An Affair of Sorcerers

by George C. Chesbro

  “No. It was Dr. Greene. I persisted. He says there’s something wrong with you, and that you won’t let anyone help you.”

  “Wants me … to see a psychiatrist. I’ve … been there. I’ll be … all right. Just … need to be alone.”

  “That is not what you need at all,” April said firmly. She paused, then added quietly, “The coven got hold of you, didn’t they?”

  “Greene … has a … big mouth. Didn’t he … tell you about it?”

  “No. He just said that you needed help desperately.”

  “Bullshit,” I said, and was immediately sorry. I said so.

  “You can curse if you want to, Robert. You can say anything you want to that will make you feel better. Just talk to me.”

  “Want … to be alone.” It wasn’t true. I wanted to be with April, wanted to fall into her arms. I wanted to sob aloud, and couldn’t. It was as though my bag of skin were encased in a rubber sheet that was shrinking, making it hard for me to breathe.

  There was a long silence. Finally April’s voice drifted over to me, very softly. “Garth said something about you doing battle with your own demons, but I didn’t understand. Now I think I do. You’re a lot like Daniel. It has to do with pride, Robert, doesn’t it? Your will—your deep mind—against the combined will of the coven.”

  “Nothing … really the matter with me.”

  In a sense it was true. I knew enough about sensory deprivation to appreciate its psychological effects—the reason why research into it had been banned in the first place. Smathers’ dunking—on the surface—had been nothing compared with what a Russian by the name of Kaznakov had done to me. Kaznakov had physically tortured me to the point where I’d ended up nearly psychotic. Victor Rafferty had helped bring me back from that. But then there had been terror—endless, omnipresent fear of everything from ringing telephones to being alone; most of all, there had been the fear that the hulking torturer would return, find me and finish the job he’d started.

  There was no terror now. The problem was that there was nothing, not even anger. There was only terrible lassitude and apathy. In one corner of my mind, I badly wanted to get back out and finish the job on the coven; I wanted to find Frank Marlowe’s book of shadows, if it hadn’t been destroyed. Yet I couldn’t move. It was as though submersion in the silent world of water, the terrifying sensation of floating over the black hole at the bottom of my psyche, had mortally wounded me in a way that physical torture couldn’t. Something that had been in me had drained out through that hole; my body was still around, but I was gone. I’d kept telling myself that a three-and-a-half-day soak couldn’t be all that serious. Every minute I sat in the darkness staring out the window confirmed the fact that I was wrong. Smathers and Kee had pulled my plug good.

  Lost in my thoughts, I hadn’t even been aware that April had left the room. Now I heard the sound of running water. Part of me was curious about the water—but not very. The next thing I was aware of was April’s hand on my arm, firmly guiding me into the bathroom. The tub was filled with steaming water.

  April matter-of-factly began to undress me.

  “What are you doing?” I mumbled.

  “I’m a witch, remember?” April said somewhat smugly. “I’m working a spell.” She clucked her tongue. “No talking while the witch is at work.”

  She finished undressing me, made a face and threw my filthy clothes into a corner. I stood before her naked and unmoving. I thought I should feel embarrassed, but I didn’t; I simply felt terribly vulnerable and helpless. If April had told me to go up on top of the hotel and jump off, I probably would have. For some reason, her warmth and mothering only made me feel emptier, more in need. Again I wanted to cry.

  “Get in,” April commanded evenly, pointing to the steaming water. When I just stood there, she added, “Get in or I’ll push you in.”

  I stuck a toe in the water, winced and pulled it back. “Too hot,” I said.

  “Aha! Signs of life! You said that quite clearly.”

  April put her hand on my back and pushed me inexorably forward. There was no way I could resist the pressure of her hand; I finally stepped into the tub and sank down into the hot water. The heat jolted my nerve endings, yet the shock was oddly comforting; it made me feel secure, perhaps because it gave me something besides myself to think about. For a moment, the rubber sheet encasing me seemed to expand.

