Black Magic Woman Read Online Free PDF Page B

can't say that I blame her."
    Morris scratched his chin. "Any other incidents since the one involving the hair dryer?"
    "No. At least, not since the last time I called home, which was…" LaRue checked his watch, "about forty-five minutes ago." He spent several seconds examining the nail on his right index finger, as if he found it the most fascinating object in the world. Then he sighed, a sound that seemed to come from the cellar of his soul. "But I figure it's only a matter of time until it happens again, and that could be the one that kills my daughter. Or my son, who's five. Or my wife. Or me."
    LaRue's face twisted, and Morris was sure he was going to cry—an understandable reaction, all things considered. But the big man reestablished control quickly. He spent some time staring at the pattern in the carpet before he said, without looking up, "Please help us." The voice was scarcely more than a whisper. "Please."
    "Of course," Morris said. "Of course I will. Are you flying home today?"
    "Yeah, I want to get back as soon as I can. My flight leaves at 6:40 this evening."
    "All right, then." Morris stood and came around the desk. "I've got preparations to make here, but I'll fly out tomorrow morning. Depending on the connections, I expect to be in Madison sometime in the afternoon. I want to spend some time in your home, with your family. I'll probably pester you with a lot of questions, and I'll need to see the rooms where these incidents have occurred. Then we'll figure out what needs to be done."
    He placed his hand on Walter LaRue's big shoulder and squeezed, just for a moment. "And then we'll go and do it."
    As Morris walked him to the door, Walter LaRue said, "There's one more thing I've been meaning to ask you. No big deal, just something I've been kicking around in my head while I try not to think about what could be happening at home."
    "What's that, podner?" Morris said absently, as if part of his mind were elsewhere.
    "I was a Computer Sci major in college—I know, big surprise—but they make you do a certain number of credits in Humanities as part of that stupid General Education stuff. So I took this course in Gothic Literature. Seemed more interesting than most of the other choices they had."
    "Uh-huh." Morris knew what was coming now; it had happened before.
    "Well, one of the books we had to read was Dracula, which I ended up liking more than I thought I would. Thing is, there was a character in there, one of the guys who helped hunt Dracula down and kill him. I guess this fella was supposed to be from Texas." LaRue was looking at him intently now. "And, you know, I'm pretty sure his name was Quincey Morris."
    Morris's mouth formed a small, wry smile. "Yep, that's true. That was his name."
    "So, what gives? I'm no English professor, but I understand the difference between fiction and what's real. This guy in the book was a made-up character, just like Dracula, or Van Helsing, or any of the rest of them, right?"
    "Many folks would call him that, no doubt about it," Morris said. Neither his face nor his voice held much expression.
    "But what about you? What would you call him?"
    "Me? I'd call him my great-grandpa," Morris said. "Now, y'all have a safe trip home, and I'll see you in Madison tomorrow." Then politely, but firmly, he ushered LaRue out of his office and closed the door.
    * * * *
    By 8:30 the next morning, Quincey Morris had almost finished the preparations for his trip north. He had made airline reservations, arranged to have the mail and lawn taken care of, and brought the cage containing his only pet, a hamster named Carnacki, over to a neighborhood kid who would take good care of him. He had then packed a suitcase with clothing, several books, and a thick file marked "Poltergeists."
    Now there was only one more thing left to do.
    He took from the top drawer of his bureau a fireproof metal container a little bigger than a cigar box. Unlocking it, he carefully took out two envelopes, brown