"More surprising, the Dark Man continually underestimated his opponents. We all know that. Each of us managed to escape him in one fashion or another. Ape eluded him three times. Yet the monster possessed incredible supernatural strength and cunning. He just rarely bothered concentrating his full power against any particular opponent. He displayed the typical misplaced self-confidence of an indulgent megalomaniac. The Dark Man exhibited all too familiar weaknesses."

  "He acted like someone who always gets his own way," said Janet. "I know plenty of people like that. Harmon Sangmeister and Victor Caldwell both fit that description. Why, even my own father acts that way sometimes."

  "The rich are different," said Taine, flashing her a brief smile. "In any circumstances, the Dark Man paraded all the traits of a deviant personality instead of some supernatural entity. That type of behavior narrowed down my search quite a bit. Still, I needed one final clue before I finally realized his true nature."

  "But you knew what he looked like," said Ape. "Didn't that matter at all?"

  "Not enough for me to guess his basic character. You see, the Sheddim always adapt to their surroundings. When summoned to our world, they draw on the subconscious fears of modern mankind for their shape.

  "In the Middle Ages, they appeared as hooded brigands and outlaws. In the seventeenth and eighteenth century, the Sheddim took on the guise of Inquisitors and Masked Headsmen. More than likely, Jack the Ripper was a Sheddim called forth by a Victorian sorcerer. He embodied all the repressed fears and violence of that age.

  "When raised from the netherworld, the Dark Man assumed the appearance of a man most likely to frighten modern city dwellers. Thus he roamed the streets in the person of a maniacal killer armed with a butcher's cleaver. He merely fleshed out our worst urban nightmares."

  "You're telling me," said Ape. "So now we know the why and the how. What's the punchline?"

  "His features gave him away. Or, should I say, his lack of features. When the wind blew off his hat and revealed his glasslike countenance, I immediately recognized the Dark Man as a doppleganger."

  "A what?" asked Ape. "Sounds German to me."

  "Right you are," said Taine. "The name comes from the German and roughly translates as 'double-goer.' However, the concept predates civilized history. Ancient folklore is filled with tales of witches and warlocks sending out their shadows on missions of evil. And everyone is familiar with stories about the good and evil parts of a man's personality battling for control of his body. All of these legends share a common background—a ghostly duplicate of a living man existing separate from the host body."

  "So that's what you meant when you called the Dark Man a shadow of Arelim," said Ape, shaking his head. "He seemed pretty deadly for a shadow."

  "When the sorcerer we know only as Arelim raised a Sheddim from the outer darkness, he anchored the creature in our reality by the use of a Name of Power. He called the creature by his own name, Arelim, forging an unholy psychic bond between himself and the demon. In creating a doppleganger, the true Arelim impressed his own personality onto the Sheddim. The creature thus gained all of the sorcerer's knowledge and character. In return, whenever the Dark Man took a life, it shared the resulting psychic energy with its master."

  "So the double inherited both Arelim's strengths and faults," said Papa Benjamin, slowly, as if weighing each word. "That explains many of his actions. The Dark Man's sadism reflected the twisted mind of his master,"

  "You ever gonna tell me how a mirror destroyed him?" asked Ape, impatiently tapping his fingers on the table.

  "Can't you guess?" said Taine. "All dopplegangers suffer from one fatal weakness. They think of themselves as a real person. Their very existence depends on maintaining that illusion.

  "Despite all of the obvious contradictions and anomalies, the Dark Man thought he was the real Arelim. He refused to consider any other possibility. Oftentimes, according to legend, psychic doubles tried to replace their masters. By their very nature, dopplegangers always believed they were the originals, not the copies. So it was with the Dark Man."

  "Aha," said Ape. "The light finally dawns. I think I finally understand.

  "A creature of absolute night, the Dark Man had no true features. His face was blank, like a slab of glass. So he cast no reflection in the mirror. When he saw that, it made him realize the truth about himself."

