The Hell Yo - lanyon Josh (бесплатные версии книг .txt) 📗
I said calmly, “So Blade Sable wasn’t involved in these ritual deaths? But then why lie
about its existence, about the existence of the Scythe of Gremory?”
“Because people hate and fear what they do not understand. Tell me of a great religion
that has not faced persecution by nonbelievers and infidels. Add to this the fact that we are
extremely successful, and I think you will understand why I wish to protect the anonymity
of our members.”
“I think I can understand that.”
“Yes. As I can understand your desire for knowledge, for the truth at all cost. You
remind me of myself many years ago. That is the great difference between our religion and
the others. We don’t lie to ourselves.”
“When you say that you are extremely successful…”
“Ours is an invitation-only membership. Most exclusive. Many of our older members
are wealthy or well-established in their chosen profession, but this is not the criterion for
membership. We seek those with a desire for the truth, with – like yourself – a questing
spirit. We look for persons of intellect and reason, persons of quality.”
I hated to interrupt the sales pitch, but when he paused for breath, I interjected, “That’s
flattering. But you’re not Satanists, correct?”
“No.”
“But you do worship the demon Gremory?”
He hesitated. His eyes swerved to the shadows, and I grasped that, unlike Garibaldi,
some of the congregation might not have outgrown their need for that old-time religion,
complete with fortune-telling demon dukes.
“Worship, no. The demon is a tool, a facet of magic.”
“You do believe in magic?”
“We all believe in magic. Those who deny its existence the most fiercely are those who
most believe.” He made an easy movement as though brushing aside cobwebs. “Magic is as
real as love or oxygen or anything else that is real, but cannot be seen.”
I didn’t see any point in debating this. I tried to figure out how to ask him who he
thought had killed three people and written Gremory’s sigil in victims’ blood, if not one of
his own disciples. He said, “You’re a young man, and yet I sense that you’ve had cause to
consider your own mortality.”
He might have learned that from Lisa or even Bill Dauten, but I had a sudden visual of
Velvet standing at my desk holding the vial of my heart meds.
“On occasion.”
“Do you believe there’s anything beyond this existence?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does it matter to you? Would the knowledge change any choices that you’ve made?”
“No.”
He nodded, as though this were the answer he had expected. “You have learned to live
within the moment. What if it were possible to have all that you wanted on this Earthly
plane? Wealth, power, sex…”
“In exchange for?”
“What do you have to offer?”
I grinned. “My immortal soul?”
He smiled too; his teeth looked sharp and yellow in the candlelight. “And we accept. It
is the requirement of every religion, is it not? Is there any faith that does not demand
spiritual commitment? But we are a bit more pragmatic in our approach. That is the secret of
our success: practicality.”
Sprinkled with terrorism and vacuum-packed to seal in evil.
“Does that translate into dollars and cents?”
He smiled. “No more than you can afford, no more than membership in any exclusive
organization would cost you. Tithing is a time-honored tradition, is it not? I think you will
be pleased to learn that there are less tangible resources we most value. You possess many of
these: creativity, imagination, energy, and contacts.”
“What would I be required to do with these resources?”
“Nothing that you were not willing to do. As you surmised last night, we are a kind of
service organization, a network, not unlike the…er…Lions Club.”
Or maybe the VFW? It would be hard to think of a more foreign war than the one for
souls.
I said – and I didn’t have to fake sounding genuinely troubled – “But wasn’t Kinsey
Perone the Adept of Blade Sable?”
He looked a tad irritated. “Adrien, my dear, I have no idea who Kinsey Perone was. I
know that she was not a member of Blade Sable. I know each and every one of my sons and
daughters. Perhaps she had hopes of joining us one day, but my understanding is that she was
an unstable girl. Unstable personalities are attracted to us as they are attracted to
fundamentalist religions everywhere.”
I nodded thoughtfully.
“Shall I tell you what I think, what I have believed since the day you came to my home
seeking answers? I think you are searching for that which is missing in your own life. I think
that is what this quest to find an imaginary murderer is really about.”
“Inquiring minds want to know.”
He said gently, “Always the joke, the flippant comment, the laughter that keeps the
wall intact. But behind the wall, I sense a great emptiness, loss, loneliness…”
My mouth was unexpectedly dry. The tug of his personality, his certainty, his calm was
overwhelming. My pulse sped up with a mix of anger and fear.
“We could help you, my dear. That is what we do. We help our brothers and sisters
realize their dreams – most dreams are easily realized, did you know that? Most people do
not long for much that is not attainable through a certain amount of focus and effort.
Everyone wants something.”
I said interestedly, “Can you guarantee perfect health?”
He studied me, then smiled that unnerving smile. “But that’s not what you most want,
Adrien.”
* * * * *
I called Jake from a phone booth in a gas station a few blocks away from the Little
Purple Chapel.
As I waited for his cell phone message – no way was he going to be live and in person
at eight o’clock on a Sunday morning – I tried to figure my best angle. Obviously I couldn’t
tell him the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
I was still floating scenarios when Jake’s voice said crisply, “What’s up?”
“I –” I floundered.
His voice dropped, he spoke close to the phone. “What’s wrong?”
Jesus, it was just Jake. Not exactly cause for cold sweat and stomach cramps. I said, “I
think there’s a place in East LA you need to check out.”
