Vincent Middleton, fortified by several aspirin laced with codeine, stood across the street from the building where Omar Satinov lived. He gazed up at the top floor, the penthouse suite that Suzanne had described to him. He had that prickly paranoid feeling he was being watched. He also felt dizzy and sick. Hangovers are a bitch.
Vincent took a deep breath and wished Omar really was the mythical Vampire of legend, and he, The Intrepid Vampire Hunter his students had christened him at the university. In that case he would be girded with a cross, holy water and draped with a garland of garlic cloves. He was utterly bewildered by a man he suspected might be an actual sorcerer.
As he watched from across the street, he saw a tall brunette woman hurry around the corner of the building and go inside. He started hastily forward, each step jolting pain through his head, because he recognized her from somewhere. He frowned and tried to concentrate. His head was on fire in the benighted tropical heat. Was she one of the witches he had seen in the circle? Or maybe one of the women from the occult store.
A security guard at the doorway barred the entrance, which was understandable with the murder that had occurred here. He would have to think of a way to enter the building without Omar's knowledge. He wanted to surprise Omar so he wouldn't have a chance to prepare a nasty surprise. Suzanne might be there and he wanted to induce her to leave without too much trouble.
Vincent ambled over and told the guard he was waiting for a friend. He glanced into the lobby, ostensibly searching for the fictional friend. The dark haired woman was heading to the mailboxes on the left side of the lobby. She extracted a few envelopes and magazines. Then she crossed to a side door off the lobby. When she opened the door he could see it led to a stairwell up into the building. She kept looking around, as though wary, and he got a good glimpse of her face as she checked behind her before the door closed. Then he remembered. She was the woman who had confronted Omar in the witch's circle last night.
He wondered if she was going up to see Omar, but she appeared frightened and he did not believe so. He couldn't imagine her climbing up twenty floors. She might actually live here. If so, he would like to talk to her. Find out what she knew.
Vincent paced and pointedly looked at his watch every few minutes. Finally, he told the guard that he wanted to use the public phone in the lobby, find out what was holding up his friend. The guard examined him up and down. Apparently he decided Vincent didn't look like a psychotic rapist/killer and let him in. The guard said he could wait in the lobby, that he looked a little off, maybe heat-sickness if he wasn't used to the weather in Hawaii. Vincent truthfully admitted to a blinding headache.
Vincent walked past the mailboxes. The dark girl's box was the fourth from the end, next to the bottom row. He surreptitiously glanced at it. Michelle Montgomery, 1707.
Even as he looked up Michelle's number in the directory on a stand by the telephones, he knew he was putting off the direct confrontation with Omar Satinov. But he was a little guy. Omar probably had the giant with him, too. This was not something he was looking forward to. The phone rang three times.
"Hello?"
"Ms. Montgomery?" Vincent asked.
"Yes." The voice was deep and low for a woman, Vincent thought. Someone with firm control. She must be terrified.
"My name is Vincent Middleton. I'm a professor at Stanford University, in the psychology department. My specialty is the study of the paranormal. Witches in particular. I'm visiting Hawaii because there's a man here I've been investigating. I think you know him. Omar Satinov."
"Oh. Yes."
"I saw you last night at a ritual that Mr. Satinov was conducting. I was hoping to speak to you for a few minutes. I got the impression you were not one of his followers."
"No, I'm not. Where are you?"
"The lobby of your building. I came to see Mr. Satinov, and then I saw you..."
"I'll come down and get you."
"Thank you."
Vincent sat down on a sofa and looked around. The place was beautifully furnished and obviously catered to wealthy inhabitants. One side of the lobby was ornately mirrored and he caught a glimpse of Michelle's reflection after a few minutes, peeking out the door to the stairwell, before she stepped into the lobby itself.
Vincent was a little surprised by her height, but Omar was very tall and she had been next to him in the circle last night. She topped Vincent by almost a foot. He stood up and shook her hand, repeating his name. She gazed at him seriously, with very unusual yellow eyes. He could see why a warlock would be attracted to her.
Vincent had the impression that she was still nervous, not of him necessarily, but of being here in the open, in this particular building.
"I remember you," Michelle said. "I didn't see your face last night. Uh...you kind of keeled over."
"That's kindly put," Vincent said, smiling a bit ruefully. "I'm still feeling the effects of something that was given to me in a drink, by the red haired witch."
Michelle nodded, "Ginger. Why don't you come up and have a coke. I've found it the best quick hangover remedy." She was walking to the elevator with a little smile. "Tomato juice is good too, but I threw it all away. I have some potent B-complex vitamins, if you're really feeling awful."