  "The knowledge that he was nothing more than a copy of a real human being destroyed him," said Taine. "He could no longer exist in our universe. Instead, the Dark Man returned to the eternal darkness of Kelippot, the shells of those worlds created before ours."

  Janet yawned. Taine looked over to the clock. It was nearly 3:00 a.m. He needed rest. They all did.

  "What happens next?" asked Ape. Both he and Papa Benjamin rose from their chairs, getting ready to leave.

  "I don't know," said Taine. "Arelim still lives. I have no idea how the destruction of his doppleganger affects his plans. My main concerns remain unchanged. I want to help Evangeline Caldwell escape the evil taking place this coming night. And keep Timmy safe from his father."

  "In either or both situations," said Papa Benjamin, "you can count on our aid. Even with the Dark Man gone, this Arelim threatens us all. I cannot believe he will abandon his evil schemes despite this major setback. Only one thing will stop him. Death."

  39

  A mind-shattering pain woke Arelim from a deep sleep. A thousand invisible needles stabbed at his flesh. It felt as if he were being skinned alive. Unseen claws tore at his insides. Fire raced through his veins, causing him to shrink in sudden agony. His blood boiled and steamed within him.

  Every muscle and joint in his body screamed in agony. His eyeballs seemed ready to pop out of theirsockets. He never before experienced such intense pain. It felt as if his entire body were being ripped apart.

  He instantly guessed the source of this torture. The psychic bond between him and his doppleganger linked their senses. However, only the strongest sensations passed between them.

  Normally he only experienced the surges of energy each time the Dark Man sacrificed another victim. Tonight someone had discovered the secret of his creation. The Sheddim no longer believed in itself. It was returning to Kelippot. But the link between them still remained. Like a gigantic psychic anchor, the Dark Man was dragging him along to the outer dark.

  For a second, Arelim panicked. Kelippot housed horrors beyond human imagining. It was a realm of madness of the mind and the spirit. Outside the universe, it existed in a timeless state of ever enduring. A man trapped there would suffer eternal, unceasing mental and physical torment.

  Discipline saved him. Unable to banish the pain from his body, he used it. Channeling the hurt like a raging river, he forced the current to bend to his will. Ignoring the anguish caused by every movement, he spoke the words of power.

  "Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin."

  Nothing happened. Grimly, he repeated the line. It offered the only chance of salvation.

  "Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin."

  The grip of pain slackened just a bit. Enough though to strengthen his resolve to continue. He knew the phrase would save him. Words of power defined existence. Even the chaos of Kelippot could not stand against them.

  "Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin."

  Each time he recited the four words, the pain lessened. Little by little, his strength returned. And, with that strength, came a new sensation—an awareness of a dark, violent power within.

  Feeling slightly dizzy, he sat up in bed. A snifter of brandy sat on the nightstand. A quick drink gave him a needed lift. He staggered on wobbly legs across the room to his desk. It took less than a minute to construct the Tree of Life. As he suspected, the same run of four cards appeared in every deal.

  The Wheel of Fortune

  Pope Joan

  The Hermit

  La Mort

  Arelim stared at the major trumps. The message remained unchanged from the previous day. He smiled in satisfaction. Despite the unexpected setback, nothing had changed. All of his schemes proceeded as planned.

  Let his enemies celebrate their small victory, They would soon learn the truth. The doppleganger never figured in his final victory. The Dark Man merely represented his own lusts and desires. Those remained unchanged. If anything, this minor setback actually strengthened his resolve. Nothing could stop him.

  After all, it was his magic that summoned the Dark Man from the realms of eternal night. He had spoken the words of power that drew it from the gulf. His wishes, his dreams had given the doppleganger form and purpose. Together with his creation, he had planned each killing, feasted on each death. And with each sacrifice, he had grown stronger through the unholy bond that joined them together.

