bluff toward Vincent to get their cars.
Vincent moved sideways atop the bluff to avoid the worshipers. Then he made his way down to the beach. He sat huddled in the sand entirely motionless in the dark, hoping he would not be discerned in the shadow of the hill above him. He waited to see what would transpire next.
Vincent knew that when the torches went out everyone working with Omar had gone into the tent. They were probably waiting for the crowd to disperse before leaving themselves.
Finally a few women came out of the tent and began cleaning the beach of all debris. The stake torches were taken down. The fire where the magic potions were supposed to be made was doused and cleaned. Women walked around the beach, picking up soft drink cans, napkins and the other mess a large crowd could leave. In Hawaii the beaches were kept spotless. Omar obviously did not want the environmental police led to this place by signs that a crowd had been here during the night.
Finally Omar came out of the tent and walked alone to the top of the bluff. Vincent followed him with his binoculars and saw the man raise his hands toward the heavens, as though beseeching some deity. He was silhouetted against the full moon. His cape made him look like a bat ready to take off into the sky. Then Omar went to a black Porsche and drove away.
Vincent watched the women as they finished cleaning and finally left the deserted beach in a chattering group. Still, Vincent waited because the sacrifice victim had not been with the others. It was then that the man Vincent had waited for finally came out of the tent. He was just as Suzanne had described, minus the horns and cape. Vincent had seldom seen such size except in professional wrestlers. The man was holding the sacrificial victim in his arms. The young woman looked like a tiny doll, he was so gigantic.
Vincent watched him walk toward the surf and lay the girl down on the beach close to the waves. Then the giant walked back to the tent, took it down, and carried it up to the highway.
Vincent waited until he heard a motor start up and the sound of the man driving away down the highway. Then he started running to the woman who lay nude in the sand. He couldn't believe the man had left her there, where the high tide would take her out into the ocean in a few hours, if she was unconscious or hurt.
Vincent slowed down when he was near. Running in the sand was exhausting work for him, a sedentary scholar, and he had been a few blocks away. His shoes were full of sand and his breath came in gasps.
He knelt beside the woman and felt her neck. He couldn't discern a pulse. Vincent waded into the surf, cupped his hands in the ocean and filled them. He ran back to the woman and poured water over her forehead. He waited for a few seconds. Then he gently slapped her face a few times very lightly. "Wake up! Wake up."
Vincent's ministrations did no good.
The woman was dead.
That was when Vincent knew Omar was truly evil. He had to be stopped. In the bright moonlight the woman looked like a perfect, beautiful statue. Vincent studied the wounds from Omar's sword and pressed a finger to one on her shoulder. The injures were real. Omar had not tricked the crowd.
Vincent gently picked her up and walked slowly up the beach. When he moved the woman her wounds were still bleeding, so she had not been dead long. Vincent wondered if she had been alive when Omar left the tent.
As he walked up the hill to the highway his tears slid down his face while her blood stopped flowing. He vowed he would kill Omar himself if he had to.
He was gasping and staggering with his burden when he finally reached his car, atop the hill near the highway. He had to put her down on the ground to get the keys from his pocket and he did not like doing it. He wanted to keep holding the poor woman who had been so brutally slaughtered.
As he was leaning forward, trying to find a clean place upon which to place her, he heard something behind him and half turned, straightening up, still holding the woman. He saw the enormous giant behind him with arm raised.
Vincent staggered backward, but the giant came after him with something held high. He felt blinding pain for only an instant. There was a flash of bright light. Then he crashed into darkness.