Chapter Nine

It was really strong," Barb said. Janea had called Greg and helped her up to their room where they were met by the FBI agent. "It had a feel to it, like a predator. Like you look up and there are the eyes of a beast staring at you from a cliff. Not a clean beast, either, a horrible one. I think, maybe, he'd seen his quarry."

"Then we need to find him, fast," Greg said. "Before he leaves with her."

"The girls haven't been killed during the cons, have they?" Janea asked.

"No," Greg admitted.

"Than he's probably going to stalk her for a while," Janea pointed out. "Hopefully, he'll stay here for the full con. We've got time."

"Any direction to this feeling?" Greg asked.

"Not really," Barbara said, shaking her head and taking a drink of water. What she really wanted was a good, stiff drink of bourbon. "It was just . . . all around. He might even have been in the Dealer's Room."

"A Dealer?" Greg asked. "That would narrow it down some."

"There were lots of people in there shopping," Janea pointed out. "I wish Barb had been a bit more fit; we could have looked around."

"I didn't get any feel from any of the dealers," Barbara said. "Or any of the pieces, not a necromantic feel. One of the dealers was . . . a tad strange. But . . . he didn't have the right feel, either. He was dark, but not evil."

Greg considered her for a moment and open and shut his mouth. Then he shrugged.

"The only thing I can figure out is to have you circulate," Greg said, frowning. "Maybe if you meet him you'll get a feel or whatever."

"I'm not sure I'm going to be willing to be open enough to get a . . . feel the rest of the con," Barb said, sighing. "But you're right."

"I'm going to the Warf Rat party," Greg said. "Janea?"

"I'm going to go Larp," Janea said, definitely. "I'd give odds it's a Larper."

"I'll just wander around," Barbara said. "People talk to me. I'll see what I can dig up."

"Everybody's got cell phones," Greg noted. "Janea, if you get a twinge, call Barb and me. We'll gather and study. I'll do the same. Barb, if you get a twinge, call me. Right away. I know you ladies are . . . experts with this. But the idea here is to make an arrest. Before we go I'm going to call in and let them know that we have a good probability of having the suspect on site. FBI Headquarters will get some back-up up here. Hopefully Hostage Rescue Team."

"If it comes down to a duel of power," Janea noted, "HRT will only be in the way. And they'd better not come on with 'we're the experts here' because they're not."

"There are HRT members who are briefed for Special Circumstance," Greg pointed out.

"I know," Janea snapped. "But they've also been damned brain-dead about it from time to time. And then you've got soul-sucked and dead HRT guys on your hands and there are questions and problems and . . ."

"I take your point," Greg said, swallowing.

"The same goes for you, Greg," Barbara pointed out, quietly. "If whoever this is has built up serious power, or has a serious channel, you could be the liability here. If I tell you to leave, you leave, got it?"

"Got it," the FBI agent said, unhappily.

"I'm sorry I got bitchy," Janea said, putting a hand on his arm. "But finally getting a real target nearly in the sights gets me horney and I get a back-ache. Sorry."

"Uh, that's alright," Greg said, swallowing.

"Freya can be a bitch that way," Janea said, sighing sadly. "She gets more attached the hornier I get. What I really need about now is a good screw. But we've got work to do."

"Yes we do," Barb said, trying not to smile at the agent's wide eyes. "But I'm going to change first. If I have to move, I don't want to be doing it in heels. You can't run in them worth a damn."

"Oh, it's just a matter of learning how," Janea argued. "You get up on your toes and sort of dance like a ballerina. It's not hard. Hell, I dance in higher heels than those all the time. And run. You just have to have the calves for it. And you look so good in heels."

"Well, I don't have the calves," Barbara said. "So I'm going to change into running shoes. You can wear whatever you want."

"Yes, mother," Janea said, grinning.

"I'm going to head out," Greg said. "Especially if you're going to be getting naked."

"But guys look at me naked all the time," Janea pointed out, reaching for the tie at her neck. "Don't you want to?"

"Maybe later!" Greg said, backing out of the room.

"Damn," Janea said as the door closed. "I was hoping for a quickie."

"Not with me in the room," Barb said, shaking her head.

