I sat silent for a moment contemplating my choices. After a while Benny said, “Hello. Nick? Anybody there?”

“Sorry Benny,” I offered. “I was just trying to sort through all this stuff. Did Goodfellow leave any instructions for me?”

“Oh yeah,” Benny muttered, “I almost forgot.” There followed a series of shuffling and crinkling sounds laced with mild swearing. “Ah, here it is. The detective left you a phone number for central dispatch and said you could ask someone there to page him. They’ll be waiting for your call. He also said he’d get back to you as soon as he could break free. He’s got a meeting and some interviews so it may be a while.”

“Suits me,” I replied. “I’m tired and hungry anyway. I’d just as soon grab a bite, maybe read a while and then hit the futon. I don’t suppose it could wait until tomorrow, could it?”

“Sorry Nick,” Benny apologized. “Robin was quite clear on the matter, but they apparently intend to pay you. That ought to be worth something.”

He was right about that. It would be another elephant job. I’d be working for peanuts. Still, peanuts are not bad with a flagon of ale.

“All right, Benny,” I began, “I’ll call the dispatcher as soon as we’re done and get the ball rolling. I appreciate you lookin’ after me. If this keeps up, I’ll have to start payin’ ya.”

Benny chuckled and said, “Actually, I’ve taken the liberty of roughing out a fee schedule that I think you’ll find ridiculously high should it be necessary.”

I laughed out loud but I’m not sure why. Chances are, he wasn’t kidding. What a vampire… but still, I love him. “Seriously Benny, I owe you. I’ll be by again as soon as I have an idea what’s going on, and I’ll give you all the skinny on this little caper.” We all know that Benny likes money but he likes information a lot more. If it’s good, he can usually sell it more than a few times and this stuff promised to be pure gold. Benny’s tone brightened considerably and, after thanking me and wishing me luck, he gave me the phone number I needed.

Once I’d hung up, I dragged my finger back to the phone keypad and dialed the dispatcher to have Robin paged. A woman’s voice said she’d contact him and reminded me to stick around near the phone. Wearily, I set down the receiver and in the silence that followed, I decided it was time to create a little sacred space. I pulled out a smudge stick and tucked it between my lips. After I had a nice ember going, I rolled the smoke over my body with practiced ease. Once I had smudged, I nestled the smoking herbs into the left corner of my mouth and let them burn. I just love that smell, but, just so you know, I don’t inhale.

I sat still for a moment and realized that I was quite a bit more tired than hungry. In fact, I was beat. If I didn’t do something quick, the sandman was gonna take me out. So, I lit a couple of candles, grounded and centered.

There’s nothing like meditation to mend body and soul. The fatigue and tension slipped away almost immediately and a sense of contentment settled over me like a cotton comforter. As I sat back, breathing rhythmically, the feeling of well-being grew deeper and I had the sensation that I was vibrating. Sacred space is like that sometimes, but this was different — like nothing I’d ever felt before. There was something unusual about the energy I’d hooked into, no question about that. Curious, I opened my eyes and looked around.

There was a haziness to the air that was more than just the smoke of sweet grass, cedar and sage. It was like either the air was thicker or everything else in the room had somehow gotten less real. I would have been concerned if the energy wouldn’t have felt so good. As I struggled to process the experience, I heard someone speak to me. They whispered, “Over here, Nick.” I looked around the room but didn’t see a soul. This was definitely out there. “Look again,” the voice said again. I took the advice and gave the place another once over. Frustrated, I looked over at the Horned One as if he could shed a little light. In a moment I’ll carry into my next life, I saw his head turn toward me. It was a good thing that I was already sittin’ down.

Suddenly, a shot of Honeyfyre mead sounded really good, all things considered. I sat there like an idiot with my eyes locked on the epiphany of the Horned One while I started groping for the mead. Just as my hand gripped the neck of an unopened bottle, the diminutive god of the forest lifted the torc he held in his right hand and used it to motion for me to come closer. Not one to ignore such a call, I moved cautiously to my altar and knelt there.

“Closer,” he whispered. I leaned forward until I could see his eyes clearly. They were green like a fine jade. In a tender gesture, he laid his hand against my face and said to me, “Nick, you’re a good lad.” Then he asked, “Were you planning on clubbing me with that bottle or could you find it in your heart to pour me a small libation?” He removed his left hand from my face then and picked up a tiny horn that he held expectantly. Stunned, I mechanically pulled the cork from the bottle and carefully began to fill the horn.

Despite it’s tiny size, it took almost the entire bottle to fill the thing up. I watched the contents of the bottle vanish and my sense of awe rapidly gave way to mild chagrin. I found myself looking to see where the hell the bottom of that horn was exactly. Had it been anyone else, I would have been steamed, but this wasn’t just anyone. I was about to lift a horn with Cernunnos.