"The police put me in the hospital for acute alcohol poisoning," Vincent said as the elevator rose. "But I believe there was something else in the drink. I declined to join the...festivities last night. Whatever the drink was, it totally paralyzed me for a time."
They had reached Michelle's apartment. She looked at him very directly. "I believe you. Now, you'll have to be careful of Lucifer. He used to be Omar's cat and he has a habit of attacking people." She opened the door.
Either Lucifer really was a normal cat or he found the small pudgy man inoffensive. He did not attack. He very studiously ignored. Vincent could tell Michelle was watching the cat warily as she took him into the kitchen.
"Don't drink it too fast," Michelle warned as she handed Vincent a large iced coke, "or it'll make the headache worse." She reached into a cabinet and took several bottles down, peering at the labels. She gave him three vitamins. One was as large as a small egg, but he managed to choke it down.
"I'm an alcoholic, but I wasn't entirely stupid." She was smiling, as though telling him that was funny. "I took good care of myself otherwise."
"How did it happen?" Vincent asked, surprised and really curious. She appeared intelligent, not the type to go off the deep end of addiction.
"It's part of the story that involves Omar," Michelle said, leading him into the living room. "He triggered it. You see, he had Samson Stoker rape me several years ago. But I didn't know it."
They sat down on the couch, and with Vincent's urging, Michelle told him the whole story, ending with last night when she had finally remembered what happened to her in Las Vegas.
"You realize that Omar is a very powerful and dangerous man?" Vincent asked.
"I understand his covens are spread around the world," Michelle said.
"Yes. He may want to consolidate his power with someone he feels has managerial skills, as well as a type of attractiveness that he covets in his witches. Also, his reputation is rather blighted. There are rumors of death and mutilation that follow him, which are starting to repel potential disciples. He's just starting out here in Hawaii and he usually leaves someone behind to carry on his work when he goes on to another location. That person personally sells his herbal potions and conducts the witch ceremonies. Omar is one of the best kept secrets in a religion filled with secrets."
"So you think when he said he wanted me for his ultimate Priestess, that he wants me to carry on his work here?"
"No. I think he'll want Suzanne for that." Vincent related his story and told her what had happened to Suzanne.
It was almost dark now and Michelle got up and turned on several lights, more for comfort than necessary illumination. What had happened to Suzanne was horrifying. And Suzanne couldn't remember it consciously either. She evidently still thought that Omar was a brilliant and handsome witch; not a psychotic killer/rapist/drug dealer.
Michelle sat down again. "I still don't understand what he wants."
"Omar has consolidated the dark powers. He uses what's called black magic, but the other side is closed to him. I really can't label him. He could be termed a Satanist because he's reputed to conjure up devils from...hell, even I don't believe that. But unlike Satanists, he doesn't hold black masses or sacrifice animals. He could be called a sorcerer. Or a warlock. A wizard. He personally calls himself a Necromancer. Many believe that he actually does conjure up evil dead spirits. Or he could be called a Black Witch. He's known by some as the Black Overlord. He has studied extensively in several different countries, taking a little from the witches, the Satanists and from those who know how to use deadly poisons and many different drugs. And of course, he has his own lethal minion in Samson Stoker."
Michelle nodded and shivered.
"In you, I think he found a total opposite. First of course, you're obviously the opposite sex. But more than that, I suspect you have qualities absent in him."
"He said that once. Yin and Yang. True opposites. It was his explanation for the shocks I got whenever he touched me."
"Really?" Vincent looked at her with interest. "Suzanne didn't say anything like that, but I don't know if he ever did touch her. Your description sounds like the opposing forces of magnets, repelling each other violently."
"Actually, I was attracted to him. Very powerfully," Michelle said smiling.
"He is a magnificent looking specimen," Vincent said smiling too. "It's one of his advantages, and he uses it to the hilt to lure women into his religion. First, they're mesmerized by his dashing looks. Then he hooks them on drugs until they become his personal slaves. Actually, from what I've managed to learn, he's in his sixties."
"You're kidding!"
Vincent shook his head. "Magic my dear."
"I thought maybe thirty-five. Even forty."
"No. He's had plastic surgery more than once. But something must have made you fearful of him?"
"I looked into his eyes, when I was close to him. I felt repulsed. I thought I saw swarms of insects. Or snakes, writhing in the depths."
Vincent nodded. "Can you give me a little of your history?"
Michelle recited a quick version of her life story. She thought he would find it dull.
Vincent was nodding again. "You had a happy childhood. Made friends easily. Enjoyed life, for the most part. From what little I have learned about Omar, his history is about as opposite to yours as one could find. He was an unwanted child after his mother died, when he was still quite young. I suspect he had no friends and that he killed his own father to possess his vast fortune."
Michelle was frowning, "That's sad. And scary."
