"Lieutenant."

"Okay. I get what you were saying. It's weird s.h.i.t but I get it. What I don't get is what this has to do with the case."

"I'm getting to that."

"Think you can get to it before the coffee gets cold?"

Teddy Bear doesn't stay around long. "Okay. Here is where we begin to put a couple pieces of the puzzle together."

"Which pieces?"

"The sigils and the s.e.x magick. Remember I told you the sigils are symbols that represent something?"

Kane gave a nod.

"Well, s.e.x magick can be used to activate a sigil. In the ritual, the sigil can be physically applied to the pract.i.tioner's partner. On the forehead, on the chest, the back of a hand or whatever."

"Like on our dead preachers."

"Exactly. But usually the application is nothing more permanent than an ink drawing or, in more extreme cases, blood might be used instead of ink. The pract.i.tioneror magician, to use the more common termthen holds this image in his mind during the s.e.x act. Then, at the very moment of o.r.g.a.s.m, the magician mentally launches the sigil into what is thought of as the logosphere."

"The what?"

"The logosphere. It's believed to be a kind of cosmic void in the universe where the symbol is interpreted and sent back to the earth in the actual form of the thing the symbol represented in the first place. Follow me?"

"Yeah, I'm with you. Does this s.h.i.t get any weirder? Because I'm pretty much maxed out on the weird-o-meter here."

"Oh, it gets a lot weirder. Believe me. But do you understand what I'm trying to explain?"

"Yeah, yeah. I get it. And you're suggesting that somehow some crazy a.s.shole out there is killing these preachers, branding symbols onto their bodies and then he has s.e.x with them in order to turn his symbolic squiggles into something real. Am I right?"

Ravenwood's eyes lit up. "Yes! Very good, Lieutenant! You're not as" She stopped herself mid-sentence.

"No," he said, "I'm not." He reached for the crime scene photos of the dead preachers, studied them for a moment and then spread them across the desk. "So let's say you're right about this. Then what the h.e.l.l do these sigils mean? You're saying they represent something, right? So what do these particular sigils represent? What the h.e.l.l is he trying to manifest?"

Ravenwood drained the last sip of coffee from her cup and set it on Kane's desk. "I'm afraid I haven't been able to figure that out yet. The sigils on the chests of the victims seem vaguely familiar but I can't nail down where I might have seen them."

"Well, that's a good start." His tone was drenched in sarcasm. "And what about that weird mark on their foreheads? I suppose you don't know what that is either."

"Well, that's not technically a sigil. At least not like any sigil I've ever come across. But I'm working on it. I have quite an extensive library full of this kind of information. But the bottom line is, I think the perpetrator is attempting an evocation of some sort by"

"Hold it. An evowhat?"

"It's another magick term. Evocation. To evoke something. Usually it has to do with attempting to call on the services of a particular angel... or demon. I suspect that's what our perp is trying to do. And I'm guessing it's not an angel he's looking for. Another guess is that these sigils, these marks on the chests of the victims, are somehow a.s.sociated with whatever demonor demonshe's attempting to evoke."

Kane shook his head. "Lot of guesses."

Ravenwood shrugged.

Kane rubbed his eyes. He was tired and pretty much mentally tapped out from this barrage of bizarre information. A whisky shot with a beer chaser would be good right about now. "You do know how insane this all sounds, right?"

"Of course. But insane or not, that's what we're dealing with."

Kane thought about it for a moment. "So, again, let's just say you're right. I mean, let's just a.s.sume for the sake of argument that these deaths are actually homicides, murder. Two big questions still remain. How the h.e.l.l is he killing them? And what the h.e.l.l are the Batman coins all about?"

"Right, the coins. Glad you brought that up."

"You got something on them?"

"Well, obviously they have some profound meaning to our killer. G.o.d only knows what that might be. But I found out those coins were promotional items distributed by a breakfast cereal company about 10 years ago. There were nine coins in the complete set and each one was numbered. Kids collected them and it looks like maybe our perp was one of those kids. That alone might give us a clue as to how old he is now."

"Good point. Unless he just went out somewhere recently and bought a complete seta.s.suming, of course, that he actually has a complete set."

"I think he's had these coins for a long time. Long enough to have developed some deeply personal psychological attachment to them."

"Really? Well, if he's so attached to them, why is he suddenly giving them away like party favors?"

"Part of the ritual. A sacrifice. He's giving up something to get something in return."

Kane considered the idea.

"There's more," she said. "According to your own forensic reports, the coin found with the first victim had the number 'one' stamped on it. The second victim had coin number 'two'. Just an hour agowhile we were at the crime sceneI took a quick look at the coin they pulled out of the victim's mouth. It was stamped with the number 'three'. So, if our perp did have all nine coins he could be telling us how many preachers he intends to kill before this is over."

"Nine?"

Ravenwood shrugged. "Just about stake my reputation on it."

Kane considered Ravenwood's a.n.a.lysis of the situation and had to admit that her speculations at least followed some logic. Maybe they were beginning to get somewhere. "But, still," he said, "how is he killing them? The Medical Examiner says heart attacks. I know certain drugs can be used to induce a heart attack even in a completely healthy person. But the autopsies show no evidence of any such drugs in the bodies. Got any ideas on that one?"

