Heath closed his physical eyes and let himself see with his spirit eyes. First thing he picked up was that big presence inside the hill itself, like a sleeping giant caught mid-dream. But Heath always saw the giant when he was here, and though its sleep was sometimes restless, it never yet woke up that he’d heard of. Thing was so big it freaked him out on his first visit, but apparently the spirit had something to do with Shugendō.

  Other than that, not much more to see except a couple of plant sprites tending to what they considered theirs. No watchers. No servitors. No little ghosties running around, keeping an eye on him for someone else. At least, not just at that time.

  “Mom may not like you,” said Nariko, “but she’d give my baby sister up for adoption before she’d let anyone spy on a guest in her house.”

  Heath nodded, but wasn’t ready to mount the bike yet. The wind was stronger now, chilly in the late afternoon. It tousled his hair, and spread the smell of evergreen from the arborvitae and fresh cut grass from the lawn.

  He opened his eyes. Up above the storm clouds persisted. That just wasn’t normal.

  “Anything on the news about that?” Heath asked, pointing up.

  “It’s not coming in from the sea and it’s not blowing down from Canada. Apparently its supposed to be gone by now. The T.V. meteorologists keep saying we’re due to hit the nineties with clear skies anytime now. But the pressure keeps dropping anyway. I tucked a couple of jackets under the seat for us, just in case.”

  Heath nodded. He’d have to ask the Sybil about the weather. But first, something else took priority.

  “Do you still have that other guy’s I.D.? Jarvis?”

  “Laid some smack down with it while you were out. Not sure I reached him though.”

  So much for Heath’s first-line-of-defense thought.

  “With any luck the snapper got them both.” Heath looked at the tight bun still holding back all of Nariko’s hair. “Can you spare any—”

  She fished a nail pairing out of her pocket. “Had a feeling you’d ask for a strand of hair or something. Your magic is so…”

  “Practical?”

  “Physical.”

  “I’ll take it,” he said. He pulled a piece of white chalk from his shirt pocket, then hesitated. “Think your mom would mind if I used her front walk for—”

  “You so want to use public land for this.”

  Heath walked out to the city-owned sidewalk and Nariko walked her bike behind him. He spat onto the concrete, and put Nariko’s nail clipping in the tiny puddle.

  “Ever the romantic,” she said, and he hushed her.

  He drew a circle around the spit and paring. Then he drew three circles around that, and seven circles around those. He fished a vial of confusion oil out of his backpack, and poured a drop in every one of those circles.

  Next he licked his finger and tested the wind, gauging its exact strength and direction. He dug out a little ground cinnamon mixed with marjoram, comfrey, and a touch of a couple of other things he wouldn’t admit to. Heath dried off his finger, took a generous pinch of the mixture and whispered to it. He moved his hand around until it was in the right spot so that as he rubbed his fingertips together, the powder scattered in the wind all over each of the circles and outside them besides.

  He shook his fist in the direction of the wind and said, with all the force he could muster, “You call the wrong man bald-head and those bears are going to get you. See if they don’t.”

  Nariko laughed, but Heath held his focus. He spat left, then right, then clapped his hands hard three times.

  “There,” he said, putting away his confusion oil and powder. “Since your mom gave us breathing room, that should buy us at least a few hours.”

  Nariko was still chuckling. “I can just picture your old mentor teaching you that spell. He was bald, right? Tell me he was bald.”

  “No one taught me that one.” Heath slung his backpack onto his shoulders. “Each of us conjure folk works a little differently.”

  “How is anyone supposed to take your magic seriously?” She shook her head. “I felt power move, but I mean, come on. Bald head?”

  “That’s what you get for being an ancestor-worshiping pagan. No idea how much power there is in the Good Book, nor what you can do with it when you get creative.”

  Heath mounted the bike behind Nariko and slipped his arms around her waist. She adjusted in her seat, and it felt like she was snuggling in. But she couldn’t have been. Not anymore.