"You only had to watch," Janea pouted. "Besides, you'd be getting dressed and stuff."

"What did I do to deserve this?" Barbara asked, pulling out her jeans.

"You needed somebody more experienced than you on the case," Janea pointed out. "And boy did you get it!"

Barbara wasn't sure what to do when she got downstairs. There were a few tables of gamers in the hallway outside the Dealer's Room, which had closed for the evening. Janea had pointed out that it was unlikely the killer was a gamer. Most gamers just stayed gaming through the con and didn't interact much. If the killer was stalking the cons for targets, the gamers were not the place to look.

Most of the rest of the people seemed to be gathered in small groups talking in corners. She passed out the double doors to the outdoor atrium that the hotel was wrapped around and found the smoking area. There were a couple of groups gathered on the steps down to the pool area and a larger group around a table on the north end.

It was cold outside but Barb had sensibly added a heavy jacket to the jeans and long sleeved shirt. She stood outside uncertainly, just looking around, and tried to listen to the conversations around her while opening up her channel carefully. When she didn't get any feel of evil immediately she closed her eyes and tried to mentally reach out.

"That's impolite you know," a girl's voice said by her ear.

Barbara's eyes flew open and she looked down into a round face by her shoulder. The person had sounded like a girl but was clearly a full grown woman, about five five with dark hair and . . . stout. She was wearing a heavy jacket and had a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other.

"You shouldn't just go throwing power around," the woman said, shaking her head. "Among other things there are people that would want to eat it. It's very dangerous to let anyone know you're powerful."

"Perhaps I'm powerful enough I'm not worried by it," Barb said, blinking in surprise.

"Nobody's that powerful," the woman said. "And just probing people is terribly rude."

"I'm doing it for a reason," Barbara replied, defensively.

"I didn't figure you were just hunting for a good guy to get laid by tonight," the woman said, grinning. "I used to do that at Sabbats. It's a good way to figure out which guy's likely to be worth it. Oh, you steer wrong sometimes, I know I sure did. I picked up one guy who was a real loser that way. I mean, he had power but he was such a slacker he never used it and when he did it was for all the wrong reasons. But I wish I'd known about it before I met my ex. I mean, I learned about power and auras while I was with him and when I really read his aura I was like: 'What in the hell did I do?' It wasn't bad enough he wanted to have sex every fifteen minutes, and he wasn't good at it I'll tell you, but he just was so closed up. I mean, he had power, too, but he was so selfish it was like he held it in like a miser. It was the same as everything with him, he just used it for his own fun. He never cared if I had fun or not, I'll tell you that, but it was all the time or he got really angry. Oh, my name's Mandy. What's yours?"

"Barb," Barbara said, her eyes wide.

"I like the jacket, Barb. You don't seem like a pagan, are you? You look like a mundane, I was really surprised when I read your aura. You're right, you're powerful and it's god power. Who's your god?"

"The Lord," Barbara replied, calmly. "But I don't go around Bible thumping and I get along just fine with pagans."

"Wow! You're a Christian? I've met some Christian's who said they were powerful but it was all so much bullshit. They were so closed up it was incredible. I thought Christianity must suck power right out of you. I'd like to meet the Pope just so I could see if he's powerful because if he's not nobody will be right? But you're powerful, I can see that. You have the most amazing aura, it's very bright and light blue mostly. Light blue is really unusual, I guess it's because you're a Christian. There's tinges of red, that's usually a sign of somebody who's not sure what they are but I don't think that's related to your religion, you seem really grounded in that. What do you do?"

"I'm a homemaker," Barb said after a moment to catch up. The woman not only spoke non-stop she jumped all over the place and talked a mile a minute. And she didn't seem to care much about what she talked about.

