Death of an Adept

Chapter Twenty-Two

WHEN Adam returned to the world of the outer senses, it was nearly midnight. His whole body felt chilled to the bone, as was only to be expected after so long a journey on the astral. Even more chilling were the implications of what he had learned.

Pulling his dressing gown more tightly around him, he got up and heaped fresh wood on the fire before turning on the lights. A call on the in-house telephone let Humphrey know that he was finished for the night and very much in need of refreshment, after which he returned to his fireside chair to contemplate what he had learned from John Graham.

In bringing to light the hitherto secret connections between Taliere/Evans and Raeburn, Graham had clarified aspects of the present situation, which had seemed insolubly murky two days earlier. Taliere's mysteriously brief emergence from obscurity two years ago - so baffling when viewed as an isolated incident - could now be seen to coincide roughly with Raeburn's attempt to reactivate the ancient and malignant powers of the Soulis tore under the auspices of the Head-Master. There now seemed little need for further speculation as to who had organized the elaborate ritual at Callanish. Raeburn, it would appear, was renewing his efforts to court the power and favor of the old gods, with Taliere drafted to play a supporting role.

Quite obviously, the Callanish sacrifice now emerged as an elaborate prelude to something far more ambitious and far-ranging - for Raeburn was not given to modest undertakings. The question was, What? Unable to provide an answer as yet, Adam was nevertheless prepared to make one grim and certain prediction: Whatever Raeburn's ultimate objective might be, his pursuit of it was certain to exact a high price from someone.

It went without saying that he had to be stopped. But in order to stop Raeburn, the Hunting Lodge first had to find him. The Taliere connection was a beginning - but only a beginning. Adam was just considering where to take his inquiries next when there was a light knock at the door.

He rose to answer the summons, expecting to see Humphrey standing on the threshold with a tray in his hands. Instead, he was more than a little surprised to be confronted by Ximena.

She had exchanged her working clothes for a quilted-silk dressing gown and Oriental slippers in a matching shade of opulent jade-green. Her long dark hair, still slightly damp from her shower, was hanging loose about her shoulders, and her oval face was clear as apple-blossom. In her hands she bore a silver-and-enamel tray upon which reposed a plateful of toasted sandwiches and a Limoges chocolate service for two. Lifting her eyes to meet his, she gave him a demure smile and a mock curtsy.

"Good evening, sir! I believe you ordered a collation?"

Adam covered his surprise with a chuckle. "Yes, I did - but I wasn't expecting service from the mistress of the house herself."

"So it would appear," Ximena noted drily. "Are you complaining?"

"Not in the least!" Adam assured her. With a gallant sweep of his arm, he added, "Please, won't you come in?"

"I thought you'd never ask!" she said with a twinkle.

Slipping past him in a whisper of silk, she made her way gracefully over to the hearthside and began arranging the contents of the tray on a side table. Adam closed the door and came to join her.

"I didn't hear you arrive," he remarked with attempted lightness. "How long have you been home?"

"About half an hour," she returned. "I phoned earlier to let you know I was on my way, but Humphrey said you were busy, so I told him not to bother you. Since all the signs indicated you were still ensconced when I got in, I took the opportunity to slip into something more comfortable and grab myself a snack from the kitchen. When I caught Humphrey in the act of making you a midnight feast, it seemed a pity not to make a social occasion of it."

"I'm very glad you did," Adam told her, as she straightened up and turned around.

Ximena cocked her head slightly. "Well, that's a relief. From the blank look on your face when you first opened the door, I thought perhaps I might have made a tactical blunder."

"A thousand apologies. I was still gnawing over the problem I've been working at all evening."

"Then it's time to put the matter behind you," Ximena said firmly.

She reached out and took his hands. The next instant her eyes widened in concern.

"Good Lord, Adam, is anything wrong? Your hands are like ice!"

"No, no," Adam made haste to reassure her. "It's nothing of any consequence. I've just been sitting in one place for a little too long - too idle and distracted to heave another log on the fire."