"You have compassion. Something totally lacking in Omar, except for those objects he considers worthwhile possessions. Even people, like the giant, are possessions to him. His insects and animals are possessions too."
"He seemed courteous and kind," Michelle said. "At first."
"He's a game player, and may even seem fun at times, but it's all an act. He's totally lacking in some fundamental human attributes of feeling. Like a killer sociopath. Or the more dangerous psychopath. His obsessions are power and wealth. And he truly believes in his magic."
"But when you get right down to it, I still don't understand what he wants. I'm not unique in any way."
Vincent smiled. He wanted to break it to her gently and knew she probably wouldn't believe him. "I think you told me yourself. You were attracted to him physically, but your subconscious mind, or body wisdom, knew the truth better than you could understand intellectually. You felt, and even saw, sparks fly when he touched you. I don't believe in witches or black magic, but there is documented truth in the scientific study of the paranormal, which is simply physical phenomena we don't understand yet. I believe you possess psychic powers of your own. Omar knows this too. He is able to see auras. Those with powerful psychic abilities project auras which are unmistakable. He suspects your abilities are strong enough that he wants to own them. He can only do so by possessing you, emotionally and physically."
Michelle smiled at the odd notion that she might have some supernatural powers. "I have a hard time believing this."
"He needs someone who is kind and compassionate to rule with him. Not that the person would have any real power. She would just appear to. That's why he set the giant upon you. To weaken you. He tried to kill your best friend to hurt you further. He put your job in jeopardy, even placed stolen cash in your office. Maybe he thought you would go away with him if the police were after you. He wants you weak and vulnerable. So you're in a dangerous position. Especially now that he knows you know all about him. He isn't making his attacks sneaky, any more. He placed the vodka on your table openly. He threw a lightning bolt instead of using an elaborate plan to kill Heather with sleeping pills, masking as suicide. He will overtly try to scare you into doing his bidding. Or he might try to take your will away with the forced use of drugs."
Michelle had been growing ever more alarmed as she listened. She didn't think she really had psychic ability, but from what this professor was telling her, she was in grave danger. "I have to admit, I believe he has strange powers. What should I do?"
"If he weakens you or hurts you, he may simply erase any psychic power you possess. Unusual human abilities seem to flourish in certain circumstances. They aren't turned on by will power alone. Psychic powers are manifested in periods of extreme need, during periods of great stress. Omar may bring your powers out to his own detriment, if he pushes you too hard. On the other hand, he might just cause them to disappear."
"So I would be worthless to him. But you're supposing I have something I've never even experienced."
"You've never had premonitions that came true? Never knew when someone was going to call you? Never avoided a disaster because you felt uneasy?"
She nodded rather dubiously. "Those things happen to everyone."
"That's called precognition. Think of something recent," Vincent urged.
"Oh, I did know when Omar's witches were after Heather. I knew they would kill her if I didn't do something right away."
"And you knew better than to get involved with Omar," Vincent said nodding. "Think of something different about you. Maybe when you were a little girl."
Michelle was silent for a moment and then her face lit up. "It's almost a family joke. They said I was attracted mysteriously to hurt animals. I did seem to find a lot of injured and abandoned little dogs and cats. Rabbits. Once a bat. Rats and mice. I insisted on keeping them. My parents said I healed them. But that was long ago."
"Okay. Let's just suppose you have the psychic ability of precognition and also the gift of healing. That may be what attracted Omar."
This man was enhancing her anxiety about Nakamura. She got up and went to the telephone. "I'm worried about a friend..."
Vincent listened to her side of the telephone conversation, but couldn't see her face, as she was turned away from him. She was talking to someone named Tom. Vincent saw her react violently, as though she had received a physical blow. She cried out 'No,' once, then she was quiet for a time.
"Try to keep him there. I don't think he should drive...Oh...the car's wrecked? He can't talk?...resting. Okay. Thank's, Tom. I'll come over now. Take him back to his hotel."
Michelle walked woodenly over to a chair and sat down. "His car exploded."
Vincent nodded. "You have to believe very strongly, right now, that you have the powers."
Michelle shook her head. "I have to drive over. Get Nakamura."
She seemed agitated and Vincent didn't want her panicking. She had to be calm. "No. You'll be leading Omar directly to your friend. You should stay away from him. I think Omar will start another attack very ..."
Suddenly all the light bulbs in Michelle's apartment started exploding, one after another, like tiny bombs. First the bulb in a lamp by the couch, near where Vincent was sitting exploded. Then each bulb in a small chandelier in the dining room. The apartment became darker as each bulb exploded with the popping sound of a small bomb. The kitchen fixture erupted loudly and crashed to the floor. Each pop and explosion was distinct and separate. Smoke drifted from the bulbs and glass covered the floor.