  The Dark Man no longer existed in this world. But his legacy lived on. Arelim raised his hands. They looked . . . bigger. His gnarled fingers no longer ached from arthritis. Powerful muscles rippled beneath the flesh.

  He laughed. The sound echoed in the bedroom. Darkness coursed through his body. He never felt so alive, so aware, so hungry for life—human life.

  Taine and his friends thought they had destroyed the Dark Man. Not so. Instead they had merely accelerated a process that started with the first killing. Each death had drawn Arelim and his doppleganger closer and closer together. Blood forged unbreakable ties that even death could not sever.

  Still chuckling, Arelim looked down again at the four tarot cards. Their symbols clearly indicated his triumph to come.

  The Wheel of Fortune spoke of his destiny. No power on Earth could stop him now. Tomorrow night he would smash those who stood against him. It was his destiny.

  Pope Joan represented a mysterious woman. He knew for sure this card meant Janet Packard. Her young son played an important role in his plans. The boy's death would be a fitting climax for the evening's activities.

  The Hermit signified hidden wisdom. In his hands, he held the secrets of the ages. No magician alive could match his powers. He stood alone, invincible from physical harm.

  La Mort, the skeleton, the sigil for death, could not be any clearer. Originally, he thought the card portrayed the Dark Man. Now he understood it referred directly to himself. He no longer needed an agent, an understudy, to commit his crimes. Death walked alongside of him now.

  He reached across the desk, over the tarot deck, and grasped the butcher's cleaver. The wood handle felt warm beneath his fingers. As if it had just been passed on to him from another.

  40

  Janet woke up with a start, her body drenched in a cold sweat. Groggily, she shook her head, trying to clear out the nightmares. Her eyes still heavy with sleep, she looked around the room for a clock. She gasped when she saw it was nearly eleven. Time for her to get moving.

  Taine was not the type to have a supply of women's clothes on hand. With a shrug of disgust, she put on her clothes from last night. She could change as soon as she got back to Brentwood. The cocktail dress looked like a wartime casualty. She couldn't help grinning as she combed out the tangles from her hair. She felt like a combat veteran herself.

  Wandering into the kitchen, she found a note from Taine propped up against a basket of croissants. "I let you sleep. You needed the rest. Besides, resisting temptation is good for my willpower. Fresh juice in the fridge. I've gone to warn Angel about Arelim. Call my office when you can. Lots of love."

  She smiled as she bit into one of the fluffy rolls. By the time Papa Benjamin and Ape Largo left last night, the last thing on her mind was sex. All she wanted to do was take a quick shower and go to bed. Taine never even raised the possibility of anything more. By the time she emerged from the bathroom, dripping wet and feeling a bit more frisky, Taine was already fast asleep. Properly chagrined, she had crawled under the covers next to him and snuggled up close. It only took a few minutes for her to drift off as well.

  Thinking of sleep focused Janet's attention on the nightmare that woke her up. She still remembered most of the details. Surprisingly, the dream dealt not with her experiences with the Dark Man, but with the tragic death of her brother many years before. Something about that night bothered her. Janet shook her head in annoyance. She disliked coincidences, especially when they concerned her son. For the first time in nineteen long years, she found herself questioning the circumstances surrounding her brother's accident.

  She finished her croissant and a glass of orange juice before admitting defeat. After nearly two decades, even the most vivid of memories faded into dim recollections. Licking the last few crumbs off her fingers, Janet headed for the living room.

  It was time for her to head home, but she didn't feel like leaving. For all of the violence of the night before, she felt at peace in this apartment. Taine lived here and she loved Taine. That alone made it a haven from the doubts that continually nagged at her subconscious. Stalling, Janet studied the hardcovers crowding the solitary wood bookcase in the corner.

  To her amusement, more than half of them were mystery novels. Taine evidently liked hard-boiled private eye stories. She quickly scanned the titles. Books by Hammett and Chandler jammed the shelves next to more recent work by Parker, Leonard and Estelman.

