Read Evil Ways for Free Online

magical swords and rods in a rack on the wall, the tapestries covered with occult symbols. No surprises there.
    The large sink against one wall was a bit unusual, in Morris's experience. He shined his light in there, saw nothing except a lot of brown stains coating the porcelain. Fortner should get himself some scouring powder, or something.
    There was a large worktable set against the wall opposite from the sink, covered with books and papers. Several tiers of shelves, bearing an assortment of jars, bottles, and vials, occupied the wall above it. Morris decided to start his search with the table.
    Luck was with him. It only took a few minutes to find the large envelope with "Carteret" scrawled on the front. Inside were several smaller envelopes. One was labeled "hair," another "fingernail clippings," another "handwriting," and still another read "photos" —everything you'd need to cast a devastating black spell on somebody. Somebody like Morris's client. Well, Roy Carteret need have no more worries. Fortner would not be using these ingredients to work any hocus-pocus on him.
    Morris had been holding the pencil flashlight between his teeth so as to leave both hands free as he riffled through the items on the table. But now he straightened up, which meant the flashlight clenched in his jaws was pointing straight ahead, at the lowest row of shelves.
    Morris was busy thinking about his way out, and wasn't interested in whatever else Fortner might keep in his little sanctum, since he wasn't being paid to mess with it. He turned away and was taking his first step toward the door when what he had just seen finally registered on his conscious mind.
    He turned back slowly, hoping that he had been mistaken. He directed the flashlight beam once again toward the lowest shelf, and the row of jars that rested on it.
    He had not been mistaken.
    Each jar contained a heart, floating in some kind of clear liquid.
    Morris knew enough anatomy to realize that he was not looking at the hearts of pigs, or calves, or some other animal.
    They were human hearts.
    And they were small, each of them. Far too small to have come from adults.
    They were the hearts of children.
    Morris had been in Los Angeles for just over a week, casing the house and grounds and keeping an eye on Fortner's movements. Local TV news, as well as the L.A. Times, had featured several stories about the children who had gone missing over the last few months, with no clues to suggest what might have become of them. The police were said to be "following several promising leads," which Morris had recognized for the bullshit that it was.
    The most recent disappearance had been reported a week ago, shortly after Morris had arrived in town. The Times said that this was the eighth case in the last five months.
    There were eight identical jars on Fortner's shelf.
    Morris knew that the practice of black magic sometimes involved the use of human body parts, and that some of the more arcane rituals specifically called for the organs of children. He had recently met a South African cop back East who'd been on the trail of a black magician who was murdering kids for their organs.
    Morris didn't know what Fortner had in mind, but it must be something really nasty to require this kind of raw material, and in such a quantity.
    Not my business, no sir. I've got what I came for. All I need to worry about is getting out of here in one piece, giving this stuff to Carteret, and collecting my money.
    He directed the flashlight beam slowly around the room, taking in the tools of the black magician's trade —the grimoires, scrolls, pacts, magical ingredients, and various arcane devices.
    It must have taken Fortner years to get all this stuff together. Decades, more likely.
    The tools, Morris knew, had been made by Fortner himself. A magician's equipment must be attuned to him, and to him alone. It was a long, laborious process.
    The flashlight revealed more mundane materials, too. Some of the shelves