  April firmly shoved my head under the water, then pulled it up. She shampooed my hair, then found shaving cream and a razor in the medicine cabinet. Sitting on a towel on the edge of the tub, she went to work on my beard. It was awkward and uncomfortable for her to shave me from that position, and I knew I should do it myself—yet I couldn’t move. I could barely even turn my head. I leaned back and closed my eyes, afraid that if I stared at her hard enough she would disappear—or I would cry. I lay passively in the water and steam until she’d finished.

  “That concludes Part One of the spell,” April said cheerfully, rinsing off the razor and replacing it in the medicine cabinet. “You’re going to have to wash the rest of you yourself.”

  April winked at me, then walked out of the bathroom and closed the door behind her. I surprised myself by reaching out for a bar of soap and washing the rest of my body. But then I started to slow down again as my mind shifted gears, went out of focus and began replaying blurred images from the nightmare I’d lived inside my head while I was in the tank. I wanted desperately to finish bathing, dress in clean clothes and greet April with the announcement that I was taking her and Kathy to dinner. But I couldn’t move, and my mind blurred even further out of focus as the heat left the water.

  April returned to find me sitting listlessly in a tubful of water that had gone cold. I managed to smile wanly as she shook her head disapprovingly. She drained the tub, pulled me up by the arm and wrapped me in a large bath towel.

  “Sorry,” I croaked.

  “Shhh.” She cocked her head to one side, put her hands on her hips. “This is going to be tougher than I thought,” she said after a few moments. “I can see how difficult it is for you to talk, Robert, so don’t try. Just be silent and let me take care of you.”

  She guided me into the bedroom, where she took the spread off the bed and turned back the sheets, which I could see had been changed from an extra supply in one of the closets. She stripped the towel from me. Suddenly very tired, I flopped on the bed, and April covered me. Then, with the same lack of self-consciousness she’d displayed when undressing me, April began to take off her own clothes. When she’d finished, she carefully folded her clothes and draped them over the back of a chair. Again, April struck me as the most beautiful and desirable woman I’d ever seen. Her skin was smooth and creamy, in striking contrast to the large, earth-brown nipples on her full breasts. Bathed in the early-afternoon light, she glowed golden, like a Rembrandt painting.

  She came around to the other side of the bed, slid under the covers and unhesitatingly wrapped me in her arms. I knew that her actions had nothing to do with lust, and that absolutely no demands were being made of me. In my exhausted state, sex was the farthest thing from my mind. April was offering me her wholeness, her self. Lying in her arms, my face pressed against the soft flesh of her breasts, I could hear her heart beating; I felt safe.

  Then, suddenly, I was hard. Under the circumstances, my erection embarrassed me; but April smiled, reached down and gently began to stroke me. After a few moments she threw back the covers, lay on her back and spread her legs. With a surge of energy that amazed me, I mounted her and hungrily thrust myself into her body. It occurred to me that I was being serviced; in my present state of mind, I couldn’t imagine anyone—much less April—wanting me. Offering me her body was an act of love, not making love. Yet, surprising to me, she was ready, the inside of her body warm and wet.

  The insistent pressure of my lust built up inside my groin very quickly. I came in her with a groan, then collapsed on her chest. April held me in her with her legs wrapped aro
und my body, gently rocking me back and forth like a baby. Finally she sighed and unlocked her legs. I rolled to the side, but clung to her while she stroked my head. Now I felt even less of an inclination to talk—but it made no difference. There was no longer any need for words. I was still lost inside myself, but my anxiety was gone, and the state of my psyche was no longer important; April was all that mattered. In that state of mind, I drifted peacefully off to sleep.

  When I awoke an hour or so later, I found that April still lay beside me with her arms wrapped around my body. When I glanced up, I found her smiling, and I knew she hadn’t slept. I began to stroke her breasts and immediately grew hard again. This time we made love quickly, hungrily. April, her eyes closed and lips slightly apart, moaned softly as she moved under me in perfect rhythm with my body and mind. I came again, slept again.

