Born of Deception Page 22

  I bite my lip, torn between very politely telling her it isn’t any of her business and confiding in her. Girlish secrets have never been my forte—confiding in my mother was not an option—and though I adore Cynthia, she’s currently on another continent, so I can’t ask her for advice either. “I don’t know,” I finally say. “I thought everything was fine. Different, of course, because we’re now living in his country instead of mine, but I thought it would all sort itself out. Then Calypso happened. I’m jealous. He’s clueless and distant and has a hard time understanding when I need reassurance. And then there’s—” I stop suddenly and Leandra gives me a shrewd look.

  “It’s bound to be different here,” she agrees. “It’s also difficult when you happen to be smitten with a gentleman who has a difficult time telling you how he feels or showing affection. Harrison and I love the brat, but he spent most of his life among strangers. He isn’t overtly affectionate. And his grandmother is a terror.”

  I snort in agreement.

  “I know you will work it out but if you don’t . . .” Leandra shrugs and my stomach hollows. “You’re young. Cole may not be your one and only. And it’s all right if he isn’t, you know.”

  I shake my head, feeling helpless. “The problem is I don’t know what I want anymore.”

  She nods. “Very well, then. You do know that whatever the boys are planning right now, it won’t involve you or me, don’t you? They’re trying to come up with a way to try to catch Calypso without either one of us knowing what they’re doing.”

  “Then why did we leave?” I ask, alarmed. I hurry to the door, but she catches my sleeve.

  “They would have done so at their earliest opportunity anyway. This way, we can plan what we’re going to do without them knowing.”

  I relax. “You have a plan?”

  “Not a plan, really, more like a thought. What motivates women? I mean really motivates them?”

  I frown. “Ambition?”

  Her eyebrows shoot up on her forehead at my answer. “No, silly, love! Women are motivated by love.”

  “You don’t know my mother,” I mutter.

  “Pardon?”

  I shake my head, remembering how different Mother is now that she has Jacques. Maybe Leandra’s right. Or partly right anyway.

  “So you think that’s Calypso’s motivation?” My stomach clenches. “Do you think she’s in love with Cole?”

  Leandra’s face screws up. “Oh goodness, no. I never got that from her. She’s one of those women who flirts with every man around her. It’s a game. And combined with her ability to influence people, let’s just say I kept Harrison as far from her as I could. I think she wanted to get to you.”

  “Why would she want to get to me? I didn’t even know her.”

  “I think she was concerned about the power of your abilities,” Leandra says. “All the scientists and board members have a great deal of respect for Cole . . . He’s male and his abilities are so different. Cole told everyone he thought you were one of the most powerful Sensitives he had ever known.”

  “So she was threatened by me. Maybe afraid that my abilities would be able to detect her plan, whatever it is. Or maybe she’s jealous.” I think of her haircut, and how she ran out and bought a cloche just like mine. “But what does that have to do with love? Who could she be in love with?”

  “Perhaps it’s not the kind of love we think.” Leandra’s face scrunches up as she thinks. “Did she ever say anything about her father?”

  I straighten, remembering. “Yes. They’re estranged. When she speaks about him, she sounds rather bitter.”

  “Perhaps this has something to do with him?”

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to relieve some of the tension. “Maybe, but that doesn’t address the original question: What are we going to do?”

  Leandra shakes her head and shrugs at the same time. “I just know that we need to come up with something or the men will leave us out completely, and, quite frankly, it’s going to take a woman to catch a woman.”

  She has a point. I chew on my lip for a moment. “I think I have an idea. But it could be dangerous.”

  “We’re talking about a person who murdered a fellow human being in an unspeakable manner. It’s bound to be dangerous.”

  I shake my head. “Even more frightening. We have to get it past her father.”

  Before Leandra and I formulate a plan, I decide to go visit Harry Price. If anyone knows about Aleister Crowley and how we can protect ourselves, it’ll be Mr. Price. Or at least he should, with all his knowledge of the occult.