Ravenwood stared at the floor for a moment then looked up. "You know, Lieutenant," she said, looking Kane straight in the eye, "I don't have the slightest f.u.c.king idea."

Kane had to laugh. "Well, that's a big help. But I do love it when you talk dirty. More coffee?"

"Just trying to fit in," she said with a coy grin.

"Fat chance. You're FBI. You'll never fit in."

CHAPTER 5.

Three Months Earlier...

Leaning back in the old leather chair, Cowl paged through the diary, absorbing with intense interest the strange life and experiences of Michael Moorehouse. The more he learned about Moorehouse's obsession with Crowley, the more he began to feel an odd sort of kinship with the man. Cowl was mesmerized by the diary entry about the episode with the Messenger. The mysterious riddle fascinated him. He studied it with a zealous curiosity: My number is no secret.

The secret is in reverse.

It is encoded In chapter and in verse.

Let he who has wisdom Discover the sacred key.

Only then can he become The embodiment of me.

Cowl read every detail in the diary and reflected on his own experiences and his own personal infatuation with Crowley. He became convinced that his moving into Moorehouse Manor was no mere coincidence. Fate, he was certain, had brought him to this very moment. His discovery of the hidden room behind the bookcase was one thing. But the idea that he was the one destined to become the host for the essence of Crowley's spirit excited him nearly to the point of nausea. But how? he wondered. Will I have to drink the Soma? The thought frightened him. He knew even less about the magical elixir than Moorehouse had known. And what about the Messenger? Had it been real? It seemed too weird to be true. A moment of doubt crept in. Maybe the Messenger was nothing more than a drug-induced hallucination. No, it had to be real. Too many details in the whole friggin' story for it to be one sick-o's imagination. Germer receiving the urn and burying it... Moorehouse digging it up and bringing it back here to the house... The house that I, of all people, bought and moved into. It's all real. It's gotta be real. But the d.a.m.ned riddle. The key to the whole thing is in that d.a.m.ned riddle. s.h.i.t!

He read the words of the riddle over and over until his eyes grew tired. The night was descending heavily and he was unable to bear the weight of it much longer. He soon gave in to a deep sleep right there in the lap of the old Moorehouse chair that seemed to caress him, protecting him, rocking him, mothering him like some ancient benevolent keeper of precious souls.

Moments later he was awakened by the sound of someone speaking his name. His eyes snapped open. He sat up in the chair and looked around. "What the? Who's there?"

CHAPTER 6.

Three Months Later...

Ravenwood's car pulled up next to the police cruisers parked along the drive that meandered through the impeccably manicured lawns of the Greenwood Cemetery. She stepped out and saw Kane with a group of officers. They were standing over a body that was lying between two upright gravestones.

"Number four?" she asked, approaching Kane.

Kane looked up. "Took you long enough. I called you an hour ago."

"I was having my nails done." It wasn't true but his att.i.tude p.i.s.sed her off.

He ignored the comment. "Yeah, number four. Coin number 'four', too. Poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d. A Baptist this time."

"Any surprises?"

"Nope. Same, down to the last detail. And, of course, n.o.body saw nothin'."

Ravenwood nodded. "Check the calendar today?"

"What?"

"The calendar. If you check the dates when these four men died you'll see we may have another piece to add to our puzzle."

"What are you talking about?"

"I think we have a pattern here. Their deaths have all occurred exactly nine days apart."

"No s.h.i.t?" Kane gave it some thought. "Interesting. But what's it mean?"

"Well, for one thing it means we can probably expect to find another one nine days from now."

"I see your point. I guess that would be useful information if we knew where the next incident would occur or who the next victim would be. But there doesn't seem to be any pattern to the where or the who. We can a.s.sume it'll be another preacher but that isn't much help. And how long is this gonna go on? Until every last preacher in the city is dead?"

"If we're lucky there'll only be nine. Remember the coins."

"Oh, only nine. Well, that's a relief. What the h.e.l.l is it with this guy and all of this nine s.h.i.t?"

"You haven't heard the half of it."

"You got something else?

"Oh yeah. You're gonna love this."

"What is it?"

"Not here. Can we meet back at your office?"

Kane looked at his watch. "It's almost noon. What about we meet at Roxy's on Pike street. You know the place?"

"Roxy's? The topless joint?

"What's the matter? Too much compet.i.tion?"

Ravenwood shook her head. "You really are unbelievable."

"Believe that."

Ravenwood walked into Roxy's and was immediately blinded by the darkness. She removed her sungla.s.ses but it made little difference. When her eyes adjusted to the ambiance she saw Kane sitting at a table near the back of what apparently doubled as a dance floor at night.

He looked up and waved her over.

"So," she said, taking a seat at the table, "is this your hangout?"

"Not really. Been here once or twice."

A well-endowed waitress bounced her way over to their table. "Hi Lieutenant!" she chirped. "Your usual? Tuna on rye, again?"

Ravenwood looked at him. "Once or twice, huh?"

"Whatever." He turned to the waitress. "Cindy, this is Special Agent Ravenwood. She and I will both have the tuna on rye."

Cindy looked wide-eyed at Ravenwood. "Wow, really? You're an FBI agent?"