Even as he spoke, he couldn't quite repress a shiver. Ximena frowned and peered at him more closely.

"Adam, your lips are almost blue! And your fingernails. To look at you, one would almost think you'd been out in a blizzard!"

"On the contrary," Adam protested mildly, "I've been right here in this room all evening."

Ximena's gaze narrowed to a searching glare. "That doesn't make sense. The room's not that cold - in fact, it isn't cold at all. Even if you say you're not ill, there's certainly something amiss. Adam, just what have you been doing?"

There was to be, Adam sensed, no avoiding the issue. Taking care to choose his words, he said, "I've been engaging in what you might call a 'spiritual exercise."

Ximena's frown turned puzzled. "You mean, praying?"

"That's certainly a part of it."

"Hypothermia," Ximena pointed out, "is not generally acknowledged to be a side effect of prayer."

"Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I was meditating," Adam amended. "Some deep meditative states are accompanied by a decrease in heart rate and respiration. Any time the metabolism slows down, the body temperature is naturally going to drop. I've had this happen to me any number of times, and I promise you I'll take no harm by it. All I need is a little time to warm up again. That's why I ordered hot sandwiches and hot chocolate."

"If you say so," Ximena said dubiously, then added, on a more bracing note, "Well, the sooner you get some food inside you, the better! Come and have a sandwich while I pour us some chocolate."

Adam allowed himself to be chivvied over to the settee, where Ximena tucked a tartan rug around his shoulders and then presented him with a filled plate. The sandwiches Humphrey had provided were still warm from the grill, and their fragrance seemed ambrosial. Adam devoured his first helping with grateful abandon, and started in on his second. Only then did he become aware that Ximena was watching him over the rim of her cup, monitoring his progress with a thoughtful eye.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I didn't realize how hungry I was."

Amusement tugged at Ximena's lips. "Think nothing of it. I'm just happy to see you getting some color back in your face." She watched him a moment longer, then asked abruptly, "Why do you do this to yourself?"

Adam paused in the act of taking a sip of chocolate. "I beg your pardon?"

"Why do you do this to yourself?" Ximena repeated. "I mean - it can't be a very enjoyable experience, putting yourself through this kind of rigor. Even if you're not aware of what's happening to your body while your mind and spirit are occupied with higher things, sooner or later you're going to have to reckon with the physical consequences. And so I'm curious to know, Why do you do it?"

"The reasons vary," Adam said. After a brief hesitation, he added, "On this occasion, the impetus was work-related."

Ximena lifted an eyebrow. "I - see," she acknowledged. "One of those special cases you mentioned. Are we talking about a crime?"

"Not in the conventional sense," Adam said. "Not yet, at any rate." When Ximena continued to wait expectantly, he added, "I was hoping to gain some insight into the problem through meditation."

"Were you successful?"

"Up to a point. I've now been able to work out who's responsible. And I have some idea as to his motives. The challenge now will be to find him before he can attain his desired objective."

"Which is?"

"To become a law unto himself. To dictate and control the lives and fortunes of others who are weaker than he is."

"In other words," she said, "he wants more than his share of personal power. What makes this character any different from your average politician?"

"The fact that he is prepared to resort to occult means to gain what he seeks."

Ximena's reaction was incredulous. "Black magic?"

"That's as good a term for it as any," he replied, watching her carefully. "Never mind whether or not you believe in the efficacy of such things. The point is, our subject does - and behaves accordingly, and gets results."

A thoughtful silence descended momentarily while Ximena digested this, after which she asked, "Assuming that you find him, what will you do?"

"Hand him over to the proper authorities," Adam said. Which was nothing more or less than the simple truth. "At the moment," he continued, "our man probably doesn't suspect we're onto him. If we're careful, he won't realize what we're doing until it's too late to resist."

"Will he give himself up without a fight?"

"I doubt it."

"I see." There was another silence. "Am I to infer from this that there's an element of danger?"

"Some," Adam admitted. "But I don't take unnecessary chances."

"Well, that's a relief," Ximena said with a fillip of forced levity. "Am I allowed to know who this man is, or is that another secret?"