"What's a mundane home-maker doing at a con?" Mandy asked. "I mean, we get all kinds but you don't seem like the con type. Are you enjoying yourself? Not much happens on Friday night, Saturday is when it starts to pick up. Of course this is a small con, the big ones like Dragon and WorldCon start on Thursday usually and go until Monday. But even then it's pretty slow on Thursday. Have you thought about going to DragonCon? You could really costume with those legs and tits; you'd look great in a chain-mail bikini or a corset. Yeah, a corset would really set off your looks. You should get a good corset. There's a guy I know makes corsets, he'd love to fit you. Great hands, I wish I could afford his stuff, but it's really expensive. He can make a corset for anybody, though. He made a corset for my friend Tracy and she's, like, an M cup. And she's got this condition called mastitis so here tits are, like, solid and they stand straight out. All the other guys that made corsets had tried and given up but Kevin made one for her. He's down in the Dealer's room, you should see him tomorrow. Medium height, great head of blonde hair, you should see the Eomer costume he made he looks just like him. Norm would look great in an Eomer costume but we could never afford it. I mean I'm barely making anything dealing Tarot and Norm can't get a. He's a trained diesel mechanic but nobody will hire him cause his dyslexia is so bad. What's funny is that he can read just fine if it's right to left, you know, but regular writing just is like impossible for him. He's really been helping me with my studies though. He used to be LeMay but he's with the Goddess now but when he was LeMay he really got into some very hard readings and he learned a lot that he's been able to help me with. He's really smart but he reads so bad that he can never pass the tests they give him for reading so nobody will hire him. Which is really stupid since he's a really good mechanic and he's built all sorts of stuff for us at the house. We've got the best altar you'll ever see and the whole circle thinks it's great. So what are you doing at the con?"

"I'm here to see K. Goldberg," Barbara said, her wide and staring eyes starting to glaze over. "I'm a big fan. Well, a fan. I heard she was going to be at this con and I decided to come get a couple of books signed."

"Really?" Mandy said, turning around. "Hey, Kay? Fan here."

"Excuse me?" Barb said, looking past Mandy's shoulder. At the base of the stairs was a group consisting of two women and a man. The man was heavy-set and had the look of a laborer. He clothing was worn and not particularly expensive to start with and he was wearing an old field jacket. One of the women was about Barbara's height and age, slightly plump with a pleasant face and brown hair. The other was short, slender to the point of emaciation and much older, maybe in her sixties, with bright red-brown hair. All three were smoking, the man and taller woman holding beer bottles and the older woman what looked very much like a Mimosa.

All three looked over at Mandy at the interruption but the older woman was facing Barb as she looked up. She gave Barbara the fastest appraisal she'd ever experienced, starting at the shoes and working up to Barb's face and hair. And her face was . . . hard and closed as she did it. Then it cleared, so fast that Barbara wondered if she'd really seen what she thought she saw.

"This is Barb," Mandy said, going over to the group. "Kay, she's a fan of your books," the woman continued, gesturing at the older woman.

"Always a pleasure to meet a reader," the older woman said in a soft southern accent. Her face now had an expression of real pleasure as she held out a soft hand.

"Barb's a home-maker," Mandy continued. "And this is my old man, Norm, and this is Ruby, she's the co-chair," she said, introducing the other two.

As expected, Norm's hand was rough from work. Ruby gave her a smile that was wary and Barbara couldn't figure out why.

"What is a . . . co-chair?" Barb asked.

"Con Co-chairman," Ruby said, regarding her levelly. "One of the two people running the con. I take care of dealing with guests and con-goer problems and my partner, Bill, handles operations and the con staff."

"Oh," Barbara said, blushing. "I understand. I've had to run some things, not this big. I can imagine the headaches. You've done an outstanding job; it's a very well run con from what I've seen. It must have taken a lot to time on your part to do all the planning."

"Thank you," Ruby said, her brow furrowing. She seemed to be looking for something in the words besides graciousness and not finding it. Possibly to her chagrin.

"Somehow I hadn't expected . . . uh, a big author to be just standing around talking out in the cold, Ms. Goldberg," Barb said, looking at Goldberg.

"Call me Kay," Goldberg replied, smiling and ducking her head shyly. "Everyone does."

"Do you write full-time?" Barbara asked, not sure what you asked a writer.

"Yes, but not mysteries," Kay answered in a soft voice, ducking her head again. "I also write for the newspaper in Charlotte and I do some radio work."

"Well, you certainly have a lovely voice," Barb said, smiling.

