The Hell Yo - lanyon Josh (бесплатные версии книг .txt) 📗

him to admit – intuitive. I knew a lot of useless information – tangential knowledge – that

frequently turned out to be helpful (or at least gave me material to chat up potential

witnesses).

Of course, as Jake was quick to point out, I was also impulsive, naive, and untrained,

which made me more of a liability than a help in any investigation. But since I didn’t have

Jake’s support this time, I had to rely on myself.

I spent the rest of the evening familiarizing myself with Garibaldi’s The Devil’s

Disciple. Despite the lurid glossy cover depicting Hans Memling’s Hell, the book itself was a

serious philosophical treatise on Satanism.

It is a popular misconception that Satanism is the worship or

deification of the Christian Devil. Nothing could be further from

the truth. The word “Satan” stems from Hebraic/Judaic context. It

means to oppose. In opposing the ideology of the Judeo-Christian

religion, by default we ally ourselves with the tenets of “Satan,”

which is to oppose the dogma of state recognized church. In

effect it is to rebel against the establishment and the sense of

smug entitlement that seems to characterize so many so-called

Christians.

Huh? I thought. I didn’t want to be close-minded, but this view didn’t sound typical of

club members I’d met so far.

It is true that a small minority of Satanists are theistic and believe

in a personal deity known as Satan or Lucifer, yet we reject the

notion that this concept is based upon Judaic or Christian

theology. In any case the aberrant behavior of a small sect is no

more reflective of the overall picture of Satanism than the

Plymouth Brethren were reflective of typical Christianity. The

vast majority of Satanists do not indulge in the notion of a

personal, all powerful being known as Satan. We do not ascribe to

superstitious belief in gods, demons or superheroes. In the

strictest sense, we are atheists.

So no summoning of demons to do the bidding of discontented Yuppie offspring? Were

the pentagrams and black candles and ritual daggers so much stage dressing?

I flipped through the pages. Nine Satanic Statements. Nine Satanic Sins. The Eleven

Satanic Rules of Earth. What did that remind me of?

One Ring to rule them all. One Ring to find them …

The basic tenets of Satanism seemed to boil down to a belief in the animal nature of

man – life lived in the moment, autonomy of the individual, self-help, knowledge as power,

personal responsibility, magick, and the concept of Satan.

Nothing particularly unique or original in any of that – and the whole belief in magic

weakened the idea of Satanism as a serious philosophical school of thought for me. Still, I

recognized what the attraction would be.

Outcast, outlaw, Satan embodies the triumph of the rebel

individual. Satanism is not for the herd. Satan walks alone.

So how come all these individualists dressed in black and traveled in packs?

Your demon guide waits within you. You must turn your vision

inwards; do not seek the demon outside.

Unlock your inner demon? But someone was seeking the demon outside. Pentagrams

written in the blood of human sacrifice indicated that someone was doing his or her best to

summon something more tangible – and a lot more dangerous.

Chapter Seventeen

I told myself that if I hadn’t decided to trust Guy, I wouldn’t be taking a jaunt to the

seaside with him, but in case my carcass wound up floating off Will Rogers State Beach, I

used a bar of soap to scrawl a message on my bathroom mirror: Went to see Oliver Garibaldi

in Pacific Palisades with Guy Snowden .

On the bright side, if Jake ever saw that message, I wouldn’t have to hear another

lecture about butting into that which was not my business.

It was sunny and unexpectedly warm for December. A great day for the beach.

Although this wasn’t a date, I took time trying to decide what to wear before settling on

black jeans and a brown camp shirt with inconspicuous black polka dots, a shirt that Jake

liked. Truthfully, I think he liked it for himself, had it come in jumbo size.

While I waited for Guy to show up, I went through the photos the girls next door had

taken the night of Gabriel Savant’s signing. Midway through the stack of candid shots –

apparently taken after the girls had a couple of glasses of champagne – I had another

brainstorm and started hunting through the desk drawers for pictures of other author

signings. I found a couple of snaps of Angus and slipped them into my Day Planner.

Guy walked into the bookstore a little after ten. He wore faded jeans, a loose white

muslin shirt, and sandals. I tried to picture Jake in a pirate shirt – or myself, for that

matter – and failed. But it suited Guy. That masculine blend of force and grace.

He smiled, I smiled. We were both slightly self-conscious, mindful of our recent

awkward phone conversation.

I gave Velvet several last-minute directions – to which she almost, but not quite, rolled

her eyes – and we went outside.

“I’m parked down the street,” Guy said, his hand resting briefly on the small of my

back as the door closed behind us.

I said, “Can I ask you something? Did you recognize the girl behind the counter?”

“I don’t think I did more than glance her way.”

“Would you do me a favor? Step inside and see if you recognize her?”

His brows rose, but he went back inside. I followed. Velvet, in the midst of making a

call on her cell phone, looked up. She clicked off and lowered her phone – which maybe

meant little more than she didn’t want to be caught making a personal phone call on my

dime.

She had seemed pleased, even sort of relieved when I’d told her I would be leaving her

to fend for herself once again. Maybe she wanted a chance to make up for sticking her nose

where it didn’t belong. Maybe she was delighted at the chance to do more snooping, but it

would be a madhouse this afternoon; she wouldn’t have time for much search and seizure if

that was the plan.

“I left my wallet,” I said cheerfully, walking back to the office. I opened and closed a

drawer, then walked back out.

“Very cool place,” Guy said sincerely, turning from a shelf as I rejoined him. We went