When the glass splinters sprayed around the room, tiny sharp projectiles hit Vincent and Michelle. Michelle let out a shrill scream and ran to the center of the living room.
A whirlwind seemed to blow through the whole apartment, toppling books off of shelves, knocking chairs over, sending small objects flying around the room.
Everything stopped. The whole apartment was completely dark, which made it even scarier. Only a diffused illumination came in from the windows to the balcony.
Vincent was badly hit on the right side of his face and arm from the exploded lamp bulb near where he had been sitting.
"Are you all right?" Michelle asked. She was shaking out her hair, which was covered with tiny glass splinters. She had been closer to the dining room and the tiny bulbs in the chandelier had sprayed the fragile glass all over her, but she didn't have any serious cuts.
Vincent nodded. "We were lucky. But we have to get out of here. Right now. He's started his attack."
Vincent painfully pulled a splinter out of his right cheek as Michelle led him toward the sliding glass doors to the patio so she could see his injuries better.
"You're lucky you didn't get glass in your eyes," Michelle commented. She was picking glass out of his sparse hair. He had several cuts on his arm and scalp. There was a bad one on his ear lobe, which was dripping blood which appeared black in the dim light.
"Let's go in the bathroom and take care of that," Michelle said. She started hurrying toward the bathroom.
"No," Vincent yelled urgently.
Michelle turned around.
"Don't turn on any lights. They might explode too."
"Right. Where's Lucifer?" She looked around but couldn't see the tiny white cat anywhere. She finally heard him in the bedroom, meowing mournfully. She would have to crawl under the bed in the dark and get him.
"Leave the cat," Vincent said.
"I can't."
Vincent nodded and muttered, No, a healer couldn't leave an animal.
Michelle heard Vincent follow her as she walked into the dark bedroom, crunching on glass splinters, and inched under the bed. Of course Lucifer was being difficult and backing away from her. He looked an unearthly luminous white in the darkness and she finally grabbed him. She heard Vincent muttering about the fact that Omar seemed to have abilities over electrical phenomena. Lightening and electrical appliances.
Michelle started backing out from under the bed. "He must have been using those skills on the buildings I manage. We had power outages. Elevators, air-conditioners and lights malfunctioned. All at once. Smoke detectors went off. Security systems were suddenly screeching, going crazy for no reason. Real disasters. One man was almost killed."
"How long did it last?"
"A couple of days." Michelle was standing up with the struggling cat. "Then everything went back to normal." She was stroking the cat, calming it as they went back into the living room. The whole apartment was almost entirely black except in there.
"His power is limited. He can't control something like that for very long."
Michelle smiled when she noticed they were both whispering, as though they could be overheard. She went to the front door and opened it. It was on a spring which would close it automatically, but the bright light from the hallway was a relief, even though her apartment looked like a disaster area. The force of the flying glass and the wind had knocked books and figurines off of shelves like there had been a major earthquake. When she saw the extent of the damage she was surprised that neither she nor Vincent had been more badly injured.
"Get the things you need. We have to leave," Vincent urged.
She was still shivering from the shock of the exploding lights and was quiet for a time. Finally she let the door close and went to the closet in her hallway. She came out with a flashlight. She held it far away from herself, cringing as she turned it on, trying to shield the cat with her arm. It did not explode. There was glass shimmering all over the carpet where she focused the light. Even the glass monitor on her computer had burst, spewing its guts over the computer table.
"I think I will do whatever he wants." She was speaking slowly as she started gathering the clothes that she had prepared for work. "I can't let my friends get hurt."
"Wrong attitude, Michelle," Vincent said. "You have to fight him. You have to believe in yourself." He was wishing he had the time to hypnotize her and strengthen that belief. But they were going to have to start their own attack soon or Omar would take all initiative away from them.
"Think Michelle, what's he going to do now?"
"Oh," Michelle straightened up with the clothes over her arm. "He uses the heating ducts. The heat almost never goes on here in Hawaii. That's how my things got moved."
It was almost uncanny. She could see it in her mind, Omar sending his army of giant insects down through the ducts. It could have been gruesome and horrifying, but it was just a picture she was seeing in her mind objectively. Then she remembered that the apartment above hers was empty. She suddenly knew that was why he had killed the woman living there. He wanted that apartment empty. The fact was there in her mind, sudden and incontrovertible, but she didn't know why. She aimed her flashlight up at the ceiling, where the heating vent was located. Gas was pouring out of the duct like thick smoke. It was already covering the ceiling like a thick oily cloud that was reaching down towards them.
Even in the dark she could see the gas was green. Her mind warned, Poison. She felt surprise that she didn't smell anything, just before she passed out.