"Tell her what else you do, come on," Mandy said, grinning.

"Oh, Mandy," Kay said, shaking her head.

"She writes football columns for the paper," Ruby interjected, smiling at the slight woman. "And she does color commentary for Clemson."

"Really?" Barbara asked, her eyes widening. "What an . . . That's just delightful. I wish my husband could meet you. You'd probably have a lot to talk about; he's a tremendous Ole Miss fan."

"I'd rather talk mysteries," Kay replied, shrugging. "At least here. I enjoy football but it's good to get away sometimes. You're not originally from Mississippi, are you Barb?"

"No, I traveled around as a girl," Barbara said, her forehead furrowing slightly. "My father was what's called a Foreign Area Officer. They go to Embassies."

"What branch?" Ruby asked.

"Air Force," Barb said, looking at her in puzzlement. It was a lamentable fact that very few people she knew had much knowledge of the military.

"I was Air Force," Ruby said, nodding. "An SP. So was my ex, in the Force that is. He was a bomber pilot."

"So was my dad before he was an FAO," Barbara replied, smiling. For a former military brat, finding even one veteran in a group like this was a relief. In a way, the military was a very extended family and she warmed to Ruby immediately.

"I was in the Marines," Norm interjected.

"So was I," Mandy added. "That's where I met my ex. I met Norm later, thank the Goddess. He was a sending, I think I would have died if I hadn't met him." She grinned at the man who shrugged and smiled sheepishly. It was apparent who the big talker was in the two-some.

"I think this is as many military people as I've met since the last time I was at my dad's house," Barb said, grinning. "What about you Miz Goldberg?"

"I know a lot about the military," Kay answered. "And please call me Kay. Mandy said you are a home-maker? Children?"

"Three," Barbara said, sighing. "One of them, fortunately, old enough that she can do for her father. Mark's never learned to so much as cook. Except grilling, of course."

"All men can grill," Mandy said. "It's like something genetic. Get them around fire and they just have to cook something on it. But if you ever go to a Sabbat gathering you'll find out how much you really can do on a fire. Norm's great at cooking over a fire but I was at one where a lady held a full formal high tea, all of it cooked on fires. And it was perfect. She even had scones if you can believe it. I almost took Cheryl and I suppose I should have she would have learned something from it. Actually, what with everyone who was sky clad probably taking a fourteen year old who already has a C cup chest wouldn't have been a good idea. What did I ever do to deserve a daughter that has a C cup chest at fourteen? It's not like I was a C cup when I was fourteen. She thinks it's funny and so are boys and the way you can twist them around your finger. She keeps saying that she's going to suck all their brains out with flying squids and make them her minions. I don't know why it's flying squids but she's fixated on that. And taking over the world. She thinks girls should think big. I told her minions aren't going to do you any good if all they can do is stare at your chest but she wouldn't listen. But my ex has custody and I wasn't about to try to explain it to him he thinks Wicca is of the devil. Apparently wife beating is just fine by Jesus Christ . . . Oh, sorry!" she cut off, looking at Barbara.

"Christ is often used as an excuse for evil," Barb said, waggling her head from side to side. "I personally believe in the rule that a man is the master of the house and the woman's place is to obey. Up to a point and that point is when the actions are outside of Christian duty. The Old Testament has very little to suggest that a woman shouldn't allow herself to be beaten. But the foundation of Christianity is not the Old Testament, it is the New, the words of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. And Christ was a man of peace who raised up even the fallen women. He was, assuredly, never a wife beater. And any man who raises his hand to a woman in anger is no Christian."

"We get all sorts of trouble from Bible thumpers," Mandy said, shaking her head. "I mean, so I read Tarot, what's wrong with that? It's like they think we're the Devil incarnate and they don't even know what the Devil really is. I mean, the Christian symbology for the Devil is the Horned God who wasn't evil at all, he was just a fertility spirit. Sometimes human sacrifices would be made to him but that was the ritual and it's no different than Transubstantiation if you think about it. Both of them involve human sacrifice and at least the worshippers of the Horned One didn't eat their victims. Well, not usually and not in the later worship. By the time Christianity ran into the worship of the Horned One most human sacrifice had been eliminated which, let me tell you, really pissed the old guy off. But the Devil didn't have anything to do with the Horned One. He's just a modification of the shedim Shaitan. And Wicca doesn't derive it's powers form either the shedim or the Horned One though some call on the Horned One but I think that's all about fertility, not that Norm and I have any problems in that regard but thank the Goddess he's not like my ex. I wish he'd get sacrificed to the Old Gods. But they'd probably spit his soul back out."