The little deity then passed the horn by his nose and sniffed appreciatively at the contents. He closed his eyes and smiled dreamily for a moment, savoring the aroma. Soon, he opened his eyes and raised the vessel saying, “A blessing upon this house and all who pass within it.” It was a numinous moment and I was struck by the sacredness of it. I smiled gratefully, touching the bottle I held lightly against his horn. We then both quaffed the ambrosia.

I had intended to toast him back with some words of affection, but my eyes were tearing up and I had a lump in my throat that got in my way. Must have been the mead. The Horned One smiled, sensing my dilemma, and offered several more toasts to pass the time… each one killing a bottle of the Honeyfyre. For such a little guy, he could really put the stuff away. I did notice after the third toast his left antler flopped over and he had to keep pushing it back up. It didn’t seem to bother him, though.

To my dismay he sat down his horn all too soon and said, “Nick, I’ll be leaving before long and I have a couple of things to tell you before I go.” He motioned me closer again and I leaned forward raptly.

“Always look to the earth,” he began. “She’ll have something for you soon.” I nodded mutely. “And another thing,” he continued, “Watch your back. Not everyone loves you as much as I do.” This admonition sent spiky chills down my back. I could only guess it had something to do with the Goodfellow gig. He smiled and patted my cheek one more time. “Don’t worry, Nick. Keep your eyes open and you’ll be fine — that is, if you stay away from that cat. Now go answer your phone and remember, we’re never apart. Any of us.”

Why was it, in all of those words of mystery and encouragement, he had to mention that damn cat? This was going to be harder to live down than I thought.

The nerve jangling squawk from my phone pulled me back from the delightful reverie. I must have been dreaming. What a dream. I stretched luxuriantly and rose from my kneeling position before the altar and then headed for the desk. Interesting. Maybe I was sleep-walking. I leaned over to the phone and grabbed the receiver offering my standard line, “Lodestone Detective Agency. You got Nick.”

“Lodestone. This is Detective Robin Goodfellow. Have you been briefed on the case?”

“You mean the sacrificial ritual business in the park? Yeah, I’ve heard a little about it. What gives?”

“Well, Nick,” began Robin, “That’s what we’d like you to help us figure out. Actually, it’s what I would like you to help us figure out. I called you because I think your people will only get a fair shake if you come in on this one. There are several guys on the team that have already got it figured to be the pagans. These boys are not interested in facts, Nick, just confessions. I thought maybe instead of letting them round up some of the resident goddess types and sweating them for a few days down town, I’d have you come in as a paid consultant. Do you see some flaw in my reasoning?”

“Nope.” I replied. After that little spiel, he knew he had me. “I was planning on taking a look at the scene, regardless. . . but I think I can see my way clear to take the consult. When are you gonna be by?”

“Give me about 20 minutes,” he said. “I’m still at the station.”

“See you in 20 then,” I answered and added, “and, Robin, I appreciate what you’re doing for us.”

“Hey, I’m just doing my job,” he said and hung up. I could hear the smile in his voice. I said Robin was a good guy, didn’t I?

The first thing I noticed when I hung up the phone was that it was dark. Really dark. I switched on the lights and checked the clock. It was 9:30 — almost 3 hours since I lit those candles. Of course, the candles had burned themselves out. That was some nap. I padded back over to the altar to get another look at the Horned One. He was just a statue. Still, it was a letdown, even though I knew it couldn’t be any other way. Right next to him, were three Honeyfyre bottles lined up in a neat row. The seals on the lids were broken but the bottles were full. Stranger still, the color of the liquid in the bottles was wrong. It wasn’t golden any longer. There was, instead, a distinct red cast to it. I uncorked one of the bottles and took a sniff. Goddess! This stuff wasn’t Honeyfyre. It was something even better. I shook my head trying to comprehend it all. It really wasn’t a dream. He was really there. Mom never told me there would be days like this.

I didn’t have time for a shower, so I splashed on some cold water and traded my shirt in for a clean one. I selected a sumptuous repast of granola bars and tap water. Actually, it was all I had left, but it was enough. I scarfed down the bars not realizing how long it had been since I’d eaten something.

I looked wistfully at the phone wondering how Earthsong was getting along. I was about to drift into some warm fuzzies when thoughts about the cat came unbidden into my mind. I kept thinking of those glowing eyes and that demonic countenance. While I mentally resurveyed the damage to her hedge scratching post, there came a loud knock at the door that sent me flying out of my chair, hands on my groin. I recovered quickly and headed for the door. Apparently, the good detective had caught my unusual dismount.

“So,” he said, “you always cover your loins like that when someone knocks at the door?”