"Secret or not, his name wouldn't mean anything to you."

"His name would mean something to me, if he were to do you any harm."

"Nothing is going to happen to me," Adam said firmly. "I'm not in this alone. And the people who are with me can be trusted to look after my safety, just as I look after theirs."

Ximena gave him a narrow look, then broke it off with a shrug and a smile.

"That had the right ring of confidence," she conceded. "All right, let's not argue the point. It's getting late, and it occurs to me that we've got better things to do at this hour than sitting here debating the ethics of this branch of your profession."

Rising, she offered him her hand. As he cast off his rug and followed his wife upstairs, Adam could only hope that future events would not betray her trust.

Ximena slept in the following morning. Going downstairs alone, Adam found Philippa already at the breakfast table. His account of Graham's revelations left them both in a sober frame of mind.

"This is worse than anything I might have expected," Philippa declared, moodily poking at the grapefruit-half in front of her. "What's our next step?"

"I wish I knew," Adam said with a sigh.

McLeod and Peregrine received a similar briefing later in the day, over lunch. The news that Raeburn was almost certainly the instigator behind the Callanish affair drew predictably strong reactions.

"Raeburn? It figures," McLeod muttered. "He's like a bad penny - just keeps coming back."

"How the devil did he manage to sneak back into the country without anyone becoming aware of him?" Peregrine wondered aloud. "Aren't there all kinds of warrants out for his arrest?"

"Obviously, he still has his share of resources," Adam replied. "Those diamonds must have bought him a lot of credit in a number of circles."

"That doesn't explain why he'd want to come back to Scotland," Peregrine retorted. "Isn't that taking an awfully big risk, given his past record around here?"

"Scotland has always been his power base," Adam reminded Peregrine. "Besides that, he probably feels he has unfinished business here - scores to settle, at the very least. Furthermore, I expect he's a man in withdrawal. Drug addiction is nothing compared to the addiction that can come of tasting and craving the kind and intensity of power delegated to him by the Head-Master - and we cut off his supply when we overturned the Head-Master's operation. I shouldn't be surprised if he's attempting to reforge that link with the old Pictish pantheon of elemental gods."

"The link with Taranis," McLeod muttered. "Bloody hell!"

"Adam, are you serious?" Peregrine murmured.

When Adam only nodded, Peregrine shook his head in horrified protest. "But - how could he do that? The tore was destroyed. Wouldn't he need some kind of power-focus to replace it?"

"Not necessarily. Not if a ritual means can be found to accomplish the same end," Adam replied. "That might explain why he's gone to the trouble of enlisting Taliere. As a Druid priest with an ancient pedigree, Taliere would have resources at his disposal that Raeburn lacks himself - as well as a signature of power strong enough to mask any other occult presence in the area."

"Aye, he would," McLeod grumbled. "I just wish we'd known about the Raeburn connection when we were up at Callanish. Maybe we'd have picked up a few more clues to go on."

"I doubt it," Adam said heavily. "Raeburn knew exactly what he was doing. The fact that he left the Callanish site uncleansed was a calculated diversion. We were meant to pick up Taliere's trail and squander our time chasing it. Meanwhile, Raeburn has been free to pursue his plans unmolested."

"So Taliere was nothing more than a red herring," Peregrine said. The reflection made him squirm inwardly. Putting his resentment behind him with difficulty, he asked, "How do we get back on the right track?"

"By consolidating our gains, such as they are," Adam replied. "At least we now know who we're up against, which is more than we knew yesterday. I suggest we open up a new line of inquiry by revisiting some of Raeburn's old haunts. If he's been anywhere near any of them, we may be able to pick up residuals from his presence."

"I see what you're saying," Peregrine said. "But if we do that, won't Raeburn realize that his ruse has run its course, and change his tactics accordingly?"

"Probably," Adam said with uncompromising candor, "but under the circumstances, I don't see that we have any other option."

