EIGHT

David Severn would have been perfectly happy, except for the pain in his ankles.

But it had been worth it. He’d been trying to find the perfect date, and this seemed to be it. Debbie was his best girl, and after a hard week working as a supermarket manager, he was darn well going to show her a good time.

Their first three dates had been busts. She had sneezed a lot at Golden Gate Park, and didn’t enjoy Ghirardelli Square, saying that shopping wasn’t romantic—it was something she did with her mother. And then there was the Fillmore.

It had been against David’s better judgment to go to one of those loud music shows: a bunch of weirdos dressed like circus clowns playing music that was far too loud and not remotely melodious. David preferred his musicians to be clean-cut and well dressed and actually proficient, like The Ventures or Buddy Holly, God rest his soul, or like The Beatles before they started taking drugs.

For Debbie’s sake, however, he had pretended to enjoy himself—she was his best girl, after all, and an absolute sweetheart—but he hoped she wouldn’t want to do that again.

But as they’d left the Fillmore that night, they’d walked down Geary Boulevard and up Steiner Street to where David had parked his car. On the way, they passed Winterland. David knew it was an ice-skating rink, but Debbie mentioned that the owner of the Fillmore sometimes rented it for concerts that were too big to fit in the smaller venue.

Then she commented on her love of ice-skating.

Right then and there, David had the next Friday’s date planned out.

Sure enough, she loved it. Debbie was an excellent skater, too—which was more than David could say for himself. He fell over several times, more than once on his rear end, but Debbie just laughed and helped him up and showed him how to do it properly.

After a while, he’d gotten it down pat. But boy, did his ankles hurt.

Still, on the whole the date had gone very well. Debbie had so much fun that they wound up making out near the locker room until the place closed down and the staff had to throw them out.

As they exited onto Steiner Street, David put his arm around Debbie’s waist.

“You really skated beautifully, doll.”

“Thanks.” She smiled up at him. She loved it when he called her “doll.” “When I was growing up,” she said, “I used to watch Sonja Henie’s movies all the time. She was my hero.”

“Wow—it’s kismet,” he said profoundly.

“What do you mean?” she asked, a puzzled look crossing her face.

“Well, you know that Buddy Holly’s my hero. That means that both of our heroes died in plane crashes!”

She stiffened under his arm.

“She died of leukemia,” Debbie said sternly. “She just happened to die while she was flying home to Oslo.”

Crestfallen, David didn’t know how to respond.

“Oh,” he said. Before he could try to salvage the conversation, a voice came from behind them.

“Hello, David.”

Whirling around, he saw a young pointy-nosed Oriental in a Nehru jacket and green slacks. But despite the man’s unique appearance, David didn’t recognize him at all, and was a bit insulted at the familiarity from someone like him.

“Excuse me? Have we met?”

Debbie moved in closer, and he held her more tightly. He shifted slightly to place himself between her and the Oriental.

“David, who is this?” she asked nervously.

“That’s what I’m gonna find out, doll.”

The Oriental shook his head.

“You really don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?” David asked angrily. “Who are you?”

“You have the unmitigated gall to ask me that?” the man responded, his voice rising with each word. “I’m Albert Chao! I’m the man you fired just because I talked to the wrong girl!”

Debbie looked up at him.

“Is that true, David?”

He swallowed now, trying to remember. The supermarket’s owner, Mr. Wilhelm, had always insisted on hiring Orientals as stock boys, but he’d left the firing to David. He supposed this Chao character was one of them.

“Look, buddy,” he said, putting on his best manager’s voice, “if I did fire you, it was for a good reason, all right? So let me and my girl here move along, and you can go back to your opium den or wherever.”

The Oriental broke into a big grin.

“Oh, I’m going to enjoy this.”

Something about that grin got under David’s skin, and he didn’t want to look at it anymore. Remembering the boxing classes he’d taken at school, he extricated himself from Debbie, stood in a proper fighting stance, and punched Chao right in the face.

The Oriental tried to duck, but he wasn’t fast enough. The impact of David’s fist on the man’s nose sent sharp knives of pain cascading up and down his arm, and as he heard the crack of bone breaking, he hissed out a sharp breath. He didn’t remember it hurting this much to punch someone. Of course, he’d worn gloves back then....

Debbie, bless her, ran right up to him.

“Are you okay?”

“I think so.”

But the Oriental hadn’t budged. His pointy nose was bloodied but he seemed unfazed.

David couldn’t believe it—that was his best punch!

Then the man started muttering something. David couldn’t understand a word he was saying, but there was something in the way he whispered it that sent a chill through his bones.

Debbie held him tighter.

“David, what’s he doing?”

“I—I don’t—” David stammered. Then he found he couldn’t catch his breath.

What the hell is he doing?