  The next time I awoke, April was no longer beside me. Perhaps she’d sensed in some way—occult was the only word I could think of—that I no longer needed her so desperately. The smell of food drifted in from the other room, making my mouth water and stomach growl. I was filled with an almost overwhelming sense of gratitude. April had offered me herself to give me back myself. By taking me into her body, she’d brought me back into the world. I was whole again.

  I quickly showered, then dressed in my robe and went into the living room. April was dressed, singing softly to herself as she adjusted the burner flame under the warming cart Room Service had brought. The sight of her made a lump rise in my throat.

  “Voilà!” I cried, my voice cracking with emotion. “It speaks!”

  April turned and grinned. I wanted to go over to her, but something held me back. Garth had been absolutely right: I’d never experienced these emotions before, never felt so vulnerable. April seemed to sense that; she came to me and kissed me lightly on the mouth. “So I see,” she said. She gave me a wicked leer, added, “Now it looks as if everything is in working order.”

  “Nobody has ever given me such a gift,” I said quietly. “Thank you.”

  “Bite your tongue,” April said, going back to the warming cart to examine the Chateaubriand. “Offering charity has never given me orgasms.”

  “That was some spell. I think you’ve inspired me to study for the ceremonial magician-hood.”

  She finished basting the steaks with butter sauce, then turned back to face me again. She was no longer smiling. She came back across the room, put her hand over my heart, then placed my hand firmly on her left breast.

  “It’s no joke, Robert. Any witch—good or evil—recognizes that love is the most mysterious and powerful force in the universe. The human heart is its home, and that makes the heart the ultimate book of shadows. Today, for a short time, we opened and read ours together. We performed a ceremony, and we felt the power of that which cannot be put into words. It was a mutual celebration—the only way this ceremony can be performed properly. Both our lives are richer for it. The ‘spell,’ you see, is really very complex at the same time that it’s very simple.”

  “It’s a nice thought, April,” I said quietly. “But the bad guys cast spells from the same book.”

  She patted my chest, smiled again. “Ah, yes. This book of shadows is very complex indeed. But we were fighting the combined forces of one of the most theoretically powerful covens that has ever existed. They’ve been beating at your consciousness, believe me; and they emptied you. All it took was one poor, little old witch to fill you up again. It’s not that I’m stronger than they are; love is. Love is stronger than hate, good more powerful than evil.”

  “I’m sorry, April, but I don’t believe it,” I said softly, preferring frankness to condescension. “At best, I think it’s an even struggle.”

  “Believe? Robert, my love, I just proved it to you, didn’t I?” She playfully punched me on the arm. “I know it sounds simplistic, but it’s also true.” She shrugged. “I can’t explain the existence of evil when good is so obviously superior a force. It’s an occult mystery. Evil usually gets faster and more immediately usable results; it’s a much easier force to stalk and wield.”

  “I’ll bet you and Janet have some interesting discussions.”

  “Actually, we spend most of our time together discussing the care and feeding of African violets. Come on; lunch is ready. How’s your stomach?”

  “It’ll feel a lot better after I get some real food in it. I only have two more shots to go, and I think my body’s finally getting used to the stuff.”

  I set the table. April served the food, and we sat down to eat. “Well,” I said around a mouthful of succulent steak, “the bad guys are short two members of their coven. Three, depending on how much pressure Garth is putting on Sandor Peth.”

  April shook her head. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, Robert. I’m completely in the dark as to what you’ve been doing. Neither Garth nor Dr. Greene wanted to tell me what’s happened to you until you wanted to talk about it.” She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “But you don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready.”

  “It’s not a problem,” I said, and proceeded to fill April in on everything that had happened up to that point. It had all begun with my being hired to investigate the strange behavior of a Nobel laureate, and ended with my escape from one of his oversize fish tanks.

  “A Nobel Prize winner?” April interjected.