  The next morning I wash and dress quickly, planning to forgo breakfast in order to get to the Society before Cole does. He’d been quiet when he brought me home last night and when I tried to sense what he was feeling, he was so blocked off I felt nothing, not even that warm individual feeling I always get from him. Even though I knew he was doing it just to keep me from knowing he was planning on going after Calypso himself, it still hurt. Or maybe he is still upset over my friendship with Billy and this is going to be the way it is from now on.

  It hadn’t helped that Billy had been reading a book on the couch when Cole walked me into the hotel. Billy’d stood and stretched, his long lanky frame towering in the lobby.

  “I just wanted to make sure everything was all right,” he drawled in his best Texan.

  Cole had tensed next to me and for a moment they eyed one another like rival bulls over a heifer. Not very flattering to me, but an apt description.

  “Everything is fine,” Cole said stiffly. “Thank you for assisting Anna.”

  “Of course. I would pretty much do anything for a friend.” He had given me an easy smile and ambled off to his room. Cole had given me a quick kiss, but I could tell he wasn’t pleased.

  That’s all right. I wasn’t pleased that he was putting himself in danger and cutting me out of helping him.

  The sun is just coming up as I hurry down to the corner to catch the tram that will take me to the tube. Being spoiled by being driven everywhere in Cole’s motorcar, I wouldn’t have known how to get around in London had Calypso not shown me how to ride the underground wherever I wanted to go.

  The thought of Calypso turns my stomach. All along she had been conning me, but for what?

  Within half an hour I am ringing the Society’s bell. To my surprise, Mr. Casperson opens the door. He’s wearing a plaid woolen jacket and a hat, as if he were on his way out.

  His eyes widen. “Anna! I am surprised to see you. I thought you were on tour.”

  He looks much better than he did at the séance, but still rather wan. “I got back several days ago. Is Mr. Price in this morning?”

  “Yes, yes. You do know where his office is, don’t you?”

  He glances at his wristwatch and I narrow my eyes. He’s jittery, nervous, and I sense panic coming off him in waves.

  “Yes, I can see myself up. Are you all right?” I ask.

  He nods. “I’m fine, I just have an early morning appointment. So if you’ll excuse me . . .”

  He looks meaningfully at the door and I move aside. Waiting for a moment after the door closes before peering out the blinds covering the tall window next to the door, I huff in frustration when he climbs into a motorcar across the street. If he had been walking, I would have followed him. Right now, everyone seems suspicious to me. Pulling off my gloves, I pause before the door, taking in the beautiful wooden marks. I’ve never asked what the marks mean and suddenly recall how Calypso wouldn’t touch it that first night. A connection? Perhaps.

  I open the door and move down the hall to Mr. Price’s office. The heels of my Mary Janes click-clack across the floor and it sounds so loud to my ears that I’m surprised no one sticks his head out of his office to see what the clatter is. Perhaps no one is here yet. I’m glad when I make it to Mr. Price’s office without seeing anyone, though. It’ll be easier if I can just slip in and out without getting waylaid. Leandra is picking me up out f
ront in an hour for stage two of our plan.

  I rap lightly on the door and take a deep breath before entering. Nerves whirl in my stomach. At this point, I suspect everyone of colluding with Calypso.

  Mr. Price has a book on his desk and I note he closes it when I walk in. “Anna! Sit, sit. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  I take off my wraparound coat and then sit, laying it and my gloves across my knees. “I’m hoping you can give me some information.”

  His lips curve and his dark eyes look pleased. “I can’t promise anything, but I will do my best. What sort of information has brought you out so early in the morning?”

  “I want to know more about Aleister Crowley and about black magic.”

  His response is immediate. He stills, his genial smile disappearing and his wide face becoming impassive. “I know of Mr. Crowley, of course, but what makes you think I have any more information than you could get from the newspaper archives?”

