Hal appreciated mob bosses. They were businessmen, didn't mince words, they spoke with clever innuendo and hypotheticals. The first time Hal met the leader of an Esoteric family, he never wanted to meet another. The Grand Celestial Watcher was the epitome of self-importance and puffed-up popinjay. His assistants slithered into the room and averted their gaze. They fluffed pillows, lit incense, and boiled tea. They did everything but use trumpets to herald their leader's entrance.
Hal leaned closer to Braden, "Is it always like this?"
"Theatrics and fortune telling go hand in hand. You may hate it, but the clients eat this stuff up," Braden said with wistful words. "Back when I was Koschei, I did similar things to put people off balance. It got old after a decade."
"I can't say that makes me feel any better," Hal said.
"You hate theatrics?"
"I like things short and to the point."
"I noticed."
The Watcher sat at his desk, and his attendants removed his elaborate headdress and outer robe. "Welcome weary travelers..."
Hal raised a hand and said, "Don't do that. I am not one of your little yes men. I have more places to visit today. Jason Muller will die from a mindrot curse. What do you know?"
A wicked smile spread over Braden's face. "I'd answer the man. Your guards exhausted most of his patience." He turned to Hal, "You're more interesting than I expected, Officer Lambert."
"Did you say Jason Muller?" The Watcher's brow furrowed, and the crow's feet appeared around the sad eyes. "He was a dear friend and consummate professional."
Braden's eyes were alight with interest. "Mr. Muller's bank statements said you hired him last. What was the job?"
"I had to deliver a speech at an astrologer convention but fell ill. I hired Jason to take my place and deliver my speech. He exceeded my expectations of course." The Watcher's hand shook as he raised the cup to his lips.
"Did he have any enemies?" Hal asked. The faster they got out of the office, the better. Theatrical tears were worse than grand entrances. The incense was cheap and produced a hodge podge of unpleasant aromas.
The Watcher dabbed his eyes with the corner of a tissue. "A lesser esoteric family approached him about a book heist. I'm not talking about something you can buy off the internet. The good stuff."
"What constitutes good stuff?" Hal asked. Hal liked hockey and Louis Lamour's Western. Magical tomes were unfamiliar fiddle-faddle.
The Watcher sighed and said, "They paired you with an ignoramus, West?"
"I like him better than my last partner," Braden said.
"He probably enjoys barbaric sports and silly books written by a modern author." The Watcher said in a snobby tone.
"Damn proud of it too," Hal said. "I'll guess the books were journals or original manuscripts of their work."
The Watcher cleared his throat, "At least he has some measure of wit." he paused to sip his tea. "Yes, it was a collection of journals from a lesser-known summoner named Vergil Coffen. He traveled the world learning various rituals and recorded them."
"How dangerous is summoning?" Hal asked.
The question wiped the smile from Braden's face. "How do you think I got here?" he asked. "One misshaped symbol or mispronounced word can invite catastrophe into your life."
"He is correct," The Watcher said. "Summoning is forbidden in this family. Deadly spirits often masquerade as benign..."
"Demons do that, right?" Hal asked. He knew these things because his wife loved ghost stories and often watched documentaries about the spiritual world.
The Watcher beamed at Hal. "Yes. Although demon is a woefully simple explanation of what they are. It'd be like calling Mr. West a ghost."
"Did he say who hired him?" Hal asked.
"Summoners are a secretive lot. They take on a second name when they learn the craft. The things you summon can do all sorts of nasty things if they know your given name." The Watcher set his cup down. "Jason couldn't tell me the name. He sighed a magical contract. If he gave up the identity of the contract holder he'd forfeit the rights to his body and become a vessel."
"Is that common when you make a deal with a summoner?" Hal asked.
"As stated before, Summoners are a secretive lot." Braden turned around. "We should go, Officer Lambert. Jason Muller's apartment awaits us," he said.