I summoned my dignity and said, “You just don’t know the sales people that work this neighborhood.” He chuckled at that. I guess I’d hit a funny bone. “Actually,” I amended, “Truth be it known, I was thinking about my girlfriend’s cat.”

His amusement changed its flavor and he shook his head. “I don’t think I wanna know,” he said, and I could tell he meant it. “So you ready to go?” he asked.

“You bet.” I said. “Let’s hit the bricks.” Grabbing my hat and pack, I led the way out.

The car ride was pleasant enough. I was still buzzed from my encounter with the Horned One and Robin was making some chitchat about the moon district and its goings on. The moon district comprises several city blocks of pagan bars, coffee houses, bookstores, sanctuaries, herb and supply shops. He noted that the park where we were headed was not so far from the district. Without actually giving it real thought, it popped into the far back of my mind that this sacrifice business could have tremendous repercussions if it wasn’t handled just right. I also found myself wondering if the venue for this sacrifice wasn’t just a little too convenient. Either way, it was too close to the district for my liking. I’d be keeping my eyes open on this one.

Presently, we found ourselves hopping off at the edge of the park. It was called Kamberlaine Park after the subdivision that owned it. Not the kind of place where demon worshipers whacked small furry critters. Call it a hunch.

We walked to the center of the park where there was a huge rock surrounded by a large circular patch of grass. The grass was circumscribed perfectly by a healthy hedge of some kind; witch hazel maybe. It would be an attractive space for a ritual. No question about that.

The place was currently illuminated by harsh portable police lamps. Forensics types combed the area while some of the boys in blue sucked down hot java and pontificated about the pagan menace. It was a weird scene. As we approached the rock, one of the uniforms started handing Goodfellow some grief about bringing me in on the case.

“Well if it ain’t the Fey Flatfoot. I’m tellin’ you boys, there goes the neighborhood,” began the cop. “It’s bad enough that these scum bags are grabbing peoples pets and opening ‘em up on the rock here, but did you have to bring one in on the case?” I found it refreshing to note that no matter how prejudice shows itself, it’s always ugly.

“You’re a lucky man, Evans,” Robin observed. “Lucky, that is, that you’re not in my district. See, in my district we got rid of all the bigot assholes like you because those tiny little brains of theirs kept jumping to conclusions before they ever reviewed the evidence.” Evans was starting to look a little uncomfortable, but Robin was just warmin’ up. “Of course,” he continued, “there’s nothing I can really do to screw you as you so richly deserve — since you’re in the forty-second precinct and I’m in the fifty-third. Say, speaking of the Forty-Second, isn’t Pat O’Reilly still the captain down there?”

“Yeah,” said Evans, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “How do you know him?”

“Oh, from here and there.” replied Robin. “If I wasn’t dating his daughter, I wouldn’t recognize him from Adam. As it is, well, we get along fine. Really well, actually.”

Officer Evans seemed not to be feeling well after that. Too bad. At one point, I thought to lighten things up by asking him about his toupee. I discovered later on that the phrase “outrageous rug” is generally considered impolite when describing someone’s hair piece. Chalk one up to experience.

Most of the other uniforms were from the Fifty-Third and seemed uninterested in making the same mistake as Evans. After a while, I got a close look at the rock. It was covered with blood, all right. Of course, the blood type was yet to be determined. Whatever it was, it didn’t look good. I started looking at the ground where the people had been circling for the ritual. Some of the footprints were intact. I furrowed my brow for a moment and then shrugged.

“What?” asked Goodfellow.

“Well,” I began, “I don’t think any of ours were responsible for this.”

“Could you maybe suggest why you think that?”

“OK,” I continued. “Look at the pattern of footprints around this rock. What direction are they moving?”

“Counterclockwise,” Robin replied immediately. “They’re all moving counterclockwise.”

“Also known as widdershins” I continued. “You see, pagans usually enter a circle going deosil or clockwise. And there are also a few other things I’d expect to find that I didn’t.”

“Like what? prompted Goodfellow.

“Like candle wax or incense leavings,” I said. “The absence of those things is very odd.” After that, Robin became pensive for a moment.

While Robin was engrossed in thought, I glanced over at one of the witch hazel bushes and saw something in the dirt nearby; a small, light brown object. I went over and grabbed it so I could see it in the light. It was a potato carved into the likeness of the goddess. Shit. This really tossed a wrench in things. Apparently there had been some pagan activity around here but I felt certain that it had nothin’ to do with the alleged sacrifice. I turned back to the rock to have another look when a reddish glint caught my eye from the ground to the east.

I casually strolled to the tiny swatch and found a book of matches nearly buried in the dirt. The cover of the matches was emblazoned with the logo of a local land developer and there was a number written on the inside cover. And there were even a few matches left. I tucked away the matchbook thinking to give it a closer look later. I headed back to the blood washed rock and gave it another once over.

