Agent of Chaos (The X-Files: Origins #1)(36)

“None of that sounds relevant,” Phoebe said.

Gimble looked up from his notes. “That’s because I’m not finished. There’s a ton of superstition and folklore about magpies, but none of it meshes. So here goes. In Europe, magpies are considered bad omens, and, according to an old Scottish superstition, if you see a magpie hanging out solo, it’s a sign someone is going to die. But in Korea, magpies mean someone is bringing you good news, and in China, they’re a sign of good fortune.”

“I doubt anyone would stab a bird with arrows if they thought the bird was a sign of good luck,” Phoebe said.

“It gets better. Or worse, depending on how you look at it. Magpies are also associated with witchcraft, the devil, and occult knowledge. And—this is my favorite part—they can also transport souls into the spirit realm and bring back messages from hell.” Gimble leaned back with his hands behind his head, reveling in the moment.

“Nice work, man.” Mulder wasn’t ready to let himself feel hopeful yet. But he also didn’t feel as hopeless. They were back in the game. “An occult connection could explain the arrows.”

“Then we’re dealing with dark magic, not harmless hippie stuff, like astral projection,” Gimble said. He took a couple of his D & D dice out of his pocket and rolled them on the table.

Phoebe frowned. But she wasn’t angry. This frown was different—a smaller crease between her eyebrows and a faraway look.

“What’s wrong?” Mulder asked. “You’re making that face.”

“Which face?” Now it looked more like the angry frown.

“The face that means you’re concentrating.”

“Oh.” She relaxed. “I just can’t figure out how the nuummite fits in. It’s a protective stone people use to combat negative energy. Why would a killer use it in a ritual that involves murdering a child, and then leave it on the body of the victim?”

“Maybe the killer doesn’t know what it is?” Gimble offered. “He could be confusing it with a different black mineral.”

She shook her head. “It’s too obscure. And they call it the Magician’s Stone. If the killer is involved with the occult, he would know about it.”

Mulder dropped down in the chair. “People don’t use it for anything else?”

“Just for new age practices,” she said. “The protection stuff I mentioned.”

He reached for the book in front of her and flipped it around so he could read it. “Auric shielding and shamanic journeying? We’re going to need a translator to explain all this new age crap.”

“Look at the chapter title. It’s called ‘Healing Arts,’” she pointed out.

Mulder glanced at the clock.

1:15.

One hundred and eight and a half hours, at the most—that was how much time Sarah Lowe had left if the coroner had calculated Billy Christian’s time of death correctly. And he knew those estimates weren’t always accurate. What if no one found Sarah before then? Would she spend the last few days of her life waiting for someone to save her?

“If we really want to figure out if the killer is involved in the occult, we need to talk to people who know about that stuff,” Gimble said.

Phoebe groaned. “This isn’t the kind of thing I want to discuss with your dungeon master.”

“I’m not talking about my dungeon master. I mean the people who know about herbs and crystals, and dead birds with sticks in them.”

“What you meant to say was, people interested in new age practices.” Phoebe neatly stacked the books she’d been reading and stood. “I saw some pay phones when we came in. I’m going to check the Yellow Pages for new age stores. I’ll be back.”

Gimble rolled the dice on the table while they waited. “In D and D there’s a monster that looks like a puma with tentacles growing out of its shoulders.” He watched the dice each time he rolled. “It’s called a Displacer Beast, and taking it down is hard, because the Displacer projects an illusion of itself nearby. So you end up attacking the illusion. What if we’re chasing the illusion instead of the real monster?”

Mulder wondered the same thing, minus the part about the Displacer Beast. “I guess there’s no way to tell until we get more information. But either way, we know the cops aren’t chasing the real monster. They don’t even believe he exists.”

Phoebe knocked on the glass wall of the study room, from where she stood on the other side. She waved a yellow scrap of paper in the air, as students in the library hallway squeezed past her. “There’s a new age bookstore in Craiger, Maryland,” she said the moment she walked in. “I called to make sure they were open today, and the woman who answered the phone said the store is about an hour and a half from here, near the Patuxent River.” Phoebe gathered her notes and rushed toward the door. “Come on,” she called over her shoulder.

As she walked out the door, Gimble watched, his eyes lingering too far south.

“Stop staring at her ass, or you can walk to Maryland,” Mulder warned.

Gimble stole another look. “It’s worth it.”





CHAPTER 16

Bowie, Maryland

4:40 P.M.



“Are you sure the lady on the phone said the bookstore was in Craiger?” Gimble asked from the backseat of the car, studying the map he’d bought when they stopped for gas.