"There's that country house Raeburn used to have on the other side of Stirling,'' McLeod offered, after a thoughtful silence. "That might be a starting place. I'll drive over there and have a look, see if anyone's living there now. If there's been a change of ownership, the paper trail may turn up a clue or two as to Raeburn's movements and associations."

"That's not a bad idea," Adam replied, "though I'd recommend you take someone with you. Donald, maybe. As we all know, accidents have been known to happen in this line of work."

"If it doesn't have to be a police backup, I'll go," Peregrine volunteered.

"Sounds fine to me," McLeod said. "I doubt Raeburn will be there."

"Fair enough. At least it's a starting point," Adam agreed. "In the meantime, since we can be reasonably sure that Raeburn and Taliere were together at Callanish, I suggest we go back and review Peregrine's sketches. Now that we know what we're looking for, something new may yet come to light."

"It's certainly worth a try," Peregrine said. "I'll get copies made up this afternoon and we can each go over them this evening."

Anything more he might have said was interrupted by a shrill electronic chirrup from the inside pocket of McLeod's jacket. The inspector rolled his eyes apologetically and pulled out a tiny mobile phone.

"McLeod… Oh. Right. Yes, I'll be there as soon as I can…Right. Bye."

He closed down the antenna with a wistful lift of his eyebrows and got to his feet.

"Sorry about that. Domestic crisis disrupts esoteric investigative efforts. Jane's had a plumbing disaster. There's water all over the kitchen floor. I think we're about through here anyway. I'll come by and pick up those photocopies tomorrow."

He took himself off, leaving Adam and Peregrine to finish their coffee. Adam was about to set his empty cup aside when he became aware that Peregrine was toying absent-mindedly with his coffee spoon, a look of baffled preoccupation on his face.

"Something bothering you, Peregrine?" Adam asked.

Peregrine looked up at the sound of his name, momentarily startled.

"No, not - bothering, exactly."

"Something to do with the Callanish case?"

"In a manner of speaking, I suppose so," Peregrine allowed. After a brief hesitation he continued. "I always had the impression that Sir John and the other folk at Oakwood all follow a mystical tradition derived, at least in part, from the ancient Druids."

"Essentially correct."

"Well," Peregrine said, still frowning, "assuming that they are the legitimate heirs to Britain's pagan heritage, how is it that someone like Taliere can use those same beliefs and practices as the basis for invoking the powers of evil?"

"In other words," Adam said, "you want to know how Graham and Taliere can be opposed to one another while appearing to venerate the same things."

Peregrine nodded.

"A fair question," Adam replied. "I would say that the explanation probably lies in the human capacity for self-delusion - and in the equally human capacity for endowing those delusions with power. It's quite literally true that evil men have it in them to create their own demons. And these demons are no less demonic for being given sacred names - quite the reverse, in fact. This confusion of identity extends even to the Great Ones who preside over the enlightened realms of the Inner Planes."

At Peregrine's look of question, he went on.

"Think of the four great entities we call Gabriel, Michael, Raphael, and Uriel. Theologians will tell you that these beings we call archangels sprang forth from the mind of God in the same instant of Divine Thought which created the universe itself. As messengers of God and viceroys of the elements, they have been given many names down through the ages.

"Some cultures, in the absence of direct revelation, came to venerate these messengers as gods in their own right, projecting onto them a whole range of human errors and frailties. In time, fuelled by the power of belief, those projections developed a shadowy half-life of their own, so that it has become difficult for a great many people to distinguish the true Powers from their manufactured counterparts.

"Taliere probably thinks he's venerating the old gods of ancient Britain," he concluded, "but in fact I suspect he's worshipping only an autonomous projection of his forebears' inner darkness. It's a common misconception - and not one confined to latter-day pagans."

Peregrine rubbed the end of his nose reflectively. "Are you saying that this ancient deity Taranis, whom Taliere purports to serve, exists only as a shadowy analogue to one of the archangels?"

"That doesn't make him or it any less real," Adam replied. "Never forget that. And the more people who embrace the illusion, the stronger it becomes - until eventually, it can take on physical substance. That's why we have to stop Raeburn. And to do that, we have to find him - the sooner, the better."