* * *
HER FATHER WAS an accomplished politician and merchant, a powerful diplomat and a kind man. Her mother was clever, well-educated, happy and lovely. It was not hard to be a dutiful daughter under their doting parentage. Surely their family was the most blessed of all the Faithful in a city fabled for its wealth and beauty, where people came as supplicants from all over the world.
She had been educated as well as any man, and better than most. When she became troubled by mystical dreams and visions, her father searched for sorcerers, soothsayers and magicians of all nationalities to help decipher their meaning.
Many were charlatans. A few were true adepts, and she learned from each one. She became skilled in a variety of disciplines, although each teacher puzzled greatly over the mysteries that she presented to them.
One day, her father came to her and said, “Daughter, I have found a kind man for you, for it is past time you married.”
By then she understood enough of her own nature to know what answer she must give him. “Father,” she said, “I cannot.”
“It is your duty,” he said. He frowned, though she could tell it was from concern and not anger.
She knelt before him and bent her head. “Am I not a good daughter and a faithful child of Allah?”
“You are.”
“And do you know that I love you?”
“Most assuredly.” He passed a gentle hand over her hair. “You are second in my heart only to your mother.”
“Then know this, my father. I would give my life for you if you asked. But I cannot marry your kind man, for I have a task to do. Allah in His infinite wisdom has seen fit to make me incomplete. I must look for the other half of my soul. . . .”
Her father listened and believed, and so they searched again, and tales spread of their inquiries.
[Mary stirred as an echo of a bone-splitting pain throbbed in her chest. She surfaced partway from the dream, pressed her hands against her breastbone, and pushed the memory of pain away as she fought against the pull of awakening.]
. . . And she pulled out of her body.
Marveling, she stood beside her physical body, which was dark-haired and strange looking, and clad in a plain tunic and trousers of homespun cotton. Her physical self sat, eyes closed, in a relaxed cross-legged position, mirroring the posture and position of her elderly teacher.
Then she held up her hands and stared at them in wonder. They appeared crystalline in the heavy amber afternoon. The astral replica of her teacher’s slight, frail body joined her. “Celestial Daughter,” her teacher said. “You have done well. I am pleased.”
She gave her teacher a polite bow as she observed the niceties of his culture. “This person is unworthy of such high praise,” she said. “It is much easier to talk in the mind voice when one is skyborne, honored one.”
“It is easier once one masters the technique,” said her teacher. “But practicing when one is skyborne can be hard on one’s chi, or life force. Therefore we shall continue to work on the mind voice when we are in body. Aiyyee.”
She turned her attention from the window. “Yes, honored one?”
The replica of his face shimmered, as he seemed to smile. “I could see that you carried yourself with grace and light. Like this you shine like the morning. This humble person is honored beyond measure to teach the Daughter of the Sun.”
She returned his smile. “You dismiss yourself much too fast, honored one. Of all the would-be teachers who have made such great claims to my father, only you have shown that you have the true wisdom of the realms.”
“No, child,” he said. “I only have some small store of knowledge. The mysteries you present have shown my true ignorance. It has been a marvelous teaching, for which I am grateful. I can but pass on to you what little I know. Now we must get to our lesson before we tire. As you know, there are four realms—the inner realm, the physical realm, the psychic realm and the celestial or heavenly realm. Each realm is distinct, yet they are intricate in their entwinement.”
“And humans are connected in some aspect to all four levels,” she murmured. “So true healing must occur on all four levels as well.”
“Correct. There are creatures native to each realm. As in the physical realm, some are beneficial and others are not. All are in balance. In the psychic realm we have some of the greatest, most beneficent forces on earth. Here we have the dragons. . . .”
[The amber afternoon faded as Mary half surfaced from sleep again. She stirred, her pulse sounding loud in her ears.
The car slowed. Cold air rushed in as Michael rolled down the window. There was the exchange of voices and the greasy smell of fast food and coffee. She waited until the car sped up again. Then she reached for sleep and the dream images once more, yearning for the spacious home in the city by the sea, the nurturance of tranquility and learning, the love and understanding of a family, all long since gone to dust.]
. . . And she stood in her sumptuous bedchamber. It was furnished with thick patterned rugs, mahogany tables inlaid with ivory and gold, brass lamps and glazed pottery, embroidered cushions, a divan and her bed surrounded by gauze curtains.
Carved, ornate shutters were thrown open to the breeze that blew in from the sea. Beyond the shutters she could see a cloud-studded sky and a wide, private terrace.
The terrace was one of her favorite places, suspended above the city like a jeweled pendant above a woman’s breasts. She spent much time on the terrace, gazing at the fishing boats and the merchant ships that sailed in the harbor. Sometimes she took her meals there. Often she sat reading, or in thought.
The morning was drenched with sunshine and the promise of heat. Her maidservant had laid out a breakfast of fruit and bread and sweet tea on the outside table. It was an ordinary morning like so many others, filled with many tasks, and she had grown hungry.
She took a step toward the terrace. Dread swept over her body, an unreasoning gush of terror that dried her mouth and froze all rational thought. A trembling set in her bones as though she were a deer surrounded by hounds.