  I smile and nod toward his massive bookshelf. “Anyone who has studied the occult knows about Thelema and Aleister Crowley. I know about him and my studies haven’t been nearly as extensive as yours.” I lean forward, my shoulders tense. “It’s incredibly important that I discover as much as I can about him.”

  He relaxes but his dark eyes are still watchful. He leans back in his chair and knits his fingers across his chest. “So tell me, Miss Van Housen. What do you wish to know?”

  Eighteen

  “The newspapers have called him the wickedest man in the world. Is he really evil?” I ask.

  “The newspapers exaggerate to sell newspapers. Don’t get me wrong. I believe Aleister Crowley to be the most powerful occultist and warlock in the world, perhaps of all time. His intentions in the beginning were altruistic. He believes in good and evil and has an intimate knowledge of both forces. Unfortunately, he seems to have chosen one over the other.”

  “You say in the beginning, what about now?”

  Mr. Price shrugs. “Who knows? Time changes a man. Fame changes a man. I can hardly comment on the motivations of a man I haven’t spoken to in nearly ten years.”

  I blink. “So you know him personally, then?”

  He nods. “Yes, we both belonged to the Order of the Golden Dawn. We both rose through the ranks, or orders, very quickly but have gone in different directions.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he is still involved in the Golden Dawn, but on second thought, I don’t want to know. The less I know about that secretive organization, the better, and it isn’t important for what I need anyway. “How well did you know him? Do you know, for instance, if he has any children?”

  “I know he has a daughter named Lola whom I believe lives with her mother. He may have another child now, but you typically don’t discuss your family much with Golden Dawn members.”

  So he doesn’t know about Calypso? I study his impassive features for a long moment. Is he telling the truth? I sense no deceit in him at this moment, but the heavy dark power he is infused with makes me doubt what I’m feeling. “So what you’re saying is that most people have nothing to fear from him?”

  His eyes narrow and I suddenly feel a deep sense of mistrust coming from him. I understand. I don’t trust him either.

  “Typically no,” he says. “I wouldn’t cross him. As I said, he is very powerful. But he doesn’t go around arbitrarily harming people, contrary to the lurid newspaper descriptions of Thelema. He’s been accused of human sacrifice, but I doubt that story. Animal sacrifice, most definitely, but then many of God’s chosen people also sacrificed animals at God’s behest.”

  “Are you saying Aleister Crowley is one of God’s chosen people?”

  At this Mr. Price throws back his head and laughs. “Certainly not. But who’s to say who God’s chosen people are but God himself? But on the whole, the average person has nothing to fear from Mr. Crowley during a casual meeting. Of course, that said, it must be pointed out that both of his wives went insane and a number of his mistresses have committed suicide.”

  My blood chills, thinking of Calypso. Perhaps she herself is in some way a victim of this powerful man. I switch directions. “How badly could a poppet hurt someone?”

  His brows arch ever so slightly. “The poppet itself is harmless until it’s in the hands of a skilled practitioner. Anyone can make a poppet with all sorts of intentions, but unless he knows how to activate and manipulate the poppet, the doll is harmless.”

  “But in the rights hands it could be . . . ?”

  His reply is immediate. “Deadly, if combined with a blood sacrifice.”

  I swallow. I have no way of knowing if Calypso has made another poppet yet. I haven’t felt any psychic attacks lately, but that doesn’t mean anything. Maybe she has been distracted by her guests, or maybe she is just gearing up for something really dangerous. “How would one go about protecting herself?”

  “She would have to bind the practitioner’s powers.” He leans forward, warming to his subject. “There are a number of ways to do this. A circle of salt is very effective, though in this day and age, you can’t really keep someone locked in a circle of salt forever. There is also a way to bind someone’s powers with a blood sacrifice, but the exact ritual is quite vague. It’s also said in the ancient texts that witches and warlocks can steal someone’s powers or abilities, but again the texts are vague. As you can imagine, many practices have been lost due to people not wanting to write them down. Magic, black or otherwise, is primarily an oral tradition.”

