"What kind of trouble?"
Peth lighted a cigar and stared at me through the smoke. His milky eyes fascinated me; they were like mirrors, reflecting all and revealing nothing. "I want you to know that I don't believe in none of this stuff, but Harley does. That's the point."
"What does Harley believe in, and what's the point?"
"Astrology, witchcraft, all sorts of occult nonsense. Harley's no different from lots of people in the business who won't get out of bed in the morning unless their astrologer tells them it's okay. But Harley got into it a lot deeper. He got mixed up with a bad-news astrologer by the name of Borrn. Borrn's the one who cast that horoscope. Whatever's in it scared the hell out of Harley, messed his mind. So far, he's missed two recording dates and one concert. No promoter's going to put up with that stuff for long. Harley's on his way out."
"What's your interest in Harley?" I asked.
"I was Harley's manager up to a week ago," Peth said evenly. "He fired me."
"On Borrn's advice?"
"Probably."
"A neutral observer might call your interest sour grapes."
"I don't need Harley. If you don't believe me, check with my accountants. I've got a whole stable of rock stars. I like Harley and I hate to see him get messed up like this. He's made me a bundle, and I figure maybe I owe him some."
I nodded. It seemed a sincere enough statement. "How do you think I can help, Mr. Peth?"
"I want to nail Borrn. It may be the only way to save Harley from himself."
"Harley may not want to be saved."
"I just want to make sure he has all the facts. I don't think he does now."
"I'm not in the business of 'nailing' people. I just investigate. If you think Borrn's into something illegal, you should go to the police."
"I did. That's how I met your brother. He said that as far as he knew Borrn was clean. He told me he couldn't do anything unless there was a complaint, which there hasn't been. I want to find out if there's a basis for a complaint. I can afford to tilt at a few windmills. How about it? Will you take the job?"
I took another look at the expensive shoes and diamond pinkie rings. "I get one hundred fifty dollars a day, plus expenses. You don't get charged for the time I'm teaching."
Peth took out a wad of bills and lightened it enough to keep me busy for a few days. "Borrn operates out of a store-front down on the Lower East Side," Peth said, handing me the money. "That's about all I know, except for what I've already told you." He rose and started to leave.
"Just a minute," I said. Peth turned and looked at me inquiringly. "You said Garth told you he thought Borrn was clean. Did he say how he knew that? Astrologers aren't his usual meat and potatoes."
Something that might have been amusement glinted in Peth's eyes. "They are now," he said. "Didn't you know? He's been assigned to a special unit keeping tabs on the New York occult underground."
I hadn't known. For some reason I found the notion enormously funny, but I waited for Peth to leave before I laughed out loud.
Peth had left the horoscope behind. I picked it up and stuffed it into my pocket along with my newfound wealth.
At the precinct station house I found Garth torturing a typewriter in the cubicle he called an office. He looked tired. Garth always looks tired. He is a cop who takes his work seriously.
"Abracadabra!" I cried, jumping out from behind one of the partitions and flinging my arms wide.
Garth managed to hide his amusement very well. He stopped typing and looked up at me. "I see Peth found you."
"Yeah. Thanks for the business."
"Why don't you say it a little louder? Maybe you can get me brought up on departmental charges."
I sat down on the edge of his desk and grinned. "I understand you're using the taxpayers' money to chase witches."
"Witches, warlocks, Satanists and sacrificial murderers," Garth said evenly. "As a matter of fact, the man Peth wants you to investigate is a witch as well as an astrologer."
I'd been kidding. Garth wasn't. "You mean 'warlock,' don't you?"
"No, I mean a witch. A witch is a witch, male or female. The term 'warlock' has a bad connotation among the knowledgeable. A warlock is a traitor, or a loner. Like a magus or ceremonial magician."
"A who?"
"Never mind. You don't want to hear about it."
What Garth meant was that he didn't want to talk about it. I asked him why.
"I'm not prepared to talk about it," Garth said quietly, staring at the backs of his hands. "At least not yet. I'll tell you, Mongo, you and I come from a background with a certain set of preconceptions that we call 'reality.' It's hard giving up those notions."
"Hey, brother, you sound like you're starting to take this stuff pretty seriously. Are the practitioners of the Black Arts getting to you?"
"What do you know about magic?"
"I'm allergic to rabbits."
"It isn't all black," Garth said, ignoring my crack. "Witchcraft, or Wicca, is recognized as an organized religion in New York State. The parent organization is called Friends of the Craft."
"I'm not sure I get the point."
Garth pressed his hands flat on the desk in front of him. He continued to stare at them. "I'm not sure there is a point."
I was growing a little impatient. "What can you tell me about this Borrn character?"
"He's supposed to be a good astrologer, and there aren't that many good ones around. I don't know anything else, except that he's never been involved in any of our investigations. That's why I sent Peth to you."
"What about a bunko angle? It's possible that Borrn could be milking Davidson. If he's using scare tactics, that's extortion."
Garth threw up his hands. "Then Davidson will just have to file a complaint. We're not running a baby-sitting service." He thought about what I'd said for a few moments, then added, "It's true that some of these guys arc bunko artists, con men. They get an impressionable type, come up with a few shrewd insights, scare the hell out of him with a lot of mumbo jumbo, then start giving bad advice."
"Do any of them give good advice?"
Garth looked at me strangely. "I've seen some things that are hard to explain, and I've heard of things that are impossible to explain. I know very little because I get told very little. The occult underground is a very secret society. Secrecy is part of the Witch's Pyramid."
"There you go again."
"Never mind again. If you want to know more you should talk to one of your colleagues at the university."
I tried to think of one of my colleagues who might know something about the occult. I came up zero. "Who would that be?"
"Dr. Jones."
"Uranus Jones?"
"That's the one."
Uranus was more than a colleague; she was a friend. She was also one of the most levelheaded, together people I'd ever met. I shook my head. "You must have your signals crossed. Uranus isn't an astrologer, she's an astronomer. And one of the best in the business."
Garth grunted. "You may know her as an astronomer. In the circles I travel in lately, she's a living legend. She's cut an awful lot of corners for me, helping to track lost kids who get involved in the occult, that kind of thing. She's opened doors I wouldn't even be able to find on my own. Or wouldn't know existed. You wouldn't believe her reputation." He stared off into space for a few moments, as though considering his next words. "She's supposed to be psychic, and a materializing medium."
"There you go-"
"You know what a psychic is. A materializing medium is a person who can make objects appear in another person's hand-by willing it."
I found Uranus in her offices in the university's Hall of Sciences. The rooms were cluttered with charts, telescope parts, and other astronomical paraphernalia. Uranus was bent over a blowup of a new star cluster she had discovered. Her hair, strawberry blond in old photographs she had shared with me, was now a burnished silver. I knew she was fifty, but she had the face and body of a woman in her early thirties, and the eyes of a teenager.