  “That was from the Bible? Bald head?”

  “And the bears.” Heath kept his smile inside and gave her a solemn nod. “Look it up.”

  The Sybil of Portland wasn’t Greek. If anything, she looked eastern European. And she didn’t spend all day in a cave inhaling weird vapors. Frankly, all things considered, Heath thought her title was false advertising.

  And despite all the lovely spots in nature parks around Portland she could have chosen from, she had to position herself the way she might have in Manhattan or New Orleans – downtown. She took up her post between the Plaza Blocks, in the middle of nearly everything.

  But then, Heath supposed that everyone had to make a living, and her current location certainly drew foot traffic.

  The Plaza Blocks were green grass parks lined with old elm and ginko trees. They had statues and enough history that it was common to see some troop of kids meandering along while their wranglers tried to impart knowledge about this event or what used to happen on that spot. The parks also had plenty of benches, where couples could enjoy a nice day while all around them birds sang and fat squirrels frolicked. And businesspeople from the public and private office buildings all around could come and tell themselves they were getting fresh air while bolting down their lunches over hurried phone calls.

  But then, Heath didn’t have to watch them to know he would never have survived a life of office work. That path had been closed to him years ago.

  No googly-eyed lovers or crowds of schoolkids today, and the office-types carrying briefcases or deli sandwiches or take-out bags of Korean barbecue quick-stepped through the growing wind on their way back to their offices.

  Locals could smell rain on the air, and they all wanted to be inside when it broke. Which meant they had more sense than Heath, but he knew that already.

  More sense than the Sybil too, it seemed. She stood in her normal place on the double-wide sidewalk of Main Street, just beside the spot where traffic had to part around the big bronze stag and its octagonal concrete base that combined to form Elk Fountain, there in the middle of the street.

  To avoid advertising her true calling – or maybe just to make a buck in between seekers – the five-foot-six-inch Sybil posed as a human statue of a stage magician. Her skin, short hair, and tuxedo were painted a shimmering blue-silver. She held a matching top hat in one hand and a wand in the other.

  Heath had to admit that, for a human statue, she had a pretty good bit. If anyone walked up and put regular money in the hat, she would smile, incline her head, wave her wand in three circles and tap the hat. A blue-silver felt rabbit would poke its head up, then withdraw and disappear.

  Of course, the money vanished too. Anyone who looked into the hat wouldn’t see their money or the rabbit. But they could see the trick again if they threw in some more cash.

  Human statues weren’t common in Portland, so even under the threatening skies Heath had to wait for three white boys who wore polo shirts with the collars up to throw quarters in her hat. While they watched her routine, they speculated loudly about how she did it. Heath was just about at the point of performing a little go-away magic when they finally cleared off on their own.

  Heath looked back at Nariko, waiting for him at the corner with her bike idling. She didn’t meet his eye, though. She was too busy keeping watch.

  Heath approached the Sybil. He held up a silver dollar, tapped the hand she held her hat with, and dropped the coin in her hat. He said, “I can still tell Suit to go fuck himself. He substantially misrepresented the risk level. But if I do, it puts me in a financial bind. Am I better off keeping or breaking his deal?”

  The Sybil smiled and inclined her head. She waved her wand once. She spoke in a hollow, distant voice without moving her lips.

  “Keep his deal and you must find Death. Break his deal and Death will find you first.”

  “Well doesn’t that just sound lovely? Maybe Nariko’s got a point about you.” Heath grimaced. “If I seek the book, what opposition should concern me most?”

  Another pass of the wand.

  “The book itself.”

  “Oh, fucking wonderful. What’s the best way for me to survive this mess?”

  A final pass of the wand. The Sybil tapped her hat, and up popped the rabbit. And Heath would have sworn the hollow voice came from the rabbit when he heard the Sybil say, “Your only future lies through your past.”