Then Chao stopped speaking, and the sudden silence was even more frightening. David found that he couldn’t even hear the noises of the street. It was a Friday night in the middle of San Francisco, there was noise everywhere, but David couldn’t hear anything except the ragged sounds of his own breathing and the beating of his heart against his rib cage.

Suddenly, hot air pushed hard against his face. Sweat formed almost instantly, even as he saw a huge fire erupt from the Steiner Street sidewalk.

A man stood in the center of the fire. David couldn’t make out his features, but he somehow just knew that the figure was staring right at him.

It was like something in one of those bizarre psychedelic songs that that band had played at the Fillmore. This couldn’t possibly be happening. Yet he could feel the fire on his face, see the flames flickering into the night air—and hear Debbie’s strangled cry.

The man in the fire raised a giant sword.

The last thing David heard was his own scream.

The Campbells converged on the Emperor Norton Lodge.

Much to Samuel’s chagrin, Mary also called Jack and told him about the sulfur that had been found at the first murder scene. He promised to see if he could find out whether or not there had been any signs of demonic activity recently.

Deanna revealed that they had found a lead on “the heart of the dragon,” but that it was in Japanese. Samuel was dubious—Chao was a Chinese name—but every little bit helped. They’d know more when Bartow’s professor friend at Berkeley translated the texts.

Then—armed with a name—they split up, each trying to find the man known as Albert Chao, and any connection he might have with the other victims.

They all returned to the Lodge late that night. Deanna ordered them a room-service meal, and the family compared notes.

Samuel went first.

“I found a lead on a possible target, but I got there too late. First I checked the bars near where Verlander was killed, and found a place where the name Albert Chao rung a bell. The bartender told me that Albert had been fired from a supermarket job two months ago, and he was angry about it.

“So I tracked down the supermarket and found out who did the firing. They said the guy was taking his girlfriend to Winterland tonight.”

Mary perked up.

“Ooh, who was playing?”

“It’s a skating rink, Mary,” Samuel said with a frown.

“Really? I thought it was a concert hall. Hendrix and the Dead play there all the time.”

Samuel didn’t even pretend to know what she meant.

“Anyhow, when I got to Winterland, the cops were already there, just down the street, and so were reporters. Both the supermarket manager and his girlfriend had been burned to death and cut to ribbons.”

Deanna winced.

“Oh no!”

Mary’s mouth set in a line.

“We’ve got to stop this guy, Dad.”

“Well, I’m open to suggestions,” Samuel said bitterly, angry at having failed to get there in time. “What did you find out at Berkeley?”

Mary had headed to Berkeley to talk to some of Marybeth Wenzel’s fellow students, under the guise of being a high-school student who was looking into Berkeley as a possible college. Her cover was that she was concerned at the news that one of the students had been killed.

“Marybeth got straight As, and all her friends thought she was pretty swell. The only thing was that people said she had weird taste in men.”

Samuel frowned.

“What does ‘weird’ mean, exactly?”

Mary’s expression mirrored his own, a look of distaste on her face.

“The girls wouldn’t say, but there was one boy who claimed, ‘She only liked slant-eyes.’ I think he meant Orientals.”

Samuel nodded.

“So this is one of Chao’s old flames?”

“That’s my guess.”

Deanna went next.

“Not surprised it’s an ‘old’ flame. I talked to the people at the laundry and the restaurant where the two Chinatown victims worked, pretending to be one of Albert’s old teachers, and in both cases I was told that he had worked there. Both of them said he was fired, and our two corpses are the ones who did the firing.

“What’s especially interesting is that one of the reasons he was fired from the laundry is that he lied on his application: Chao said he was Chinese—when he’s really half-Chinese and half-Japanese.”

Samuel sighed.

“So the only people Chao had a grudge against, that any of us could find out about, are dead.” If that was true, they were at a dead end.

“You think maybe he’s done?” Mary asked hopefully.

Deanna shook her head.

“There’s a demon involved here, Mary, remember? That means that it’s not going to end. Chao may think he has control of this, but he doesn’t. And the demon won’t stop the killing just because Chao’s run out of grudges.”

“Besides, a guy like that probably has a long list of people who’ve pissed him off,” Samuel said, then he sighed. “We need to find out where Chao lives. That was one thing I couldn’t get out of anyone.”

“We should call Jack, and see if he found out anything,” Mary said brightly, ignoring the shadow that crossed her father’s face.

“Okay,” he said. “Call him, but—”

Mary bounded up from the bed.

“—use the pay phone outside, I know.”

Samuel called after her as she headed to the door.

“I just don’t want to pay what the hotel charges for calls!” But she was gone before he could finish.

When the door closed behind her, Samuel looked at Deanna and started to speak, but she cut him off.

“This is why you lost your hair, right?”

At first, Samuel scowled, then he broke down and laughed. She laughed with him.

Then he pulled her into an embrace.

“You still love me, even though I’m a broken-down old bald man?”

“You’re darn tootin’, Mr. Man,” she said with a mischievous grin, then she kissed him.