“Don't move!” he shouted.
And then he saw, like a column of oily black smoke, writhing up out of the pool behind her . . . Kaliya.
Lisette followed his gaze—and screamed.
“I told you!” Ratsada shouted. “I lose one soul, I get another!”
Kaliya continued to rise up, higher and higher, black water coursing down the sleek green tube of its body.
“Now I'll get yours!” Ratsada cried.
Lucien was frozen with fear—but not for himself. Lisette was kneeling in the very shadow of the beast.
He ripped open his shirt, then tore it off completely, exposing the scar that the serpent god had branded on his chest, years before.
Kaliya couldn't kill him; he'd sold his soul to the monster . . . for his life, and untold riches. Kaliya was sworn to protect him. If the demon broke the pact, then his soul would be his own once more.
Lisette screamed again, and in panic pointed over Lucien's shoulder. “Watch out!”
The point of the spear caught him just as he turned, piercing his right arm; the gun spun out of his hand and splashed into the water pouring from the pool. Ratsada's face was wet and gleaming.
“You sail with me now!” he exclaimed, still clutching the other end of the spear.
Lucien swung the short sword he still held, and the blade clanged against the iron shaft.
Ratsada yanked the spear back, then thrust it forward again. Lucien dodged to one side, hacking at the shaft. He could sense Kaliya, huge and malevolent, looming above him.
Ratsada's feet were solidly planted; he jabbed and feinted with the long, iron spear. The scar on his chest, like Lucien's, glowed faintly in the light of the candles . . . the candles that burned, undisturbed, through the wind, the water, and the towering evil now weaving in the air.
“First go this way, then go that way,” Ratsada taunted him. “In the end, still I will kill you.” He poked the point of the ancient spear at Lucien's face, and when he ducked it, Ratsada suddenly whirled in the other direction and drew the javelin back over his shoulder.
He was aiming it at Lisette. He threw it.
“No!” Lucien screamed, leaping into its path.
The spear went straight into his chest, impaling him with such force that he was carried backwards, into the circle of light, his feet dragging two of the candles over. He crashed backwards, onto Lisette, his hands clutching the cold iron pole protruding from his body.
Lisette's face suddenly appeared above him.
And above that, Kaliya.
Lisette was sobbing, and putting her own hands on top of his own.
Kaliya was rearing back, lighted from below by the one remaining candle, which burned with the brightness of a bonfire.
Choose, Lucien challenged the huge, looming serpent without even speaking. Choose which of your servants will die here.
The sleek head of the monstrous snake sank lower, but seemed unable to penetrate the aura of light. Its rounded eyes, sheathed with clear scales, bore into Lucien's.
Choose, Lucien thought again. The cold of the iron felt as if it were radiating outwards, stealing the fire from his limbs. He tried to breathe, but couldn't.
The serpent spit, in an impotent rage.
Choose . . . who dies. Me . . . or Ratsada..
The serpent's tongue, like a long black whip forked at the tip, lashed out.
But the light warded it off.
Ratsada bellowed.
And Kaliya, twisting in fury, hissed in Lucien's head, You die . . . you die . . . you die . . .
Their pact was broken—and in that same instant, Lucien could feel his heart abruptly stop beating. The coldness overpowered him. The last thing he saw was his sister bending over him, the silver cross dangling from her neck, before he closed his eyes . . . and died.
Lisette felt the life leave his body; his head fell back, his arms and legs drooped into the pool of water still flooding the temple floor.
The man who had thrown the spear was shouting orders at his crew.
“Kill her!” he was demanding. “Kill her too!”
But they were holding back.
With Lucien's body draped across her lap, and the demon Kaliya swaying above her, Lisette held up her bloody hands, in the light of the candle, and said, “This is the blood of Jesus Christ.”
The stigmata marks were deep and empurpled.
“Ask for His mercy, and you will receive it.”
Ratsada whirled around, looking for a fresh weapon to do the job himself; he snatched another spear away from one of the crewmen, then hurriedly turned and threw it at Lisette.
As soon as it touched the halo of light, it burst into flame . . . and disappeared.
Ratsada screamed in fury—and fear. How long would Kaliya put up with this?
“Kill her!” he shouted again, at the skeletons around him.
And one of them, finally, took a step toward her. But dropping the deadly machete it held, instead it stumbled, arms outstretched, into the circle of light . . . and vanished, in a burst of smoke and flame.
Nothing, not even a rag or bone, was left.
Another one threw his halberd away, and on stick-like legs strode purposefully into the same circle of light.
And was incinerated on the spot, a single flap of ash floating up toward the ceiling.
Lisette said, “Yes . . . you may free yourself, forever, from evil.”
And there was a clanking of metal, and a shuffling of feet, as the ragged crewmen, one after the other, tossed away their weapons, and staggered toward salvation.
“Stop!” Ratsada screamed, snatching at their arms, but the men simply shook him off, and plunged, sometimes headfirst, into the light. The chamber was filled with a fine blue smoke, that rose, like incense, before the towering figure of Kaliya.
“Stop them!” Ratsada appealed to his master. “Can't you stop them?”
But the nᾱga seemed powerless to prevent what was happening.