  Heath closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. A thousand things he could have been doing right now, and here he stood listening to cryptic bullshit. Had he really believed she would tell him to blow town? Give him some excuse to drive down the coast with Nariko until the whole thing blew over?

  Not that Nariko was likely to go with him, even if the Sybil suggested it. Especially if the Sybil suggested it.

  He hadn’t even remembered to ask about the weather.

  Heath opened his eyes and let out a slow sigh through his nose. He stretched his lips in as close to a smile as he could give the Sybil while he fished a five dollar bill out of his pocket. Strictly speaking, tipping the Sybil wasn’t necessary. But Heath believed that tips made the world go round.

  “Thank you,” he said, and gave her the five.

  The Sybil went through her routine, and Heath forced himself to watch out of politeness. His feet itched to return to Nariko’s bike and get back to work. But when the rabbit popped up something happened that Heath had never heard of happening before.

  The Sybil spoke without answering a question.

  Again the hollow voice seemed to come from the rabbit. It said, “If you do not find the book, your death will be the first. Nariko’s the second. And many others will follow.”

  4

  “Oh, bullshit!” said Nariko. “The Sybil did not mention me by name.”

  In just about any other downtown restaurant, that outburst would have drawn curious looks from the other patrons. But at Foxy, even at only half-full, it slipped past the other diners unnoticed.

  Most likely because Heath and Nariko were having the least intriguing conversation in earshot. Without even trying, Heath had learned that the middle-aged gay couple at the next booth were having difficulties with their S&M arrangement, and that at least two of the loud young women at a nearby four-top were sure their lovers were cheating. Possibly together.

  But then, Heath had never been in Foxy without hearing conversations like these. Drama seemed built into the foundation.

  Foxy looked less like a diner than the aftermath of an explosion in a drag queen’s dressing room. Up high the walls were covered in boas and feather masks, single velvet gloves on ceramic arms, Styrofoam heads in full makeup propping up outrageous wigs, and some articles of costuming that Heath couldn’t quite puzzle out.

  Lower down were posters from movies like Faster Pussycat, Kill, Kill and fliers from twenty years of local drag shows. Heath was sitting on the thrice-patched brown vinyl of a booth seat with broken springs, under a framed poster from To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar, signed by the stars, the director and the writer. All over the walls at head height were autographed black-and-white photos of movie stars and drag show legends.

  The place smelled like coffee, scrambled eggs, and talcum powder. The black-and-white checkered floor always looked a little grimy, and so did the staff, but the food was good. Even while she complained, Nariko hacked her links of chicken apple sausage into tiny bites and stuffed one in her mouth.

  “I wouldn’t lie to you about the Sybil,” said Heath, swirling his too-hot coffee in its chipped blue mug. “You would have heard her if you’d—”

  “Uh uh.” Nariko shook her head. “You’re not going to convince me with that you-weren’t-there garbage. The Sybil doesn’t name names. Never does. Titles, sometimes, if they’re sufficiently obfuscated to fit her style. She once referred to my mother as the Queen of the Mountain and you as the Digger of Fate.”

  “Wait. You consulted the Sybil? When was this?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Point is, naming names is like giving useful answers. The Sybil just isn’t capable of it.”

  Heath thought about that while he added more sugar to his coffee and sipped. Just right.

  “What about the rest of it? Death and so on? You don’t think her warning has merit, even if it’s a little difficult to interpret?”

  Nariko jabbed a bite of sausage in the air to punctuate her words. “Difficult to interpret is putting it mildly. Bitch once told me I would never reach my full power until ‘the Queen found her rest under the Mountain.’”

  Heath sucked in his lips and got very interested in the remains of his cheddar scrambled eggs, trying to scrape some of the leftover cheddar onto his fork.

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Nariko around a bite of sausage. “But you don’t understand. Mom’s never going to die.”

  Heath dropped his silverware and looked up at Nariko. Her green eyes were shiny with unshed tears.

