The Hell Yo - lanyon Josh - Страница 42
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him to admit – intuitive. I knew a lot of useless information – tangential knowledge – that
frequently turned out to be helpful (or at least gave me material to chat up potential
witnesses).
Of course, as Jake was quick to point out, I was also impulsive, naive, and untrained,
which made me more of a liability than a help in any investigation. But since I didn’t have
Jake’s support this time, I had to rely on myself.
I spent the rest of the evening familiarizing myself with Garibaldi’s The Devil’s
Disciple. Despite the lurid glossy cover depicting Hans Memling’s Hell, the book itself was a
serious philosophical treatise on Satanism.
It is a popular misconception that Satanism is the worship or
deification of the Christian Devil. Nothing could be further from
the truth. The word “Satan” stems from Hebraic/Judaic context. It
means to oppose. In opposing the ideology of the Judeo-Christian
religion, by default we ally ourselves with the tenets of “Satan,”
which is to oppose the dogma of state recognized church. In
effect it is to rebel against the establishment and the sense of
smug entitlement that seems to characterize so many so-called
Christians.
Huh? I thought. I didn’t want to be close-minded, but this view didn’t sound typical of
club members I’d met so far.
It is true that a small minority of Satanists are theistic and believe
in a personal deity known as Satan or Lucifer, yet we reject the
notion that this concept is based upon Judaic or Christian
theology. In any case the aberrant behavior of a small sect is no
more reflective of the overall picture of Satanism than the
Plymouth Brethren were reflective of typical Christianity. The
vast majority of Satanists do not indulge in the notion of a
personal, all powerful being known as Satan. We do not ascribe to
superstitious belief in gods, demons or superheroes. In the
strictest sense, we are atheists.
So no summoning of demons to do the bidding of discontented Yuppie offspring? Were
the pentagrams and black candles and ritual daggers so much stage dressing?
I flipped through the pages. Nine Satanic Statements. Nine Satanic Sins. The Eleven
Satanic Rules of Earth. What did that remind me of?
One Ring to rule them all. One Ring to find them …
The basic tenets of Satanism seemed to boil down to a belief in the animal nature of
man – life lived in the moment, autonomy of the individual, self-help, knowledge as power,
personal responsibility, magick, and the concept of Satan.
Nothing particularly unique or original in any of that – and the whole belief in magic
weakened the idea of Satanism as a serious philosophical school of thought for me. Still, I
recognized what the attraction would be.
Outcast, outlaw, Satan embodies the triumph of the rebel
individual. Satanism is not for the herd. Satan walks alone.
So how come all these individualists dressed in black and traveled in packs?
Your demon guide waits within you. You must turn your vision
inwards; do not seek the demon outside.
Unlock your inner demon? But someone was seeking the demon outside. Pentagrams
written in the blood of human sacrifice indicated that someone was doing his or her best to
summon something more tangible – and a lot more dangerous.
Chapter Seventeen
I told myself that if I hadn’t decided to trust Guy, I wouldn’t be taking a jaunt to the
seaside with him, but in case my carcass wound up floating off Will Rogers State Beach, I
used a bar of soap to scrawl a message on my bathroom mirror: Went to see Oliver Garibaldi
in Pacific Palisades with Guy Snowden .
On the bright side, if Jake ever saw that message, I wouldn’t have to hear another
lecture about butting into that which was not my business.
It was sunny and unexpectedly warm for December. A great day for the beach.
Although this wasn’t a date, I took time trying to decide what to wear before settling on
black jeans and a brown camp shirt with inconspicuous black polka dots, a shirt that Jake
liked. Truthfully, I think he liked it for himself, had it come in jumbo size.
While I waited for Guy to show up, I went through the photos the girls next door had
taken the night of Gabriel Savant’s signing. Midway through the stack of candid shots –
apparently taken after the girls had a couple of glasses of champagne – I had another
brainstorm and started hunting through the desk drawers for pictures of other author
signings. I found a couple of snaps of Angus and slipped them into my Day Planner.
Guy walked into the bookstore a little after ten. He wore faded jeans, a loose white
muslin shirt, and sandals. I tried to picture Jake in a pirate shirt – or myself, for that
matter – and failed. But it suited Guy. That masculine blend of force and grace.
He smiled, I smiled. We were both slightly self-conscious, mindful of our recent
awkward phone conversation.
I gave Velvet several last-minute directions – to which she almost, but not quite, rolled
her eyes – and we went outside.
“I’m parked down the street,” Guy said, his hand resting briefly on the small of my
back as the door closed behind us.
I said, “Can I ask you something? Did you recognize the girl behind the counter?”
“I don’t think I did more than glance her way.”
“Would you do me a favor? Step inside and see if you recognize her?”
His brows rose, but he went back inside. I followed. Velvet, in the midst of making a
call on her cell phone, looked up. She clicked off and lowered her phone – which maybe
meant little more than she didn’t want to be caught making a personal phone call on my
dime.
She had seemed pleased, even sort of relieved when I’d told her I would be leaving her
to fend for herself once again. Maybe she wanted a chance to make up for sticking her nose
where it didn’t belong. Maybe she was delighted at the chance to do more snooping, but it
would be a madhouse this afternoon; she wouldn’t have time for much search and seizure if
that was the plan.
“I left my wallet,” I said cheerfully, walking back to the office. I opened and closed a
drawer, then walked back out.
“Very cool place,” Guy said sincerely, turning from a shelf as I rejoined him. We went
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