Chapter 7

I spent nearly 9 hours driving to the town of Clinton. They had notified me of the death of Phillip Masters, my only other full time worker, besides Vivian. He had been murdered.

I had been answering the questions of the local police, for some time. Then the questions started to get ugly. I pointed out to them that I had just driven 9 hours to get here. I was notified 10 hours ago, of his death. How then, could I be responsible for my employee's death?

They grudgingly admitted I had a good alibi, but still gave me a hard time. What is it about cops that cause them to want you to cower in fear of them? That is not the way it was supposed to be. I remembered the beat cops of the turn of the 20th century. They had been people friendly. Not like cops are, today.

I was once again at the Clinton Police Department, trying to get some information. I had given them all I knew, and they had clammed up on me. All I wanted to know, was where his body had been found. I had already identified him at the local morgue.

"Mr. Lindsy, I must admit your credentials check out. However, you should let us do our job. We will notify you when we have completed the investigation," Detective Mark Jefferson told me.

"All I am asking, is what were the circumstances of his death. I allready informed you what he was working on for me. It was nothing really that dangerous. Divorce case stuff," I said, a bit annoyed with this detective.

"I am sorry, but we can't comment on an on-going investigation. You should know that," he actually sneered at me.

I left the police station very unsatisfied and a bit angry at the town of Clinton. I made my way to the local library, and found the story in the local paper. Information was in the paper, that the police had refused to give me. I shook my head at that.

Not much there, really. Just that he had been found murdered, on the grounds of the old Clinton Mansion. Strange markings had been found on his body. That was new. When I had viewed the body, he had already been cleaned.

I got the name of the street, and the address of the Clinton Mansion from the paper. I would go to the scene of the crime. While the police were not to willing to give me what was apparently public information, the newspaper could always be counted on to be informative: Investigation 101.

20 minutes later I was at the chain locked gate of the Clinton Mansion. Why Phillip had come here, was unclear to me. I walked the perimeter of the wall. Yes, an actual wall. That took me another 25 minutes.

The wall was over 8 feet in height, and was relatively smooth, except for an old portion at the back of the property. I had kept a careful watch of the ground, as I circled the property. I noticed fresh scuffmarks, here at the older section of the wall.

The Mansion had not been lived in for the past 15 years, since the death of the last Clinton. The woman Phillip had been following, was not related to the Clinton's, as far as I knew.

I sighed, and climbed the wall. I paused at the top, and looked around. I looked down and saw deep depressions of where someone had landed heavily, when they had come over the wall.

I landed lightly. I started walking towards the Mansion proper, and stopped. I felt something. I looked with my 'second sight', and gasped. The whole place was spell upon spell upon spell!

It was an old old building. The paper said the last addition had been done in 1972. Other than that, it had remained virtually as originally built, over 100 years ago. I could not believe the spells I saw.

Firstly, none seemed to have been done by Markus. I looked carefully. I knew I hadn't done them. Markus had told me that there were others, here, that could work magic; but that they were few and far between. Apparently the people of this Mansion, were ones who worked magic.

I had run across people who did sympathetic magic in the past, and one guy who was a pretty good magician, stage and real. I caught his act in the 50's. His was a combination of real magic, coupled with showmanship.

I sifted through the spells I saw. Some were old protections, and were worn with time. Others were newer, and more deadly. I frowned. Still others were wards against the weather. Good spells, really. I would have to use them on my own home.

I walked around, and found the place where the police had found my partner's body. The area reeked of magic. I felt sick. Someone had killed him. They had used his life force to perform magic.

I was very angry, now. Who ever did this, didn't deserve to live as far as I was concerned. They held life very cheaply, to have done this to begin with. I saw the dark miasma of the spell, but could not make out what it was, or did.

Actually, I was seeing the echo of the spell, not the spell itself. Whoever did this, had already accomplished what they had wanted to accomplish. Life energy is a very powerful force. Markus had told me about this type of magic, but had not trained me in it.

The problem with this type of magic, is that if a trained person used it, it could perform a lot. Have you ever gone somewhere, and the hair stood up on the back of your neck? That was usually magic of the dark sort. If it was not focused properly, it left a... dark echo of itself.

Who ever had done this, had left an echo, but had been deliberate in doing so. People like satanists would do dark magic, trying to call up demons or the devil. Are they successful?

I doubt it. A good magic user would be able to focus the magic into the semblance of say, a demon, but a real demon? Unlikely. Magic takes shape from the users mind. If the caster is strong willed, and wants a demon, most likely the magic will take the form, straight from the casters mind.

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