Free The Diabolist (Dominic Grey 3) by Layton Green

think happened?”
    John took his time answering, contemplating the question with a shrewd narrowing of his eyes. Grey thought he was a probably a good attorney.
    “I haven’t thought about much else, these last few days. I don’t believe in God or the supernatural, so that’s out, at least for me.” He looked down at his Scotch as he swirled it. “I suppose one way or the other, Matthias left us with a parting gift to think about, something to test our faith, or lack thereof. I don’t know, gentlemen. What I know is that I’m going to get stinking, roaring drunk tonight, and probably every night for a while.”

I t was late by the time Grey and Viktor filed into Viktor’s suite. Viktor returned to his absinthe, and Grey unwound with an Anchor Steam, feet propped on the marble-topped coffee table.
    Grey again wondered about Viktor’s home, his family, his past. Since Grey preferred not to answer reciprocal questions, he avoided such topics, but the human need for connection was strong, and the lack of personal information between the two of them at times bordered on awkwardness. In their short time together they had discussed everything from philosophy to literature to where to get the best sushi in Tokyo, yet Grey didn’t know where Viktor had grown up, or if he had ever had a family.
    As Viktor sank deeper into his emerald brew, Grey had the sudden urge to question him about his past, even if it meant answering questions himself.
    “Viktor, have you ever been married?”
    Viktor’s dark eyes burned beneath torpid eyelids, as if the absinthe could not reach that deep. “No,” he said, though his response was slow and distracted, oozing a tale untold.
    Grey wanted to inquire further, but instead he took a swig of beer. “Do you want to tell me about the stars on the robe?”
    Viktor’s gaze shifted to the window. “The silver stars are a classic sign of a magus. A magician.”
    “I take it you don’t mean the David Copperfield type?”
    “No.”
    “So whoever or whatever the robes were attached to,” Grey said, “it involved the occult?”
    Viktor waved a hand. “The
occult
is an extremely broad term, and simply signifies supernatural or mystical beliefs and practices. The occult has thousands of branches and subsets, and a magus is but one type of practitioner of the occult.”
    “Then why were you so surprised when the silver stars were mentioned?”
    “Because magicians, at least real magicians, have no connection to Satanists. The popular American conception that gullible teenagers are drawn into Satanism through the occult is an urban myth. Someone who reads
Harry Potter
, plays role-playing games, or dabbles with tarot and palm reading is no more likely to start worshipping the Devil than anyone else.”
    Grey said, “You have to admit it gets confusing when neither the House of Lucifer nor the Church of Satan actually worships the Devil.”
    “They’re not helping to alleviate popular misconceptions, but that’s rather the point.”
    “So is there anything to it?” Grey said, kicking his feet down and leaning forward, elbows on his thighs. “The practice of magic?”
    “That depends on who you ask. I think you know by now that the line between belief and nonbelief, magic and reality, can be a thin one. And one which we do not yet fully understand.”
    Grey gave a compressed smile, the memories of his last few cases with Viktor lingering in the back of his mind like a spider’s abandoned web, gumming up his secular worldview. “Like I’ve always done, I’ll try to keep an open mind.”
    The answer seemed to satisfy Viktor, and he stroked his glass as if caressing the arm of a lover. “Though a robe with seven silver stars is a classic accoutrement, it affords no particular insight into the magician’s specialty. I’ll have to find some way to narrow down the branch of magic with which we might be dealing.”
    “Specialties? Branches?” Grey waved his hands. “What is it that