“Who will sail my ship?” Ratsada screamed. “Who will you give me?”
But the serpent didn't answer.
The last of the crewmen dropped his weapon, and after glancing back at his captain, smiled and fell forward into the light.
And was gone.
The flame from the candle, though surrounded by water, burned more brightly than ever. Its light was so bright that even Lisette had to lower her eyes. With aching hands, she dislodged the spear from her brother's chest, and let it fall to the floor.
The scar she had seen on him was gone now. But there was a gaping hole where the spear had entered; she put her hands over the wound, and pressed them to the flesh.
Was her power great enough? Was her faith?
Above her she could feel the sinuous body of the serpent, swaying in place. But she sensed too its furious impotence.
She bowed her head, and prayed for Lucien. She willed the blood from her wounds to enter his body . . . to course through his veins and restore him to life.
The water from the pool was no longer flowing, but had grown still around her. The haze of blue smoke was drifting toward the ceiling.
She held the body of her brother close, and thought of all the things he had told her . . . of their mother, of their house with the blue shutters, of the gifts that she, Lisette, had left him on the day he was due to return from the monastery. And she wondered how he could have become allied, as he must have done, to the evil of Kaliya. She hadn't been wrong—when she'd first seen him here in the temple, he'd carried the sign, he'd been burned by the candles, she had known he was unholy.
But he had changed. He had defied the powers of darkness. He had died defending her. And she would never know peace if she could not save him now.
But in her head, another voice, low and sibilant, was cleverly insinuating itself into her thoughts. It's too late for this, it said. Stop now, and I'll let you live.
And she knew it was the voice of Kaliya himself. In a strange way, she was glad to hear
it, glad to have the demon acknowledge that the battle was still on. She renewed her efforts, clutching at Lucien's inert body, infusing him with the power of light, the power of goodness, the power of God. She felt, as she had with the crippled weaver, like a kind of conductor, a channel through which a vital and healing current flowed. And now she felt it flowing through her again, and into the body of her brother.
The voice said, Stop what you're doing and I'll let you go free.
And she almost laughed. The light around her beat, as if with a pulse, and the monstrous snake pulled back, into the shadows.
She pressed even harder on her brother's skin, and when she took her hands away, the bloody hole from the spear was closed up and gone. When she brushed his lips with her fingers, his mouth opened, and he took a stertorous breath. When she laid a hand on his forehead, he opened his eyes.
There was a splash behind her, and a sudden flood of water. Kaliya, she surmised, had fled to his lair.
His servant, with the gold earring and the topknot, had also disappeared.
Lucien was staring up, his eyes following the silver cross that dangled from her neck. “I'm alive?” he asked, in a whisper.
“Again,” she said.
But it didn't seem enough. His fingers quickly went to his chest, where she thought he must be searching for the wound from the spear.
But instead he traced a rapid circle. He was feeling for the snake-like scar he had borne. When he didn't feel it, when he realized it was gone, a subtle smile came to his face.
“Now do you believe me?” she said.
“Yes . . . now I believe you . . . Lisette.”
“Lucien.”
CHAPTER
23
“I don't suppose you'll ever tell me where it went.”
“You wouldn't believe me if I did.”
Hallie ran her palm across the smooth, unmarked skin of his chest. It was as if the scar had never even been there. She laid her head against his shoulder, and stretched her legs the length of the bed.
“The shoot doesn't start until two tomorrow. Do you think we can sleep in?”
“Yes . . . I'll tell Sokhim to prepare a late breakfast.” He started to get up.
“Can't you tell her tomorrow morning?”
“I also have something I need to do.”
“No,” Hallie said, flopping back on the pillows, defeated again. “Aren't my charms ever enough to get you to forget about business?”
Lucien smiled as he got up and put on his robe. “This isn't business.”
“If it's pleasure, that's worse.”
“It's just something I need to attend to downstairs.”
“How long will it take?”
“Not long.”
“Wake me if I'm asleep.”
“Why?”
She languidly raised one arm to the headboard; the only thing she was wearing was the ring he'd given her in Bangkok. “I'll think of something.”
On the way downstairs, he left a note for Sokhim. Then he removed, from the pocket of his robe, the silver ring with the keys to the house on it. He unlocked the narrow door off the rear parlor, went down the stairs to the wine cellar, and then continued on, through the vault door with the combination lock, into his dressing area. Tonight, his first night back in New York, he didn't bother to put on the saffron robe, but stayed as he was. In the pool room, the temperature was at its usual eighty-five degrees.
The room was silent at first, but then the birds became aware of him. They left the feeder, which had been hung at the near end of the pool, and fluttered in circles, under the pale green light. Lucien observed them for a few moments, and then, once they had settled down atop one of the sandstone reliefs, he unrolled his woven mat and sat down, assuming the lotus position.
It wouldn't be easy to focus his thoughts tonight. It hadn't been easy for some time. Before leaving Thailand, there had been so many things to do. With Hun's help, the bodies of Kevin Molloy and Father Brendan had been removed from the temple the next day. Molloy was buried in sacred ground at the convent, to ensure his eternal deliverance, and the body of Father Brendan was cleansed, prepared, and placed in a casket; the casket was later delivered, in the back of Chula's Land Rover, to Lucien's plane. Before returning to New York, the plane had made a brief detour to Chicago, where Brendan's remains were returned to his family. They accepted the casket mutely, sadly, but as if they had been expecting it for years.
