The Devil's Moon Read Online Free Page B

near Westmeston. Big old Elizabethan job. With a moat yet. Lovely. Bloke who designed Delhi for the old British Raj did a lot of work on it in the twenties. Luytens.’
    â€˜Westmeston Manor.’
    â€˜You know it?’
    â€˜I know of it – I used to live a couple of miles up the road. I thought an American romantic novelist owned it.’
    â€˜Michelle Irons? No, she rented it when I was living abroad for health reasons. I bought it from Jimmy Page years ago.’
    Fi snorted. ‘Health reasons my arse. Tax reasons more like.’
    â€˜Doesn’t maintaining a healthy bank balance count as a health reason any more?’ Caspar said deadpan. He gestured to the book. ‘Aleister Crowley. The Great Beast of Revelations, whose number is six-six-six. The mage. The black magician.’
    â€˜According to what I’ve read online, a fraud, a sponger, a sexual pervert and a bully,’ Watts said. ‘One biographer said he drove more men and women to drink, insanity or death than most incarnate devils.’
    â€˜Incarnate devils, eh?’ Caspar said. ‘Don’t see many of them around. Don’t forget drug addict. And in later years also guilty as charged of wearing a ridiculous wig.’ He took a sip of his drink. ‘You’re not a devotee then?’
    â€˜I admire his chutzpah, I suppose,’ Watts said. ‘But people who delude and then damage other people . . .’ He tailed off.
    â€˜He stayed in my house a couple of times before the war,’ Caspar said. ‘First time, he took a dump on a rare Persian rug in the library. That was his calling card, apparently, wherever he was a guest: crapping on the carpet.’
    â€˜Did he get many return invitations?’
    Caspar gave a guttural laugh. ‘John Dee is supposed to have performed scrying in the original Elizabethan house.’
    Watts didn’t like to ask what scrying was or who John Dee was.
    â€˜Crowley performed black masses. Up on the Downs there’s a tumulus where a dozen children’s skeletons, bound hand and foot, had been found in the 1880s. Crowley and his gang did sexual magic in an attempt to raise the spirits of those children. There was a black magic chapel just off the library, you know. Jimmy Page had fitted it out with all the clobber. Performed a few ceremonies there back in the day.’
    â€˜You were serious about all that stuff?’
    Fi coughed a laugh. ‘It was just his excuse for a lot of kinky sex with the local gels,’ she rasped.
    Caspar looked hurt. ‘It was a bit more than that.’
    â€˜And now?’ Watts said.
    â€˜Kinky sex?’ Fi said, cackling.
    Watts felt himself flushing. ‘The black magic.’
    â€˜Only academic interest, really.’ Caspar turned to the woman. ‘When was the last time we did a human sacrifice, Fi?’
    She shook her head and laughed again. ‘Nearest was that goat last summer.’
    â€˜Not sure that counts,’ Caspar said.
    She shrugged. ‘Got you in trouble with the law though.’
    â€˜True.’
    Watts waited for Caspar to say more. The former rock star was holding back a smirk so Watts guessed there was a jokey explanation heading his way.
    â€˜That was more because we had a fire than the goat itself.’ He grinned at Watts. ‘Summer barbecue – whole goat on a spit. Bloody delicious. Smoke-free zone though. Local council played bloody hell.’
    Watts smiled again and started to move away. ‘I’ll let you know if I decide to sell the book.’
    â€˜See that you do,’ Caspar said.
    Watts glanced back as he left the pub and Caspar gave him a little wave before turning to speak to the man with the asthma inhaler who had just come in from the balcony.

FOUR
    â€˜G ood morning from me, Southern Shores Simon. Lots of theories about that hail of fish yesterday. Even as our fine city’s residents are fighting off the seagulls gathering