  “That makes sense,” I say. “Rather like a cook not wanting someone to steal her recipes, right?”

  He laughs. “Essentially. It was a way of protecting oneself. Bad things generally happened to those women found to be witches. No one wanted to be found with a book of spells. There also are charms and symbols that are protectants.”

  “Like the symbols on the door below?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Very astute. Yes, they can’t be touched by someone who practices black magic. It’s not foolproof, of course—there are ways to get around it—but someone would have to know how and even then be very determined. My colleagues are less likely to believe in our need of protection than I am. I feel it prudent to have a protectant wherever I spend a great deal of time.”

  Speaking of symbols . . . I tilt my head to one side, considering. Then I snap open my pocketbook and hand him the medallion. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”

  I watch with interest as his face blanches. “Where did you get this?”

  “It was left for me as a gift. Why?”

  “You know what it means?”

  I nod.

  “You have made some interesting enemies since you came here, Miss Van Housen.”

  I want to ask if he has many enemies, but he rises abruptly and walks over to one of his shelves. Taking down a large wooden box that looked vaguely medieval, he sets it on the desk and opens it. I try to peer over the hinged top but can’t see from where I am sitting. He rummages through it, his face intent.

  I squirm, my curiosity getting the better of me. “What is that? Pandora’s box?”

  He regards me over the rim of the cover. “Perhaps.” Pulling something out from the inside and palming it, he closes the lid and replaces the box.

  “I have a gift for you,” he says, holding out his hand.

  I eye him before hesitantly sticking my own hand out, palm up.

  “You’re not a very trusting person, are you, Anna? You’re perhaps the only woman I’ve ever encountered who meets the words ‘I have a gift for you’ with suspicion.” His voice is laced with humor, but his eyes are not. Whatever he is giving me is extremely important, as are the reasons behind the gift.

  The object he drops in my hand is heavy and green with age. There’s a long, dark silk cord attached to it and I know it’s some kind of pendant. It’s shaped like a coin and imprinted with the spokes of a wheel. Within each spoke is a symbol, much like the ones present on the door below. �
��What is it?” I ask.

  “It’s an ancient Celtic protection amulet. I’ve had it for many years and have been waiting for the compulsion to give it to someone. The power in this kind of pendant is increased by giving it away, so you don’t give them lightly.”

  My skin crawls with foreboding. I hold the amulet up and it swings in front of me. “And you were compelled to give it to me?”

  “Yes. In exchange for the medallion.”

  “A trade?”

  “Of sorts. Trust me, my dear. You do not want this in your possession.”

  He has that right.

  “Do you have any more questions, Miss Van Housen?” His voice is formal, which I take as a sign that the meeting is over.

  I place the cord over my head and slip the amulet down the front of my dress. The pendant lies heavy and warm against my skin and I am certain that I made a good trade. “What are you going to do with the medallion?”

  “Destroy it.”

  I shiver in relief at his words. “Thank you, Mr. Price. And thank you also for the amulet. It’s lovely.”

  He nods his head and I hurry out of the office and down the hall, feeling as though Harry Price knows far more about magic, the real kind, than he lets on.

  Leandra is waiting for me in Harrison’s neat, unpretentious British Model T.

  “What did you find out?” she asks as soon as I hop into the front seat.

  “We should be fine going to visit Aleister Crowley. The newspapers exaggerate, though Mr. Price did warn me that he is a very powerful warlock. He also gave me a protective amulet.”

  “Only one?” Leandra gives me a grim smile as she pulls the car onto the street.

  “Only the one.” I pull it out and let her look at it. She does, nearly driving into a pushcart in the process.

  “Oopsie,” she says, righting the wheel.

  I tuck the amulet back under my dress. “Did you get the information we need?”