In New York, Lucien had made an even briefer stop at the office. There, he'd found out that Winifred Flint had more than lived up to his expectations; bolstered by what he had told her, her articles in The Sentinel had begun to explore the surprising symbiosis between Lord Sykes and Duncan Kwan, and the even stranger connections between Gold Prow, Ltd., a major shipping firm, and a little-known produce importer called Lady Birch Farms. Lucien trusted that, as more and more of the story came to light, and the larger newspapers picked up on her lead, the peculiar value and utility of Gold Prow, Ltd., to his competitors would virtually disappear. For this to transpire, it would just take time.
And time he now had.
Epstein, on hearing he was back in his office, marched in without even knocking and threw the bulky gray envelope, containing Lucien's will and other instructions, onto the desk. “If you ever do decide to take the company public,” he announced, “at least let me make out the game plan.”
“Agreed,” Lucien said.
Epstein then turned on his heel and marched right back to the open door. “And don't ever pull a stunt like this again.” He smiled, and closed, the door behind him.
It was good to be back, Lucien thought. And it would be even better when he saw Hallie that night.
They met for dinner at The Four Seasons, and afterwards Hun, not bothering to wait for instructions, simply drove them both back to the house on Beekman Place. Of course, he'd guessed exactly right. Upstairs, in the enormous antique bed, Lucien made love to Hallie in a way he'd never been able to before—without any inhibitions, without any doubts, without holding back in any way. Hallie's hands had explored, with wonder, his now-flawless chest, and Lucien had even considered, in one mad moment, telling her the whole story—before deciding this might not be the time to have her begin to suspect his sanity. Not now, not yet. There'd be plenty of time, if he later changed his mind, to disclose to her the real, if unbelievable, story of his life.
For the moment, there was only one other matter that he had to take care of here in the pool room, before going back upstairs and falling asleep with Hallie in his arms. And for that, he needed to concentrate. He had no idea if Mandy was even still here. He closed his eyes, turned his palms upwards on his knees, and took a long, deep breath. Then he exhaled, slowly, and tried to clear his mind of everything he'd been thinking about. It took several minutes, of deep breathing and relaxation, before he entered fully into the meditative state, but even then, there was no response. He waited, in the dim tranquility of the room, for Mandy to speak to him, but he heard nothing. He tried to make his mind even more open, more receptive, but the only sound in the subterranean chamber was an almost imperceptible lapping of the water in the pool. Finally, he spoke, through his thoughts, to her, saying her name and asking if she was there.
Again, there was no answer.
He didn't know if he should be glad or sorry. If she had found peace at last, he was happy for her. But he was sorry, all the same, that he had never had a chance to thank her, to tell her how she had helped him, and to wish her a proper good-bye. He said her name again, and even though he thought she was gone, he said, Thank you, and Wherever you are, I hope you are happy, and opened his eyes to the pool.
Just in front of him, the water was rippling, in small concentric circles, almost as if two invisible hands were swirling it.
Mandy, he thought, and so faintly he could barely hear it, he heard her voice say, Yes.
Do you know what happened?
Yes, I do.
And that I found my si
ster?
There was a pause, as if the connection were too difficult to sustain. Then he heard, But where is she now?
That was the hardest thing he had had to accept—Lisette's insistence on remaining in Thailand, where she felt her work was not yet done. He had been unable to persuade her to come to the States with him. “God wants me here,” she had said, and after all that had occurred, Lucien could see that she might have been right. However reluctantly, he had bowed to her will.
Mandy had followed his thoughts, and now the little circles slowed.
Can't you let me see you? Lucien thought.
I haven't got the strength anymore.
Is there anything I can give you? To thank you for all you've done for me?
It was as if the palest of shadows had passed across the water.
Yes, there is.
Name it—anything.
The ruby ring.
The ring? Lucien was astonished.
You said anything.
But Lucien still hesitated. It wasn't that he begrudged her the ring; it wasn't that at all. It was the history of the ring, its dreadful, deadly past; he was afraid it could still bring harm to anyone who somehow came into possession of it.
But Mandy had read his mind again, and said, What harm can it do me? I'm dead—remember?
And Lucien had to smile. She still sounded so much like the ghost he had known.
And I'm the only one who can take it safely out of this world. Her voice, though still faint, was now unmistakably serious and urgent.
How can I give it to you? Lucien asked.
Just throw it in the water.
Obediently, he slipped the ruby ring off his finger, then tossed it into the pool. For a moment, he saw it sinking into the shimmering green water, and then, in an instant, it was gone altogether. The little circles in the water gradually disappeared too.
Are you still there? he asked, after a few seconds.
I love it.
He smiled. Just be careful.
You too . . .
Are you leaving now?
Yes . . . for good.
I'll miss you.
There was a long, drawn-out silence, and then, as if from another dimension, her voice said, Good . . . do.
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