It might be an ordinary day but something terrible waited for her on the balcony, something so terrible everything inside of her wailed from it.
But it was such an ordinary day her feet took another step and then another, and no, no, no, she couldn’t go out on that balcony, she couldn’t bear it, and she couldn’t stop it either, because the terrible thing had already happened—
A male figure, radiant as a black sun, stepped from the balcony into her room. “Mary, Mary, quite contrary,” said the figure. “You’ve started to mess around with things you might have been happier to leave alone.”
She gasped and gasped, but there was not enough air.
On the balcony the sword had come down. It had almost split her in two. She’d wrapped her arms around her torn body and held her own intestines as they spilled out. Her maidservant had screamed, the whole world had screamed, and the household guards had come running but they had been far too late—
“You see,” said the figure as he walked toward her, “after this afternoon I rather thought you’d begin digging around in the past. So I thought I would help you out and send you this dream. You know, do my bit to nudge the memories along because you’ve made a bad mistake, Mary. You’re putting your trust in the wrong man. He used to be your mate, but he’s been insane for centuries. He tried to have you kidnapped in South Bend today, and he’s the one that slaughtered you like a cow in this past life. While I might not have had the most altruistic reasons for doing so, I was the one who tried to save your life. Have you remembered any of that yet, Mary Mary?”
She stood hunched over, arms wrapped around her violated torso, head turned sideways to stare at the black diamond man. The crack in her body shone like a golden river. He glittered in its reflection. Her face contorted in a scream but no sound emerged.
“Oh look.” The figure cocked his head. “You’re bleeding energy again. And it’s already been nine centuries. A
wound of the spirit as deep as yours can only come from your mate. I would work hard at getting away from him if I were you.”
Chapter Fifteen
WHEN THE MAN had completed his agenda in the spiritual realm, he anchored himself back in his body and opened his eyes.
He had stretched out on one of the limousine seats, and he bit back a groan as he struggled to sit up. Every joint ached, even those in his fingers. He put his elbows on his knees and rubbed at his face, taking heed of the warning. Already, after just a few days, his current body was almost worn out.
Strange noises penetrated his awareness. He looked over his hands. He had left Justin handcuffed to one of the doors. The young human was eating sushi and melon balls, eyes glued to the flat-screen that no longer played CNN but instead a black-and-white Japanese monster movie.
The man looked from the television to the plate of food on Justin’s lap.
“What?” Justin said with his mouth full. He shrugged. “You locked me up with a fridge and a TV.”
“I sure did, didn’t I?” the man said.
He started to chuckle. Come to think of it, he was starving. He took one of the plates from a nearby container and served himself salmon and crackers, sushi, a few melon balls and a petit four. He offered the plate of petit fours to Justin, who took one and put it on the plate at his knee.
“You know,” Justin remarked with a flash of those charming dimples, “I’ve been awfully curious about that Royal DeMaria.”
The man grinned as he tucked into his meal. “Have you ever had icewine?”
“Yes, but not one of that caliber. How much did it cost, a thousand a bottle?”
“Closer to four.”
Justin’s eyes widened. He chewed, swallowed and said, “Why the hell not.”
The man opened the bottle and poured them each a glass. Justin thanked him, took a sip and breathed, “Wow.”
“Yes,” the man said, smiling. “Wow.”
They finished the bottle. The man opened a second, and they finished that one too. Then, although he cut Justin off from having any more alcohol, the man moved on to the champagne while Gamera and Godzilla rampaged across the flat-screen.
Some time later, after he had gorged until he could not eat another bite, the man confided expansively, “People are idiots, you know.”
“Why’s that?” Justin asked, rubbing his eyes.
“Only the human species would produce so many nuclear weapons they could destroy the world not once, but many times over.” Champagne sloshed as the man gestured with his wineglass. “They’re bright enough to make them but too stupid to quit. I don’t get it.”
“You might have a point there,” Justin admitted. Stress had deepened the lines bracketing his eyes and corners of his mouth, and his face was smudged with weariness.
“You look tired,” said the man. “Did you get a nap?”
Justin’s eyes narrowed. He said, “That’s an awfully damn solicitous question for a kidnapper.”
“I have my reasons.” Ignoring a queasy sense of nausea and how his stomach felt stretched and overfull, he took another drink and continued. “Only the human species would continue to landfill reusable products in a world of diminishing resources, and spray millions of acres of arable land with pesticides until the land is virtually dead and nothing, not even earthworms or insects, can grow or live on it any longer.”
“Okay, let me try one for you,” Justin offered. “Only humans would haul their garbage out to the oceans then fish in the same oceans and eat what they caught.”
The man laughed. “That’s a good one. Only humans would mow down miles of rain forests while maundering on about the need to develop and produce clean energy and cut down on air emissions. All of this, while at the same time they fight to keep from bringing their current power plants up to reasonable safety or cleanliness standards. I ask you, how logical is this behavior?”
“I must admit, not very.”
“Honestly. I could go on, but it’s clear I’ve had too much wine.” He pointed at Justin. “Not that I don’t like people. I do. I just believe in calling a spade a spade, and people are fucking morons. Their pets have more sense.”