  “You say that like it’s not only true, but it’s a bad thing.”

  Nariko blinked, and her eyes were all business again.

  “Never mind that. So the Sybil says lots of people are going to die unless you find Saint Sippy’s Nasty Journal.”

  Heath still stared at Nariko, trying to see answers somewhere in her face, but she shook her head. It was only the barest movement, scant fractions of an inch, but it was enough for Heath to get the message.

  Heath popped the rest of his melted cheese in his mouth and said, “Yeah, but she didn’t give me any hints about anything useful, like where it might be or what kind of death we’re talking about.”

  “Yes, she did,” said Colin, slipping into the booth beside Nariko and forcing her to wedge in close to the wall. She was too slack-jawed with shock at his sudden appearance to object, and Heath couldn’t blame her.

  Sudden appearance was right. One moment Colin wasn’t there, the next he was just standing beside their booth, worn jeans, Iron Maiden tour shirt and all.

  “I wasn’t nearby when you met the Sybil, but if you remembered right when you quoted her—”

  “Where the hell did you come from?”

  Heath wasn’t sure if he asked that, or Nariko did, or if the shock of Colin’s appearance synchronized them into one of their old couple moments.

  Colin snickered, and again Heath thought of a cartoon dog.

  “I told you guys. I found a real invisibility spell in one of those old books. You have to set it up in advance, but then you just need to carry the amulet” – Colin held up a small, laminated square of paper featuring an ornate drawing inside a circle – “and activate it.”

  Colin looked at them both. “Won’t work while you’re watching me though.”

  “I know,” Heath said slowly, “at least sixteen ways to go about unobserved, unseen or ignored, but real invisibility? The kind that hides you even when someone’s staring at you as close as arm’s reach?” Heath shuddered like someone walked over his grave. “That’s some scary shit.”

  “It’s got its uses.” Colin snatched up an abandoned slice of wheat toast from Heath’s plate. “But about what the Sybil said—”

  “Budge over,” said Nariko. She looked at how much seat she had and how much Colin had, then fixed him with the look she used to banish unwanted admirers.

  Colin scooted to the edge of the seat.

  “What are you doing here?” said Heath. “I thought you were out.”

  “I felt bad about that,” said Colin with a mouthful of toast. He swigged from Nariko’s untouched water glass. “Both of you have pulled me out of a few jams. Not right for me to turn tail when you’re in trouble. So I did a little digging on my own and figured I’d catch up with you later.”

  “But how did you find us?” Heath shook his head. “I know I got that spell right.”

  “You did. No doubt. When I tried to find you guys with magic the spell went haywire. Tried to claim you were maybe a dozen different places all at once.” Colin shrugged. “So I relied on what I know of you guys.”

  He twirled a finger to indicate their surroundings. “This place is your comfort food, especially when you’re together. Anyway, if I’m right about what the Sybil said…”

  Colin looked from Heath to Nariko and back, making sure he wasn’t going to be interrupted.

  “The book itself is dangerous. Like Lovecraft and Evil Dead dangerous.”

  “You of all people should know that books are books,” said Heath. “Same as herbs are herbs. Give our stuff to almost anyone in this diner and they couldn’t magic up enough power to blow a lightbulb. Takes talent. Takes training.”

  “Initiations help too,” said Nariko, then gave a grudging nod to Colin. “For some of us, anyway.”

  “Hey, my books include initiations. They just don’t call them that. They use phrases like ‘activation sequence’ or ‘meeting the spirits.’ Stuff like that.”

  “Point is,” said Heath, taking a sip of coffee, “how can a book be dangerous?”

  “Well, we’re not exactly talking about the Avon Necronomicon here, mass-published and perfect-bound.” Colin stuffed the rest of that piece of toast in his mouth. “‘s one of a kind.”

  “A talisman as well as a grimoire,” said Nariko to Heath. “Makes sense.”