  The rest of the shelves were filled up with an eclectic mix of nonfiction works. As far as Janet could tell, there was no sense or order to the collection. Taine impressed her as a man with a wide range of interests. His taste in books reflected that trait.

  One small group of books dealt with the occult. Most of them were trade paperbound volumes of commentary on The Kabbalah. Janet recognized the name from earlier remarks made by Taine. She knew nothing about the book other than it dealt with mystic beliefs. Curious, she took the thinnest volume off the shelf. She was a natural speed reader. It wouldn't take long to finish this one text. She could leave for home after that. Settling down on the battered couch, Janet started reading.

  An hour later, she closed the book in dismay. She had barely made it through two chapters. The material was incredibly dense. It dealt with all sorts of occult traditions. What little she understood made no sense. It forwarded concepts she found impossible to comprehend.

  According to mystic tradition, God existed in a perfect state of being known as Azilut before creating our universe. To give form and substance to our world, Elohim inscribed his perfect name on the void. He extended his identity to all things. Thus, in a sense, the true name of God became the universe.

  From that belief came the concept that the true name of any entity contained the essence of that being. She was vaguely familiar with that idea from her religion courses in college. Knowledge of your enemy's true name gave you power over him. The same notion extended to both human and supernatural beings. It was one of the basic principles of magic.

  At least now she understood the importance of words in magic rituals. Or at least she thought she did. Arelim used certain words to summon the Dark Man. And the magician controlled the Sheddim by those same words. Or so the book implied.

  Using that same reasoning, it then followed that knowing the true name of God gave you power over all things. That was because the entire universe was an extension of God's identity. The exact nature of that power was not discussed in either of the chapters she managed to finish. Janet got the impression that the author was not sure of that himself.

  It was a secret sought after by all the great magicians of history. For the actual name was already known. It appeared a number of times in the Old Testament. Occult scholars called the sacred name, a group of four Hebrew letters, the tetragrammaton. Those symbols, Yod He Vau He, formed the phrase, "He is," the basic foundation of all Jewish belief.

  However, as that name was held in such awe by the early Hebrews, it was rarely spoken and never above a whisper. Only an inner circle of priests knew the true pronunciation of the name. Over the centuries, the number of those privy to the secret shrank and shrank until finally, no one was sure of the correct articulation.

  The secret was lost. Knowing the name was not enough. Only the correct way of saying it could unlock the power it contained. And that was the greatest mystery of The Kabbalah.

  Yawning, she replaced the volume in the bookcase. Time enough to finish it another day. She had been hoping Taine might return to the apartment, but no such luck. It was nearly one o'clock. She had just enough time to stop off at Brentwood and change before picking up Tim at school. That nightmare still haunted her thoughts. She wanted to personally keep an eye on her son for the rest of the day.

  41

  Martha answered the bell at Brentwood. Her eyes widened in dismay when she saw the condition of Janet's clothes. "What happened to you, Miss Janet?" she asked, obviously trying to mask her shock.

  Keeping her eyes firmly fixed to the floor, Janet rushed by the housekeeper without a word. Sometimes, no explanation worked. Reaching the stairs, she hesitated for a moment. "Where's Leo?"

  "He left early this morning," said Martha. "Mr. Packard didn't say when he would be back. You know why. He never likes to stay around Brentwood on this day."

  Janet shuddered. After all these years, her brother Ralph's ghost still haunted her father. Leo never adjusted to the death of his only son. In a way, he seemed to blame himself for the accident. The thought started Janet shivering.

  "You're cold, Miss Janet," said Martha. "A dress like that isn't made for springtime in Chicago. Go upstairs and change into something warm. I'll make you a nice hot cup of tea."

  "That sounds wonderful," said Janet, heading up the stairs. "Did Bruno go with Dad?"

  "No, ma'am. Bruno took the car in for a tune-up. He planned to pick up Master Tim right afterward."

  "Okay. Though I might go for Tim myself today. He probably misses his mom. And I miss him."