Hal drew a card from his jacket pocket and set it on the desk. "If you think of anything else. Don't hesitate to call."
***
On the way to Jason Mullers, Braden was uncharacteristically quiet. His face knotted up in thought, and his eyes never strayed from the navigation screen. He crossed his arms and harumphed twice.
"Something on you're mind Braden?"
"I never asked to come to earth. Did I ever tell you that?"
"No."
"The original Koschei summoned me and botched it. I was supposed to be earthbound for a day."
"Do you miss home?"
Braden leaned back in the seat. "I've changed too much to go back. The others would see me as tainted by mortality. We weren't supposed to concern ourselves with earthly things."
"I'm glad you came, Braden," Hal said. "If you hadn't chose me, I'd still be drowning in self pity."
"I didn't do anything, Officer Lambert. I offered you a chance to find Jackson's killer. Scathach chose you, my job was to ascertain whether you could be taught."
"Did I pass muster?" Hal asked
Braden grinned, "As I said before, so many come through those doors and expect magic to solve everything. You haven't asked for a single spell since you arrived."
"I have a magic pistol. I don't plan on getting more mystical."
"Which reminds me. We'll need to test you for magical talent. I can't believe we didn't do it earlier."
"What if I'm not interested in that?"
"The test is required. You had to do a little hocus pocus in the analysis lab. The analysis wouldn't have worked if you didn't have any talent. I'd be interested in seeing what else you can do." Braden said. "The address says he lives in that broken-down house.
"The appearance is a front isn't it?" Hal asked.
"Yes. I would assume so. Jason Muller is a top-rated fetch. It makes sense he'd disguise his lair with an illusion. It's quite impressive, I can sense the magic from here."
"Do magicians have power rankings?"
"Yes. They don't mean much because every esoteric family has a different ranking system."
Hal studied the house. A faint halo of dark light surrounded the rotted mass of timbers and insulation. A spirit stepped through the wall and vanished. "Isn't a haunting a little cliche?:"
"I have to agree on that one. I did something similar in Amityville in the 70's." Braden said in a peeved tone. "Unfortunately, I fell behind in the payments, and I had to vacate the premises. Paranormal experts came from all over the world to examine my haunted house. I was surprised to see a movie about it and then a remake. I never saw a dime from either."
"Do you think he has other protections?"
"No. Never underestimate the power of an illusion, Officer Lambert."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Illusions can kill if you believe in them enough."
"Are we going to stand here all day?" Hal asked. His feet crunched across glass shards and gravel.
Braden followed, "One more thing. The spirit you saw might be real. It's what makes illusionist homes so deadly. You can't tell fact from fiction."
"I thought spirits couldn't hurt us."
"I think my existence begs to differ with that argument."
A few feet away was a long piece of rebar. Hal picked up the rusty metal and brown dust stuck to his pants and hands.
"What's that for?" Braden scratched his head and regarded the object with disdain.
"Ghosts and iron don't mix, or at least that's what a paranormal show said. Your reaction tells me there is some truth to the statement."
"You could knock me out of this body if you aren't careful."
"I had to chase a convict through a swamp once. An officer got stuck in quicksand. We spent most of the day poking the ground with long sticks. A person like Jason Muller probably has magical defenses. I figure we can use the rebar to poke things from a safe distance."
"I was going to suggest a mass spell removal, but it would attract all the wrong attention. Your sensibility is our greatest ally."
Once their feet touched the front steps, the outer illusion faded, and a gorgeous front door complete with a lion knocker. Mist Swirled around the front door, and the spirit of a man dressed in buckskin barred them access.
"Gentleman, how can I help you?" The spirit turned his head and revealed charred and burned skin. "The otherworld spirit, Koschei. Your fame precedes you. That would make you Officer Lambert, correct?"
"Yes," Hal replied. "News travels fast in the spirit world?"
"We have nothing better to do but gossip and figure out what's holding us here," The ghost said. "By the way, Jackson says hi."