At that point, the tall, languid woman in black asked, "Are you aware of witches?"
"I'm aware of the one sitting next to me," Remo said thinly. "But only because she smells like rotting toadstools."
"It is not enough to look the part. One must smell the part."
"I'd rather smell car exhaust."
"My name is Delpha. Delpha Rohmer. I come from Salem."
"Figures."
One brush-stroke eyebrow rose. "You have not heard of me?"
"No."
"You must not read very much. I've been on all the talk shows, and profiled in everything from People to Boston Magazine."
From her low-cut cleavage, Delpha Rohmer produced a warm white business card that smelled like a stinkweed potpourri. She offered it.
Without touching, Remo glanced it over. The card read:
DELPHA ROHMER OFFICIAL WITCH OF SALEM, MASSACHUSETTS
In small Gothic letters in one corner was the legend: "President, Sisterhood for Witch Awareness."
This motivated Remo to ask, " 'Witch Awareness'?"
"You think I am in costume for the holiday, mortal?"
"Halloween isn't what I'd call a holiday."
"Correct. It is a sacred day to those who practice Wicca."
"Wicca?"
"Wiseness. The religion of pre-Christian womanhood. It is the oldest religion known to woman."
"Never heard of it," Remo said flatly.
"You're a man."
"What's wrong with men-don't they count?"
Delpha Rohmer looked Remo up and down, in a way that made him think of a vulture eyeing something that was not quite dead.
"They have their place," she said breathily, restoring the card to its nesting place.
Remo decided not to ask where that place was. He hadn't a clue, but he knew he didn't ever want to end up there.
The stewardess came by to inquire of their needs. Delpha pulled down her tray and demurred. Remo asked for mineral water. "Straight up. No ice."
Remo noticed Delpha dealing out a pack of oversized cards on her tray. At first he thought she was playing solitaire, until he noticed the faces of the cards. They were crudely drawn and crude, period. They depicted medieval figures, mostly female, all nude. The few men included one called "The Fool," who was dressed as a priest, and another called "The Hanged Man." One card, titled "The Lovers," showed two naked women embracing.
"Tarot," Delpha said, noticing his gaze.
"I didn't ask."
"You asked with your eyes. It was enough."
"Forget my eyes asked, then."
"Shall I do your Tarot?"
"Only if you'll do it out on the wing," Remo said.
"Men fear what they do not understand. It has always been thus with my kind. In the Middle Ages, we were persecuted. Those were the Burning Times. Today, those who practice the Craft are ridiculed. But after tonight, I will change that."
"Good for you."
"Tonight," Delpha went on in her sonorous voice, "the entire world will see that Wicca is no mere fantasy. For tonight is Samhain, November Eve, the night the Great Goddess sleeps."
"Your night to howl, right?"
"No. My night to break the spell that has fallen over one of the most pretentious idols of pagan malehood."
Delpha continued to turn over cards and look at their faces. To Remo, it looked exactly like solitaire.
"Yes," she went on, examining a card. "It is definitely an omen of evil."
Remo looked at the card. It said, "The Hanged Man."
"No argument there."
"There can be no doubt, the Rumpp Tower has been owl-blasted."
Remo started to blurt out, "Rumpp Tower?" but "owl-blasted?" slipped onto his tongue first.
"The ignorant would call it 'bewitched,' " Delpha murmured.
"The smart would call it bullshit."
"You would not say this, if only you knew what has happened to the great modern Tower of Babel."
"Okay," Remo said. "I'll bite. What's happened to the Rumpp Tower?"
"I am still attempting to divine the exact forces at work. But retrograde spirits have seized it for their plaything."