  I nodded. “It seems winning a Nobel Prize is no guarantee that you’re a good guy. Smathers and Kee were almost certainly real members of the coven. Peth is another member. These nice folks have been exploiting famous, wealthy and influential people. There’s no telling how many men and women they have under their control, offering them God knows what.”

  “They’ve been offered secret power,” April said evenly. “They’ve been fooled into believing that they can control anything and anyone they want, through witchcraft.”

  “That’s incredible. How can they be so damn stupid?”

  April looked at me for a long time, her eyes reflecting curiosity and, perhaps, a touch of impatience. “Robert,” she said at last, “sometimes you can seem incredibly dense. Don’t you see, even now, that it works? Those people you’re talking about are being totally controlled. They just don’t realize it—which is how most control works anyway. You’ve already proved that the coven has been able to corrupt, manipulate and destroy people, and then you say that you doubt your own proof; you still doubt the existence of the force they’re able to bring to bear on the deep mind.”

  She sighed and cocked an eyebrow. When I didn’t say anything, she continued: “You see, the white magician cultivates love because he or she knows that love is ultimately a more powerful force. The black magician stalks and wields evil because it offers quick results. Love offers freedom; evil offers slavery. You think the choice is simple, but it’s not. Most people unconsciously prefer to be slaves to their secret desires, rather than control and define their lives through love.”

  I smiled thinly. “The bad guys weren’t quite so subtle with me.”

  “What did they do to you, Robert?” April asked quietly.

  “Sensory deprivation,” I replied, surprised at how easy it had become to talk about it. “They put me in total isolation in what’s known as a hydrohypodynamic environment. They made a slight mistake by placing me in a situation that I could—and eventually did—associate with Smathers, but they obviously didn’t care; they figured they’d have me there as long as it took to break me.” I paused and carefully folded my napkin, placed it on the table in front of me. “You were right about pride. I remembered what you’d told me about the deep mind, and coming back by myself became a challenge for me.” I smiled. “If the truth be known, I much prefer your method.”

  “They killed Daniel,” April said softly. “Why do you suppose they didn’t simply kill you?”

  “I’ll give you a guess—but I think it’s a good one. No matter what Daniel found out—and I’m convinced he knew a lot to begi
n with, and found out even more—he didn’t talk to anyone outside his own belief system. His contacts were very strictly limited, so the coven could afford to kill him. With me, they had a different problem. They knew I’d smoked out Sandor Peth, and they knew I was in constant touch with the police, through Garth. What they couldn’t be sure of was just how much I really knew, or whom I’d told. They wanted to find out, then use me—if they could—to cover their tracks. And if they wiped me out in a bizarre fashion to make it a kind of rite, so much the better.”

  “But you got away,” April said intently.

  “Sure did,” I said with a grin. “Poof! Disappeared right into thin air; flew out on a broomstick I found in the janitor’s closet.”

  She didn’t laugh. “How did you get away, Robert?”

  “I was cut loose,” I replied seriously. “They had me bound with leather straps around my wrists and ankles. Somebody sliced through them, but I was either asleep or too zonked-out to realize what was happening at the time.”

  “But who would …” April paused, and I could see that she knew the answer. “Esobus,” she whispered.

  “Right. Esobus again. It had to be. Who else but a member of the coven would know where I was, and what was being done to me? It looks as though Esobus is turning out to be my guardian angel as well as Kathy’s. Kee tried to tell me that he was Esobus, but that’s nonsense. He was trying to get me to identify with Esobus and the coven; since it was his voice I was listening to, he played Great Pumpkin.”

  “It all seems so … strange.”

  “I assume that’s meant to be an understatement.”

  “But why would Esobus …?” April’s voice trailed off into puzzled silence.

  “I’ll find the answer to that question when I find Esobus.”

  “Oh, Robert,” April sighed, “you’re not going on with this, are you?”

  “Of course I am; I still have a client.”

  “Kathy is not your client,” April said with real exasperation. “She’s too young to hire you! She’s a minor, and I forbid you to look on her as your client!”