he was taking any pleasure in Morris's discomfiture. "The fire would have set the alcohol in those jars to burning, and that stuff gives you a hot flame, as you may know. My guess is all we'd find would be some scratched glass and a bunch of cinders. The lab people might be able to establish that it had once been human tissue, but that's about it. Identifying what kind of tissue —not real likely. And as for DNA—forget it. All we'd get for our trouble would be proof that Fortner had some kind of human tissue in his basement. Maybe he was doing research, and bought the stuff from a medical supply house. We'd never be able to prove otherwise. Thanks to you and your little box of matches."
Morris swore without raising his voice, and some of the colorful Texas imagery made Fenton blink. Finally, the FBI man held up a hand, palm out like a traffic cop.
"Hold up," he said to Morris. "Look, we're not gonna just let this go. I believe that you saw what you told me you saw in Fortner's place. Now that we know what he's been involved in, we'll start looking into his background, associates, all that. There's a chance we'll find a lead, something we can follow all the way to an indictment. And we'll be watching the bastard, twenty-four seven. He goes out hunting again, we'll catch him in the act, and stop him before he can hurt another kid."
There was a long silence before Morris said, "Then why are we talking?"
"Because it's not just Fortner. It can't be. Nine days ago, two kids disappeared —one in Omaha, the other one from some little town in Pennsylvania, Exeter or something. Their bodies were found the next morning, organs removed the same way as the others."
"I see," Morris said.
"Two abductions, two murders, same day. Something like fifteen hundred miles apart. And, by the way, we have some pretty good evidence that your buddy Fortner was in L.A. during that time."
Fenton leaned forward. "It's happening all over the country, Morris. Kids being taken, cut open, organs removed, then dumped someplace."
"Dumped near water?"
"In some cases, yeah. But water's not a common factor, the way it was with the five killings we had last year. It doesn't look like mutt magic this time. But something is going on, something real bad."
"You're probably right, but I'll ask my question again: why are we talking?"
"Because I want you to stop it."
Coeur d'Alene, Idaho
Pardee entered his master's study to find Grobius staring moodily out the immense picture window. "It's snowing again," the old man said, as if it were Pardee's fault. Grobius had been failing at an increased rate the last year or so, despite his doctors' best efforts and Pardee's magic.
"It does that, this time of year." Pardee was careful not to sound sarcastic. "You wanted isolation, and that usually means an area with severe weather, of one sort or another. There is a reason why isolated areas are isolated, after all."
"Well, it better not snow on the thirtieth. Some of them will be coming in by air, you said, and I don't know what effect bad weather will have on their ability to navigate. And I don't want it spoiling the ritual, either, by blocking the moon."
"I understand, of course. And I can assure you that it will not snow on Walpurgis Night. Not here, at any rate."
"And you know that how? Been consulting your crystal ball again?"
Pardee, like most professionals, did not appreciate badinage on the subject of his work. But he was careful to keep any irritation out of his voice when he said, "I have never used such a device, nor has any genuine practitioner of the Art. Such baubles are the toys of Gypsy con artists, nothing more."
"Then on what basis are you predicting that it won't snow?"
"I am not predicting it will not snow. I am guaranteeing it."
"You can do that, can you? Control the weather?"
Pardee nodded slowly. "Within a limited area, and only for relatively brief periods of time. But I can certainly hold the elements in check long enough for our
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