Polterheist(25)

"And what with the OCCB so unjustly determined to pin these hijackings on the Gambello family, I didn't exactly want to announce my presence in Fenster's to the cops."

"They could so easily get the wrong idea," I said. "What with the Gambello family's history with the Fensters, and all. How petty of the cops to cling to that old stuff."

"Yeah," Lucky said indignantly. "It would be just like them to think I'm casing the joint for the next hit, instead of trying to find clues to expose the perpetrators."

With so many maintenance men milling around in the general confusion after the enchanted tree had attacked, I wasn't surprised that I hadn't noticed one who was keeping a low profile and trying not to be seen by my companion. And Lopez was certainly observant enough that it was wise for Lucky to stay out of his sight.

"And, Esther, was that a zombie I saw you talking to?"

I frowned for a moment, trying to figure out what he meant. "Oh! No. That was Elspeth Fenster."

"That dead-looking girl is a Fenster?" he said in amazement. "Jeez, old Connie was really losing her grip on things in her declining years, wasn't she? Back in her prime, no way would she have let a family member go around looking like a messy corpse!"

"It's the goth look, Lucky. It's a thing."

"It's a creepy thing. I got a strong stomach and I ain't scared of corpses, but I swear if that girl snuck up on me in the dark, I'd scream like a girl."

"You called her grandmother Connie," I noted. "Did you know Constance Fenster?"

"Only by reputation-and that old broad had quite a rep, let me tell you."

I paused at the entrance to the subway station. "I'm going down to the Village. I have to see Max."

"Ah. Right. About the . . . whatever it is that's haunting Fenster's? Good idea." Seeing my surprised look, he said, "Oh, come on, sure I know."

"How do you know?"

"Well, I grant you, it's not obvious in the public parts of the store, where you work-"

"Oh, actually, it's gotten very obvious in some instances."

"-but sneaking around in the empty back halls and guts of that place, like I was today, you feel it real quick. Well, I did, anyhow." He nodded. "There's something at Fenster's that didn't used to be there. Something that don't belong there."

I recalled that Lucky's grandmother had been a white witch back in Sicily, and that he accepted supernatural phenomena with equanimity. I supposed he was more sensitive to mystical energy than I was; I hadn't sensed anything until the enchanted tree had tried to eat me.

"Yes, that's what I'm going to see Max about. Whatever is . . ." I nodded, realizing that Lucky had used the right verb. "Whatever is haunting Fenster's, it's very dangerous. It tried to kill me today."

"What?" His eyes widened in alarm.

"Or if it was just trying to scare me, then it certainly did a great job of that." I added, "It also terrorized one of the Santas today, and I think it may have threatened a little boy." Considering what had happened to me, I was no longer at all sure that Jonathan had been frightened by a harmless gnome statue due to his overactive imagination. It seemed entirely possible that what he'd described to us this morning was exactly what he had seen.

"We gotta go see Max," Lucky said with conviction, all business now. He took my elbow and accompanied me down the steps of the subway station. "I won't put up with something evil threatening Santa Claus and little kids. That's crossing the line." After a moment, he added courteously, albeit as an afterthought, "I won't put with something killing you, either, kid."

"Thank you, Lucky. I'm touched."

* * *

Zadok's Rare and Used Books occupied the first floor of a charming old townhouse on a quiet street in the West Village. Max lived on the second floor, and his laboratory was in the basement.

Specializing in occult books, the shop had a small but devoted clientele. I didn't think it earned much money, but it was only a sideline for Max, in any case. His real work-his lifelong vocation for over three centuries-was confronting Evil in this dimension. And although I was unfamiliar with the specifics of his financial situation, he certainly seemed to have a healthy cash flow. I supposed that if he had invested prudently back in the eighteenth century and then let his assets grow, he was reaping comfortable dividends from that strategy by now.

Although it was getting late, the shop was still open for business. As Lucky and I approached it, we encountered a couple of people leaving, their arms loaded with their purchases. Apparently Max was enjoying some good holiday trade.

We were about to enter the shop when Max toddled up to the front window to hang up the "Closed" sign. His face broke into a smile when he saw us, and he opened the glass door.

"My friends! What an unexpected pleasure. Come in!"

