The next stage of her scheme was equally straightforward. While terrestrial magnetism is too weak to cancel paranatural forces, it does of course affect them, and so do its fluctuations. Therefore ordinary goetic sensor devices aren’t designed to register minor quantitative changes. Ginny would establish a Seeming. The feeble Tarnkappe field would appear gradually to double in intensity, then, as I departed, oscillate back to its former value. On my return, she’d phase out the deception.
Simple in theory. In practice it took greater skill to pull off without triggering an alarm than her record showed she could possess. What the poor old FBI didn’t know was that she had what went beyond training and equipment, she had a Gift.
At her signal, I slipped through the window. The night air was chill and moist; dew glistened on the lawn in the goblin glow of street lamps; I heard a dog howl. It had probably caught a whiff of my cloak. And no doubt the grounds were under surveillance . . . yes, my witch‑sight picked out a man in the shadows beneath the elms across the way . . . I padded fast and softly down the middle of the pavement, where I’d be least likely to affect some watchbeast or sentry field. When it comes to that sort business, I’m pretty good myself.
After several blocks, safely distant, I reached the local grade school and stowed my Tarnkappe in a playground trash can. Thereafter I walked openly, an unremarkable citizen on his lawful occasions. The night being new, I did have to be careful that no passer‑by recognized me. At the first phone booth I called Barney Sturlason’s home. He said to come right on over. Rather than a taxi, I took a crosstown carpet, reasoning I’d be more anonymous as one of a crowd of passengers. I was.
Barney opened the door. Hallway light that got past his shoulders spilled yellow across me. He let out a soft whistle. “I figured you’d be too bushed to work today, Steve, but not that you’d look like Monday after Ragnarok. What’s wrong?”
“Your family mustn’t hear,” I said.
He turned immediately and led me to his study. Waving me to one of the leather armchairs, he relocked the door, poured two hefty Scotches, and settled down opposite me. “Okay,” he invited.
I told him. Never before had I seen anguish on those features. “Oh no,” he whispered.
Shaking himself, like a bear malting ready to charge, he asked: “What can I do?”
“First off, lend me a broom,” I answered.
“Hold on,” he said. “I do feel you’ve been rash already. Tell me your next move.”
“I’m going to Siloam and learn what I can.”
“I thought so.” The chair screaked under Barney’s shifting weight. “Steve, it won’t wash. Burgling the Johnny cathedral, maybe trying to beat an admission out of some priest?No. You’d only make trouble for yourself and Ginny at a time when she needs every bit of your resources. The FBI will investigate, with professionals. You could wreck the very clues you’re after, assuming they exist. Face it, you are jumping to conclusions.” He considered me. “A moral point in addition. You didn’t agree that mob yesterday had the right to make its own laws. Are you claiming the right for yourself?”
I took a sip and let the whisky burn its loving way down my gullet. “Ginny and I’ve had a while to think,” I said. “We expected you’d raise the objections you do. Let me take them in order. I don’t want to sound dramatic, but how can we be in worse trouble? Add anything to infinity and, and, and”?I must stop for another belt of booze?”you’ve got the same infinity.
“About the FBI being more capable. We don’t aim to bull around just to be doing something; Please give us credit for some brains. Sure, the Bureau must’ve had agents in the Johannine Church for a long while, dossiers on its leaders, the standard stuff. But you’ll remember how at the HCUA hearings a few years back, no evidence could be produced to warrant putting the Church on the Attorney Generals list, in spite of its disavowal of American traditions.’