“Yeah, I miss my dog.” Justin sighed. “My bed, my Tony, my life.”
The man squinted at the last of the champagne. An inch of liquid fizzed at the bottom of the bottle. What the fuck. He was already drunk. He took a swig and swiped at his mouth. “Then you gotta smile at groups like SETI who search so hard for extraterrestrial intelligence. They’re constantly sending out messages of greeting to the cosmos. Is it any surprise no one’s responded when you look at the current conditions on Earth? For Christ’s sake, the human race isn’t even toilet trained.”
“You sure don’t sound as if you like people much,” Justin muttered. “In fact, you sound just like a predator.”
The man finished off the bottle. “Go ahead, tell me—how does a predator sound?”
“Oh, you know, they talk of their prey with a certain amount of contempt.” Justin’s smile was edged, his dark, intelligent eyes hard. “It’s like how abusers justify their actions in their head. It’s never the abuser’s fault. They like to maintain the fiction that they are victimized and put-upon. Those they abuse are too fat, or too stupid, or too infuriating, or unworthy for one reason or another. That makes it all okay for the abuser to crack someone across the face, or to attack someone verbally.”
The man’s eyebrows rose. “You have a point. Maybe I’m just getting old and crotchety.”
“You’re what, all of twenty-eight?” Justin laughed.
The man said in a soft voice, “I thought Sodom and Gomorrah were kicking towns. I helped to destroy the city of Troy, and I taught vivisection to the Babylonians. I’m probably the only person left alive in the world who could be called an expert in ancient Egyptian torture techniques.”
Justin’s eyes had widened as the man spoke. “Ooh-kay.”
“You got to love that Middle East,” the man murmured. He licked a smear of chocolate off of one thumb. “Those folks know how to put a special spin on their cruel streak.”
“I tell you what,” Justin said. “I’m going to write a book. Forget about Interview with the Vampire. I’m going to entitle mine Drunken Binge with a Murderous Whack-Job. Think that could sell?”
The man considered. “I think it has a certain ring.”
“When I hit the New York Times bestseller list, I’ll style my hair in a pageboy and wear lots of black and lace. We’ll have to sell the condo and get something with more atmosphere so I can drape myself broodingly around on the furniture. Tony should start writing poetry. We’ll be all the rage, new to the literary horror scene, you know, yet somehow soothing in our familiarity.”
The man threw back his head and burst out laughing. “Damn, I do like you.”
“That is not as reassuring as one might think,” Justin said.
As they talked, the limousine had reached Grand Rapids. Guided by GPS, the car cruised through the streets in the quiet predawn. It pulled into a motel parking lot and stopped outside the office.
“Excuse me,” the man said to Justin, who had turned silent and grim. He reeled out of the vehicle. The nausea grew worse, so he stuck his finger down his throat and vomited the contents of his stomach by the back wheel. Once he was sure that he had his equilibrium back, he walked into the office, while his driver waited with the engine running.
Inside he hypnotized the sleepy desk clerk and rifled through her memories. He was still too drunk to be as careful as he should, so unfortunately, she might end up with brain damage after he was done. Once he determined which room was farthest away from potential witnesses, he took a master key and walked to it. Tame as a housecat, the limousine purred behind him as the driver kept pace.
He was so close behind Mary, he could taste it. He hated to take time away from the direct hunt, but it couldn’t be helped. He had been expending too much energy. He had coordinated the hunt for her o
n several different levels, sent two dreams and committed various murders, and he hadn’t rested in over a week.
Originally he had wanted to keep Justin as leverage, but the kind of marathon output he had been engaged in took its toll. He had to use whatever means he could to recoup his flagging energy.
At first running into Justin at Mary’s house had appeared to be a windfall. It seemed like a sensible strategy to take Justin hostage, and to throw his old dead host into Mary’s house and set it on fire. The news of her burning house should have brought her racing back home, where he had been waiting, ex-husband in tow.
Things hadn’t gone as planned. Mary had not only been acting unpredictably, but she was now reunited with the warrior. Worse, they were moving faster than he had anticipated. With the first dream, he had been keeping his promise to Astra. That second dream he sent to Mary had been a judgment call in terms of energy expenditure, but if he had managed to rattle her enough to slow her down, it might have been worth it.
In the meanwhile, he needed to take some much needed time to recoup.
He had learned a lot by experimenting in the early years.
In more mellow times he could inhabit a healthy adult body with relative safety for up to twenty or even thirty years. When he was able to take his time, he could groom a future host and harvest not only a body but also the host’s finances and resources at his leisure, adding them to his own separate estate, which he maintained with numbered Swiss accounts, property managers and accountants.
In periods of crisis he rushed through his hosts at a more precipitous rate, especially when he indulged in his tendency to overeat and drink during times of stress.
He found that the ideal method was to take over a body and rest for a few days or a week, to let the meat recover from the death of its natural spirit and adjust to its new owner. When that couldn’t happen, the body didn’t have time to adjust properly and tended to fail at a faster pace, especially when he was involved in strenuous activity. In fact, the more energy he had to expend, the faster the meat deteriorated.
Rising Darkness (A GAME OF SHADOWS NOVEL) Page 15