Dr. Maximillian Zadok (Oxford University, class of 1678) was a short, slightly chubby man with innocent blue eyes, longish white hair, and a tidy beard. Looking at him now, I wondered if his resemblance to Santa Claus played a role in Lopez's overall suspicion and dislike of him. I found this an intriguing theory, which merited further exploration at some point.

Fluent in multiple languages, Max spoke English with the faint trace of an accent, reflecting his origins in Central Europe centuries ago. Although he was nearly three hundred fifty years old, Max didn't look a day over seventy.

"Come sit! I've made a pot of tea," he said. "Unless you'd like something stronger?"

I agreed to accept a cup of tea and some cookies. Lucky didn't want anything but a chair.

Alerted to our presence by her trusty canine hearing, Nelli came trotting down from the second floor to greet us.

Nelli was Max's mystical familiar. She had emerged from another dimension in response to his summons for assistance in fighting Evil. A relatively new arrival in this dimension, she was still working out some of the details of her partnership with Max-such as the conflict between her pleasure in chewing on his things and his desire that she should refrain from doing so. And once Nelli chewed on something, the game was pretty much over, since her jaws seemed big enough to fit around my whole head. Fortunately, though, she was a sweet-natured beast. Well, unless she was confronting Evil. Or possessed by a dark spirit. Or facing a boa constrictor. Or encountering a mystical phenomenon which she found threatening. Or . . .

"Hello, Nelli!" I patted her head. "How are you?"

Roughly the size of a Shetland pony, Nelli was well-muscled beneath her short, smooth, tan fur. Although her long, square-jawed head was very large, her immense, floppy ears nonetheless seemed much too big for it. And when she wagged her long, bony tail with reckless abandon, no one was safe.

Nelli greeted me with a burp and drooled a little.

"Oh, dear," Max said over his shoulder while pouring a cup of tea for me. "I'm afraid we're out of cookies, Esther. That's odd. I could have sworn . . ." Realization dawned, and he turned to look accusingly at Nelli.

She returned his gaze innocently, wagging her tail. Then she bounced around a little, greeting Lucky with delight. He was a favorite of hers, and he hadn't been around for a visit lately. Her long, pink tongue hung out of her mouth as she presented him with her head, imperiously waiting for him to scratch her behind the ears.

Lucky and I sat down in a couple of comfortable, prettily upholstered chairs that were near the gas fireplace. Max rummaged around in the little refrigerator where he kept refreshments for customers, hoping to find something else to offer me in place of the vanished cookies. The fridge sat near a large old walnut table that had books, papers, and other paraphernalia on it.

Max said, "A chocolate muffin perhaps, Esther?"

"Oh, yes, thanks," I said eagerly. I was hungry.

"It may be just a tad stale . . ."

"I don't mind."

The shop had well-worn hardwood floors, a broad-beamed ceiling, dusky-rose walls, and rows and rows of tall bookcases overflowing with volumes about all aspects of the occult. Some of the books were modern paperbacks, but many were old hardback volumes that smelled musty, and a few were rare leather-bound books printed in dead languages. I typically found this store a comforting place. Partly because it was nice to be surrounded by books in such a cozy, comfortable setting. And partly, of course, because this was Max's home.

"Esther, I'm glad you stopped by! I was just thinking about you today," Max said, pulling a chair up to join us near the dormant fireplace. "Christmas is in just a few days. And since you are a person of the Hebraic faith-a religion whose emphasis on learning has always won my most enthusiastic admiration-it occurs to me that you may not have plans for that day."

"Oh, right," Lucky said, nodding. "Christmas is probably kind of a bust for you, huh?"

"Pretty much," I said. "No, I have no plans, Max."

"Then I hope you will join me in the Saturnalia feast which I propose to host?"

"The what feast?" Lucky said.

"Saturnalia," said Max. "It's the ancient Roman festival from which Christianity has derived many of its Christmas customs. Saturnalia, of course, was derived, in turn, from even older mid-winter festivals whose periods of celebration clustered around the solstice-literally, the days when the ‘sun stands still.' Since before the dawn of history, people in many cultures and societies have sought to ward off the frighteningly long, dark, cold nights at this time of year with festivals which celebrate light, fire, life, and the imminent, longed-for return of spring as we-"