After I finished there, Robin and I combed the place a while longer but nothing else interesting turned up. We finally gave it up and headed back to the car. When we were alone, I took a chance and showed him the stuff I’d found. He frowned and stared at the materials, particularly the potato.

“This doesn’t look too good, Nick. Maybe you’d better tell me how you’ve got this stuff figured. And don’t leave out anything, no matter how trivial it might seem!”

“Sure, Robin,” I replied. “As you guessed from the potato, there has been some kind of pagan action in this park. Can’t say as I blame ‘em either. It’s nice space. My guess is that they had nothing to do with the blood on the rock, though. That’s just not a pagan modus operandi. I’d be interested in the forensics on the blood but I’m guessing its cattle, sheep or pig.”

“Why do you suspect that, Nick?”

“Well,” I continued, “I saw lots of blood but it didn’t look right. If an animal had been sacrificed, the blood should have pooled slowly onto the rock and then run in rivulets over the edge to the ground. As it was, there was far too much of it and it looked like it had been dumped from a bucket. And another thing, blood was the only thing I saw on the rock. There was no fur, no feathers, and not a speck of organ tissue. Personally, I don’t think any animal was sacrificed there. I think it’s a setup. If that’s the case, they would have picked up the blood from a local stock yard or slaughter house.”

Robin smiled and mused for a moment. “You don’t think it could be Santeria?” he asked.

I shook my head and said, “Not a chance. There were no Loa signs nearby or any of the other things you’d expect to see if that were an Ebbo.”

“Anything else you picked up?” Robin asked.

“Well, I hesitate to mention it, but I’ve got you figured for one of us. I’m thinkin’ that you’re a solitary and that you’ve practiced for a year and a half maybe two years. I’m also guessing that you’re an eclectic.”

Robin wasn’t smiling any more. His eyes flashed some concern and he asked, “How do you figure that?”

“It’s your attitude partly. You’re just a little too understanding. Also, few folks besides one of us would recognize a potato goddess if they saw one. I also noticed a dark line on two of your fingers and a hole in the lobe of your left ear. I’m just guessing of course, but I suspect you’ve got a couple of silver rings you wear a good bit. The indentations suggest that you’ve worn them a while. Since you’re not wearing them now, I’m guessing you feel it would be inappropriate. Even if I’m wrong, you’ve got a good soul, Goodfellow and it ain’t no crime to care about pagans.”

Robin sighed. “You’re good, Lodestone. Too good. I knew you were the right man to bring in on this case. I also know I don’t have to tell you —”

“I know,” I interrupted, “keep my mouth shut. Listen, pal, I’ve never turned over a brother or sister yet. Not ever. Especially not one as well placed as you.” I winked at him with the last comment.

A grin started working its way out of his face. We chatted a little more amiably after that. Robin told me that he liked my interpretation of the evidence and he asked if I would follow up on the matchbook. I said I would. We started making off for a time to meet again when our moment of bonding was interrupted by an obnoxious beep from his pager. Robin swore and checked the number.

“Sorry, Nick,” he offered, “I’m going to have to scoot. Can I drop you somewhere?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Take me to ‘The Wild Hunt.’ I’ve got a friend I’d like to see.”

“It’s your funeral, Nick,” replied Robin. “Just be careful.”

Robin ferried me the 4 blocks and dropped me on the curb in front of the Hunt. I thanked him and he promised to stay in touch. I waved as he drove off. I always knew there was something I liked about him.

Robin’s concern about The Wild Hunt was no put on. It was a dangerous place for a guy with the wrong attitude — strictly a Dianic watering hole with primarily a lesbian clientele. I went through the front doors and headed straight for the bar. Standing there pulling a tap was the buffed and beautiful, Artemis Ironwood. She saw me in the mirror and turned and smiled.

“Well if it ain’t the Lodestone; a magnet for trouble. How ya been, Nick?”

“Real good, Artie, and you?” I reached for her hand and we shook. Goddess what a grip. If she’d intended to hurt me I can sum up the situation in two words: reconstructive surgery. I was glad we were friends.

She leaned across the bar and spoke quietly to me, “So what do you know about this business at the park?”

“Actually, that’s why I dropped by.” I admitted. “I’ve been pulled in as a consultant by the PD and I thought I’d ask you what your take on the whole business was.”

Artemis looked around and got a little quieter.

“It’s got us all a little spooked.” She began. “I had a look at the place and some bad shit went on there. I’m worried Nick, and I’m glad they got you checkin’ on it.”

“That’s kind of you, Artie. I had a look at the place myself and I’ve come to the conclusion that this wasn’t a real sacrifice. I think it’s a setup, plain and simple.”

TO BE CONTINUED