Dr. Mormo hung up the phone. He sat there on the floor, disgruntled. His round, bloated face was pale. His round, bloated belly, under a sweat-stained shirt of shiny gold, was gurling ominously. The trouble with working for the devil, he reflected bitterly, is that you get paid the wages of sin.
He sat cross-legged. His black pentagram banner was spread out on the carpet before him. His black candles were lit, the low flames wavery. A stuffed goat’s head sat to one side of him, its glass eyes flickering with the light.
And between them, in the center of the pentagram, sat the Madonna.
The panel was in a box, the box was standing open. The candlelight played over the features of the virgin, spread into Rhinehart’s tangled brown background and breathed it to tenebrous life. The tubby warlock brooded over the picture gloomily.
Mary was in the winter woods. She was down on one knee, clasping her hands together. She was clothed in drapery of royal blue, which set her off from the stark snarl of lifeless branchwork all around her, and from the great, twisted dead oak that hung over her, like threatening doom. Her face was round, fleshy, Bavarian, a peasant’s face, but with pale eyes mystic and tender. She had a lovely, distant smile.
Looked more like a fairy-tale princess than the Queen of Heaven, Mormo thought. Looked more like Snow White in the Disney movie than anything.
He could hardly wait to get the holy bitch out of here.
He reached up, grabbed hold of the bedstead. Grunting, he hoisted himself off the floor. “Too old for this,” he grumbled miserably. His bare feet white beneath the cuffs of his dirty corduroys, he padded to the bedroom door and out into the hall.
The house was dark around him, all the windows shuttered against the rain and the fading light. But Mormo knew the place, one of his more familiar hideaways. He trudged surely through the shadows to the top of the stairs. The floorboards creaking in the surrounding silence. The old man grumbling. All this intrigue. All this danger, he thought. He was way too old. It was way past time to get out of the business, retire, settle down. Get himself a place in Cornwall by the sea. Gather a cozy little coven about him. Spend his declining years in quiet contemplation and blood sacrifice, appeasing the dark powers in hope of the life to come.
He started heavily down the stairs. Well, he thought, tonight should pave the way, provide him with a nice little nest egg. Assuming it didn’t kill him first.
He came slowly down into the foyer. Caught an obscure glimpse of himself in the mirror there. Poor old bloke with not a true friend left to him, he thought. Hard done by. Everyone on him and on him. Difficult to know who to be most afraid of at this point, really. The old Nazi who’d passed him the panel, there was a right spooky loon if ever there was one. Going on and on about death and culture. “It takes a mountain of corpses to make a Madonna,” he’d said. His eyes all shiny. Mormo could hardly wait to get the hell away from the lunatic.
But the Nazi had been more terrified even than he was. He knew he’d put his tit in the wringer when he’d phoned Sotheby’s to bid on The Magi. He knew Iago would cotton onto him, come after him double quick and no mistake. And now poor old Dr. M had that to worry about too, didn’t he? Iago. He shivered.
He continued his trek, through the darkened sitting room towards the kitchen. No noise anywhere besides his footsteps and his sighs.
He didn’t want to think about what Iago would do to him if he caught him at this. He didn’t want to think about it for a minute. But the truth was: Iago—he would do for him sooner or later anyway, wouldn’t he? At the end of the day, there was no percentage at all in dealing with a man like that.
Which left him with Harper, the devil forgive him. Fancy him making arrangements with that sanctimonious old cow after all these years. It was against his religion, no question. But there he was at the end of the day. When he’d balanced all, she was his safest bet. He could evade Iago if he had to. Been doing it on and off for years, hadn’t he? Master of shrouding himself in darkness, that’s what he was. Enough safe houses to become an estate agent and all the powers of Hell on his side.
But Harper. Now she had connections. She seemed to be able to find him wherever he was. Turn up right in front of him like Hecate herself, she did. And she’d set the Yard on him too. She’d said so. At the kitchen doorway, he shivered again, grumbled again: “Too old.” Too old for prison, that was for bloody sure.
He switched on the kitchen light. The fluorescents crackled, flickered on. The old warlock blinked against the sudden brightness. The linoleum tiles felt cold against his bare soles.
This was why he’d always favored this house: the kitchen. A nice big one. Nice big larder behind the door to his left. Nice big fridge, lots of worktop space round the basin. Dr. Mormo liked to cook. It relaxed him. And he could do with a bit of relaxation just now.
He opened the fridge and stuck his head in. American-made—you could practically walk right into it if you had a mind. It was comforting just to hear the hum of it. The place was too quiet, almost creepy here all by himself.
He gathered up the onions, tomatoes, scallions, prosciutto. Brought the whole armload to the worktop and laid it out beside the cutting board.
He rummaged through the cutlery drawer, removed a formidable cook’s knife. Lifted it, held it expertly to the light to make sure it was clean. It was plenty clean. The stainless steel was gleaming.
Iago’s grinning face was reflected on the blade.
Mormo saw it, let out a weak mewl of terror. The knife fell from his slack fingers as he spun to face the open larder door. He felt his legs turning to water, his bowels turning to water. He felt the front of his corduroys going hot and damp.
The shiny knife fell down and down to the floor, turning and turning in the air as it fell. The reflected wedge of that cruel, leering countenance flashed on the blade, disappeared, and flashed again as the knife spun.
The thud of the steel on the linoleum was very loud in the silent house.