Karl and I looked at each other for several seconds before we returned our attention to Vollman.
"I've never met anyone with your particular… combination of attributes before," I said.
"Nor have I, and I have lived far longer than either of you gentlemen. However, there is nothing, in theory, to prevent someone from living in both worlds, should he choose to. Mind you, in my case the choice was not made freely."
"How do you mean?" Karl asked.
Vollman shrugged his thin shoulders. "It is a long story, but, in brief, I was already an accomplished wizard when I was attacked and… transformed… by a vampire. That was in the year 1512."
I noticed that Karl was frowning. "I don't get it," he said. "Somebody who can work magic should have been able to handle a vampire without too much trouble."
"Magic is not something that can be invoked at a moment's notice," Vollman told him. "Had I been given the time to prepare a defensive spell, I would surely have prevailed. But I had no inkling that a vampire was in the vicinity, and so was caught unawares."
"Which also explains how Kulick was subdued by whoever tortured him," I said. "He didn't have a spell, or whatever, ready to use against his attacker."
"Very likely," Vollman said, nodding. "Unlike a gun or a knife, magic cannot usually be brought to bear at a moment's notice. Although, given time for preparation, it can be a very potent weapon, indeed."
"You said Kulick was taking care of some valuable object," I said. "I assume that's what was ripped off from his safe by whoever killed him. Care to tell us what it was?"
Vollman looked at his hands for a long moment. "I suppose I must, since it is of vital importance that it be recovered. George Kulick was entrusted with a copy of the Opus Mago-Cabbilisticum et Theosophicum, written by Georg von Welling around 1735 – although parts of it are older. Far older."
"Don't think I know that one," I said. "But I've got a feeling that it isn't this month's selection from the Book of the Month Club."
"The work is not well known, even among the cognoscenti," Vollman said. "The Opus Mago, as it is usually called, is quite rare. Only four copies are believed still in existence. It is – and I beg your indulgence of the cliche – a book of forbidden knowledge."
"I get it," Karl said. "Like the Necronomicon."
Vollman looked at him. "The Necronomicon is a myth, a product of the fevered brain of that writer Lovecraft," he said scornfully.
Karl shrugged. "Some people say different."
"And some people," Vollman said, "once said the Earth is flat. Indeed, I knew several such individuals personally." He made a shooing away gesture with one hand. "But whether this Necronomicon exists is irrelevant. The Opusago, I assure you, is all too real."
"What's in it that makes the book forbidden?" I asked him.
"Spells, of course, along with descriptions of rituals, conjurations, directions for the making of certain implements and ingredients. Also, illustrations of certain… symbols."
"So far, that sounds like a description of something that every practitioner has on his bookshelf," I said. "Or hers."
Vollman nodded slowly. "In a general sense, perhaps. But the particular rituals and spells contained in the Opus Mago are used for the invocation and control of only the darkest powers. It is said that portions of the book were dictated by Satan himself, but that is probably a myth." He stopped, and stared at his hands for a moment. "Yes, a myth, almost certainly. In any case, this material is something no workaday wizard or witch would have access to. Nor is it anything they would wish to acquire."
"You talking about calling up demons?" Karl asked. "Hell, we ran into one of them a couple, two, three months ago. No big deal."
I wouldn't call almost having my head chewed off "no big deal", but I knew what Karl meant. Any number of wizards already had the knowledge necessary to conjure demons. Fortunately, most of them were smart enough not to do it.
"No, the power of the Opus Mago goes far beyond that," Vollman said. "It is a great and terrible book. I have not looked within it myself, mind you. But I was present when it was given to Kulick for safekeeping."
"Why?" I asked him.
Vollman frowned. " Why? What do you mean?"
"The way you put that suggests that you didn't give the book to Kulick, but you observed the transfer take place. Why were you there, if you weren't the guy handing over the book?"
Vollman gave one of those little gestures that you associate with Mafia dons in the movies. It combined modesty and arrogance in exactly the right proportions. "There is, in this area, a loose confederation of those who are what you call 'supernaturals.' I have the honor to be its leader."
Karl and I looked at each other for a second, then turned toward Vollman.
"So it's you," Karl said.
Vollman gave us raised eyebrows.
"We'd heard that someone took over after Martin Thackery got staked," I told him. "But none of the supes we know would give us a name. You're the new boyar, the Man."
"As good a term as any, I suppose," Vollman said, nodding.
"Well then, Mr Man," Karl said, "why don't you tell us who you think killed George Kulick, before my partner and me are too old to do anything about it?" Sometimes I really like that kid.
But I didn't much like what Vollman told us next. "I have absolutely no idea," he said.
So much for our hopes of clearing this case quickly. There was silence while Karl and I digested the bad news, then I said to Vollman, "But you must have some idea about the kind of person who did it."
"I might," Vollman said. "But then I expect you have already reached some conclusions of your own."
My chair creaked as I leaned forward. "Whoever did Kulick that way has got a strong stomach and good nerves," I said. "He didn't lose control, like they sometimes do. He just kept doing stuff to Kulick until the poor bastard broke and told him where the safe was. Gave up the combination, too. He must've, since the safe wasn't punched, peeled, or blown."
"Kulick was tough, you gotta give him that," Karl said. "He took a hell of a lot of punishment before he finally gave it up."
"He had sworn an oath," Vollman said stiffly. "He was chosen to safeguard the book because he was the kind of man who takes such oaths seriously."
"Don't be too hard on him," I said. "He suffered for that oath, in ways you can't even imagine."
Vollman gave me a bleak look. "Do not underestimate what my imagination is capable of, Sergeant." He gave a long sigh. "But you are right. Kulick's memory will be honored for what he did – or tried to do."
"Still, the average criminal, no matter how motivated, hasn't got the gumption to carry out that kind of systematic torture," I said. "This is somebody with a real vicious streak. And then there's the business with the money."
"The money that was left in the safe, you mean," Vollman said.
"Right. Even if all he wanted was the book, the killer could have taken the money, anyway. If he had, we'd be assuming a simple robbery as the motive, and the Major Crimes guys would be investigating it. Which means the perp is either dumb, or arrogant beyond belief – doesn't give a shit what we know, or think."
"The individual who committed these acts is certainly not stupid, Sergeant," Vollman said. "But unbridled arrogance is not only possible – it is virtually certain in this instance. Making use of the spells contained in the Opus Mago would be similar to what a friend of mine once said about studying the work of the philosopher Hegeclass="underline" one must be highly intelligent in order to do such, and profoundly stupid to wish to."
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