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year-old Forrester girl near the Wishy-Washy Wash-ateria.
Also, the sheriffs office complained, Shoshoni Street was way too dark. Somebody ought to see about putting up some lights.
When they read the report in the papers the next day, the residents agreed that the sensible thing would be to get some streetlights put up on Shoshoni.
Apollo had claimed numbers three and four.
Chapter Twelve
The Pythia writhed on the tripod as the yellow smoke swirled around her head. Curls of chestnut brown hair rippled across her porcelain skin as she tossed her head back and forth in ecstasy.
"Your life will be changed in the near future," the Pythia intoned.
Beside her, Kaspar smiled. "The meaning of that is obvious," he called down to the well-dressed man at the base of the hill.
"Can she be more specific?" the man called up hopefully. He glanced around the torchlit chamber but saw only the woman who had led him through the tunnel to this place.
"You have made your future your own," the Pythia rasped.
The man's face became a puzzled frown. He wore a political button on his expensive gray flannel jacket. It said Vote Calhoun.
"The result of the campaign," Kaspar explained. "My master has proclaimed it a foregone conclusion."
A flicker of a smile toyed nervously with the corners of the man's broad lips. "You're telling me I'm going to win?" he asked.
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"All will be as I have foreseen," the Pythia announced with finality.
With that the smoke from the crevice puffed to a near stop—as if someone had doused a fire—and the Pythia's writhing slowed to a jumble of tiny, spastic nervous tics. The young girl's chin dropped lazily to her chest.
Kaspar tapped the blunt end of his wooden staff ceremoniously against the metal grate beneath the tripod twice before descending the rocky steps to the earthen floor.
This was T. Rex Calhoun's second visit to the Pythia Pit. He had been advised to stop here by his party's bigwigs in Washington before Senator Cole availed himself of the infallible predictions of the Rag-narok Oracle. If he was the first in the water at Rag-narok, it was suggested by the higher-ups, perhaps the enigmatic Kaspar would see to it that Jackson Cole was excluded from the Pythia's oracles altogether.
"The future is secure," Kaspar said as he approached Calhoun.
"That's great. That's really, really great." He sounded more like an excited teenager than a serious senatorial candidate. "By the way, it's very kind of you to waive the fee," Calhoun added with a nervous smile.
Kaspar waved the staff in a dismissive arc. "My only interest is that the right man represent our fine state."
Calhoun was still apologetic. "The campaign has limited funds," he said with an awkward shrug.
"Of course."
Kaspar knew full well that Calhoun had married a
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young woman with a trust fund in excess of three million dollars. Not included in this amount were her family's vast real-estate holdings and a burgeoning stock portfolio that she stood to inherit when her father passed away. The only thing the old man insisted on was that T. Rex Calhoun make something of himself. It was this that had motivated his father-in-law to manipulate the opposition party's political apparatus in order to ensure that his son-in-law became the candidate that would face off against Jackson Cole in the fall. Compared to the huge chunk of change the old man had already pumped into Calhoun's campaign coffers, the fifty-thousand-dollar fee for the services of the Ragnarok Oracle had been a mere trifle.
T. Rex Calhoun, however, had learned from the brightest stars in his party that it was best to talk poor, even if by comparison your personal wealth made the income of your opponent look like that of an unsuccessful paperboy.
"I'm glad I could do you a little favor," Calhoun said with the idiotic giggle his handlers had been unable to quash. "It sort of makes me feel like I'm pulling my weight."
"Quite," Kaspar said flatly. He glanced over at Esther Clear-Seer, who stood silently in the shadows near the door tapestry. "You have spoken to your friend on my behalf?" he said quietly to Calhoun.
"Absotively," T. Rex said in a feeble attempt at jocularity.
Kaspar's features remained bland.
Calhoun sobered slightly. "He'll be expecting you in Washington a week from Wednesday," he said,
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clearing his throat. "They start at nine, but they'll want you there at least an hour before."
"Excellent."
The Pythia let out a sudden yelp, flinging her head up and staring wildly around the chamber, then her chin settled back down to her chest. It was a movement that Kaspar had witnessed in all of the Pythias at one time or another—a not uncommon aftereffect of the sulphur smoke's power.
Calhoun watched the girl shudder a few times, as if chilled. All at once the tension seemed to drain from her body and she was still, save the occasional labored intake of air. Her rhythmic breathing sounded like a softly squeaking door.
"Is she okay?" Calhoun asked Kaspar.
"She is too young," Kaspar said loudly.
He seemed to direct that last comment at the woman over by the door. There was an edge to his voice, and T. Rex Calhoun realized that he must have stumbled into a private argument.
Calhoun squinted up at the tiny figure on the tripod. "That's not the same girl that was here the other day," he said.
"The Pythia periodically demands a new vessel," Kaspar explained.
"Ah," Calhoun said, nodding even though he did not understand what the strange little man was saying. "She looks kind of familiar," he added.
"Doubtless you read about her in the papers," Kaspar said with a tiny smile.
And T. Rex Calhoun realized with a sudden flash of horror that he did indeed recognize the girl. She and three others had had their pictures plastered across
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the front pages of papers from Cody to Cheyenne. He knew with a feeling of dread that the girl who had prophesied for him a few short days before had been another of Thermopolis's kidnapping victims. This girl—who looked drugged out of her mind and sounded like an eighty-year-old emphysema sufferer—was the latest victim. He even remembered her name. Allison Forrester. It was her disappearance, as well as the death of another girl named Clay, that had brought the kidnapping spree to the attention of the national media.
When he was finally able to tear his eyes away from the girl, Calhoun was unable to mask his look of abject fear from Kaspar.
"In case you were considering contacting the authorities for some reason," Kaspar said smugly, waving his staff in Allison Forrester's direction, "I would find it difficult to remain silent about your unusual... appetites."
Calhoun puffed up his chest. "What do you mean?" he bluffed.
Kaspar drew his tongue lazily across his teeth, making a peculiar sucking noise. "I have heard from an unimpeachable source that you have certain animal cravings," he said with an evil smile. "Tell me, how young must the boys be? Twelve? Thirteen? Younger? Your father-in-law is a powerful man indeed, to hide something so explosive from the public."
In the most pragmatic part of his near dormant brain, T. Rex Calhoun did some rapid calculations.
Kaspar, through the Pythia, knew everything and was threatening to spill the beans if Calhoun opened his mouth.
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If the news got out, his father-in-law would go ape-shit; his wife would divorce him; he probably couldn't, if his life depended on it, get his partnership back at the law firm where he'd met the soon-to-be-former Mrs. Calhoun; and he'd be flat, dead busted broke.
On the other hand, he could screw his lips up tighter than a Mafia clam and land in Washington come January.
So what if this man was responsible for the disappearance or death of at least four young girls? So what if T. Rex Calhoun could blow the case wide open? And so what if T. Rex Calhoun was responsible for brokering a deal that was going to get this vile kidnapper national attention?