"Yet, the God of the Old Testament and the New Testament are the same God," Ruby said, smiling and ignoring Mandy's digression. "How do you justify obeying only one set of rules, especially when they're at odds?"

"It's corny," Barbara said, shrugging. "But I really do ask myself 'What Would Jesus Do?' Not 'What would Solomon do?' I may sometimes feel the rage of David, but I only let it loose against persons who truly do evil, who live in it. Being rageful when . . . oh, somebody cuts you off in traffic or some woman is being snippy about whose daughter is smarter than whose, that's not being a Christian. Nor is beating your wife."

"And would that be being a Jew?" Kay asked, dryly. Barb noticed that her accent flattened out slightly. "Since that's the Old Testament God?"

"I don't know as much about Judaism as I would like," Barbara admitted, carefully. "But the Talmud encompasses far more than the books that are found in the Old Testament. And the study of it is thousands of years old, with a great deal of interpretation as I understand it. I've never heard that wife beating is common amongst those of the Faith of Abraham. Is it?"

"Not noticeably," Kay replied, smiling. "Is this what you usually do, stand around and debate religion?"

"Oh, no," Barb admitted. "Normally I have to stand around and make nice little comments about how gracefully a friend's daughter fell on her face during cheerleading practice or trading casserole recipes. I much prefer this. The talk is much more . . . broadening."

"You'd better watch that," Mandy said with a laugh. "You'll end up questioning all sorts of assumptions."

"Not fundamental ones," Barbara said, smiling. "Those are far beyond belief for me. For one thing, I clearly separate the social overlay of humanity from the Truth of the Risen God. I won't preach, but the power of the Lord Jesus Christ is very real. As you should know, Mandy," she added with an arched eyebrow.

"This is your first con?" Ruby asked.

"Oh, yes," Barb said, laughing. "I . . . well my husband thinks I'm at a religious retreat. And I was, but one of the ladies at the retreat was coming to the con and she knew I was a . . . reader of Miz Goldberg's books, so she suggested I come along. I find it very interesting."

"You're also here with a gentleman," Kay said.

"Really?" Mandy squealed. "Something else the hubbie doesn't know?"

"He's a friend of Janea's," Barbara said, primly. "I'm staying with Janea, I'll point out."

"It's not a problem," Kay said. "I was just wondering. Where did you study martial arts?"

"How did you know . . ." Barb said then paused. "My dad got me into it when we were in Hong Kong before the turn-over. I've been studying it ever since."

"The religious conference," Kay said. "Would that be the Foundation for Love and Universal Faith?"

"Yes," Barbara said carefully. "You know about it?"

"A bit," Goldberg replied. "What did you think of your fellow attendees?"

"They were a very . . . eclectic bunch," Barb said, looking at Goldberg with more interest. She noticed that the accent had faded again, just a bit.

"And you came from there to here?" Goldberg asked. "To observe the con?"

"Yes," Barbara said.

"Interesting," the woman replied. "Well, it's getting late and these old bones can't handle the chill as well as they used to. I'll bid you all good night."

After a round of good nights she headed for the far side of the atrium and Barb bit her lip.

"I forgot to ask her something," Barbara said. "If you'll excuse me for a minute?"

She strode after Goldberg and caught her as she was waiting for the elevator. There were three young people in black waiting for the elevator and when Barb caught the word "vampires" she perked up. But a moment later she realized they were talking about a game.

"Miz Goldberg?" she said as the elevator arrived. "I was wondering . . ."

"How I know of the Foundation?" Kay asked as they got on the elevator.

"Uhmmm . . ." Barbara said then paused again since they were in the elevator with the teenagers. "Actually, I was wondering about you. It's . . . something that Daddy taught me."

"I'm just a writer, miss," the woman said. "A very old one who is going to bed."

The three got off the elevator at the second floor and as the door closed so did Barb's face.

"You're a hell of a lot more than a writer, Miz 'Goldberg'," Barbara said. "The way that you deflect questions is straight out of the manual on avoiding being pumped."

"And you're a hell of a lot more than a home-maker, Mrs. Everette," Kay replied, just as hard. "What's going on at the con?"

Barbara paused for a moment more then shrugged.

"There's a serial killer," she said as the doors opened again.

"Go ahead," Goldberg said as they stepped out of the doors. "You'd be surprised what you can say at a con. I'll just tell anyone who hears it that you were trying to sell me on writing an idea you had for a novel." She stopped and sighed. "You'd be surprised how often that happens."

"Well, this would make a good one," Barb said as they reached the woman's room.

Barbara explained the nature of their mission to the woman as she took off her shoes and rubbed her feet. When she was done, for the first time the woman really looked old.

"And Special Circumstances thinks the killer is one of my fans?" Kay asked, still rubbing her feet.

"You even know about that?" Barb asked, her eyes narrowing.

"You'd be surprised what I know, kiddo," Kay replied, her accent entirely gone. If anything it sounded a bit New York. "Yeah, I know about SC. Is that old stick Germaine still in charge?"

"Yes," Barbara said. "He recruited me."

"You should have run screaming," Goldberg replied with a sigh. She got up and went to the room's refrigerator and pulled out a split of champagne and a bottle of orange juice. After pouring equal measures into a plastic cup she drank about half of the mixture before sitting back down and lighting another Virginia Slims. She took another sip, a long drag on the cigarette and then looked Barb square in the eye. "Special Circumstances eats people and spits them out as mangled husks. I hate them in a way. Oh, I know that they do the Lord God's work. But they use their people like donkeys. No, even donkeys get some rest. I know most of the people that talk to me at cons by name. Young male?"

"Male anyway," Barb said, shrugging. "Brown hair. He might wear silver moonstone jewelry."

"I'll come up with a list," Kay said, thoughtfully. "You're circulating looking for suspects?"

"I'm . . . I have some feeling for these things," Barbara said. "It's not very well trained, but . . ."

"If he's half way good, he'll be cloaking," Kay said, sliding up on the bed and plumping the pillows behind her. "You could walk right past him in the hall, you could talk to him and get nothing. If he's cloaking and you're not, he can see you, so to speak, and know you're either a hunter or a target. He can get more power from someone like you than from just any old child. And if he's gathering power in moonstones he can shield that from you with silk, so you won't be able to feel his power source either. You know all that?"

"I . . . sort of," Barb said. "I've picked up . . . a few of those things. But I'm new to this."

"So why are you on such an important case?" Kay asked, her eyes narrowing.

"I'm strong," Barbara said, firmly. "I am strong in my faith and the Lord's hand shelters me."

"You know that?" Kay asked. "He's a flighty God, our God. And he is our God. Slightly different approaches but the same God. And He has quite a few items on His plate. You can't depend on Him to always pull your chestnuts out of the fire. And you'd better be sure you are powerful if you go up against a necromancer."

"I have . . . battled before," Barb said. "Something more powerful than a necromancer. And the Lord sheltered me."

"You're lucky," Goldberg said, mirthlessly. "I lost a tad of my belief when . . . well that's neither here nor there. You keep firm to yours, it is your shield and sword if you know how to wield it."

"You were in Special Circumstances?" Barbara asked, curiously.

"Not me," Kay said, shaking her head. "A . . . friend was involved in one of their investigations. He died."

"I'm sorry," Barb said, sincerely.

"So was I," Kay admitted, looking at the far wall and into the past. "But a lot of friends died and, honestly, some of them for less reason. He was . . . a bit more special to me than the others. There is a reason I'm Miss Goldberg in other words. And all his faith did not shield him. Or, perhaps, it wasn't as strong as he thought, as I thought for that matter. Hold hard to your faith in the Lord, young one. And I hope that His hand is over you always. Good night, Mrs. Everette."