Lady Sativa

by Frank Lauria

  “We have been keeping odd hours,” Orient said. “Thanks for putting up with us.”

  “Oh, no trouble, doctor,” Sordi mumbled, but it was obvious that he was pleased. “Uh, what is it you’re working on anyway?” he asked casually.

  Sybelle glanced at Orient and then lowered her eyes.

  “Mostly some follow-up experiments.”

  Sordi waited, but Orient didn’t explain further. They were making a big effort to be nice, he decided as he cleared up the dishes, but they weren’t telling him anything. He hadn’t missed the guilty look Sybelle gave the doctor when he asked what they were doing.

  “Let’s go over the rhyme Carl left in his notes,” Sybelle suggested when Sordi was gone. “I’m certain we can get it all. I wonder why he didn’t explain it?”

  “There were only three pages found. Maybe the explanation was part of the missing thesis. Anyway, we don’t have it.” He folded his arms and examined the tips of his loafers. “Even if we can figure it out there’s no guarantee that it works.”

  “Now don’t be negative, darling,” she chided. “It’s the only thing we have to go on. Tell me what you’ve got so far.”

  Orient sighed. “Okay. Let’s go over it. The first thing mentioned in the formula is the mold of wheat and yeast. That’s easy. They’re both ergot substances. Then there’s mandrake, wolfbane, and poppy pitch. The last probably means raw opium gum. I’ll have to order that special through a government warehouse. The next line says to take an equal part of the beautiful bitch. ‘Equal part’ is the key proportion. Very important. It means one measure to quarter measure of the mold, herbs, and opium gum.”

  “But what in heaven’s name is the beautiful bitch business all about?”

  He smiled. “I’m sure it means Belladonna. Literally translated to beautiful woman. It’s one of the earliest psychedelic herbs used by man; especially by sorcerers, priests, and assassins.. The Borgia family boasted all three professions and refined its use. The extract can produce anything from sexual elation and expansion of consciousness to hallucinations, madness, and death. That’s why the correct proportions are so important.”

  “But that’s wonderful. You have the ingredients and the proportions. Why don’t you order the opium right away?”

  “There’s still two more lines to the formula.”

  “Oh yes. The Indian-rope business.” Sybelle bit her lip. “Did you manage to figure it out?”

  He put his hand in his pocket and took out his silver cigarette case. “That we have right here. Indian hemp. Also used since primitive times, but much more gentle and benign than belladonna. Usually it’s used as a mild stimulant or tranquilizer. But with correct use it can move one closer to profound spiritual awareness.”

  Sybelle screwed up her nose. “I can’t stand the smell of the smoke.”

  “Best thing in this case is to make a liquid extract. Enough to offset any unpleasant side effects from the belladonna.” He looked up at her. “But there’s still the last line.” He shook his head as he repeated the phrase. “Ten measures of that which the beast loves best, fr6m one who loves him more than all the rest.” He grunted and returned to studying the tips of his shoes. “Even if I could figure it out,” he said softly, “I don’t know where to find any.”

  Sybelle wrestled silently with the last line for a few minutes then gave it up. “I’m just hopeless,” she concluded. “I’ve never been any good at these word games. All I can play are Chinese checkers and poker.”

  Orient didn’t answer, but he noted that she had hit on exactly the word that described his condition. Hopeless.

  That night, Orient restlessly paced the floor of his bedroom, trying to dislodge his thoughts from a marsh of desolation. Despite Sybelle’s loyalty and help he felt isolated. In a week the moon would be full and his mind would pass through its violent mutation. He would become something other than human. And he would be completely alone.

  He stood at the window, looking out across the black, light-streaked river. If only Lily could come to New York. Perhaps she could help him resist the mutation.

  But he knew he was clutching like a drowning man. What he really wanted was her physical presence next to him. In the seven weeks they’d been apart her absence had grown inside him like a cactus, prickling his impatience.

  He wondered if she, too, was impatient. She hadn’t taken advantage of Germaine’s trip to try and see him. He took a deep breath and pushed the thought aside. Lily wasn’t really able to travel during the full moon. During those periods she herself needed care. It would have been a shambles. Him out of control and Lily terribly frightened. He sat down heavily on the bed and rubbed his sleepless eyes with his knuckles. No, it was a good thing she hadn’t come.

  But the certainty didn’t blunt the sharp need he felt for her. He could remember every detail of her warm, golden body; the comic freckles at the tip of her nose, the joyous explosion when their minds touched while making love. He opened his eyes and regarded the telephone on the night table. It would help ease his depression to just hear her voice.

  As he continued to stare at the phone, however, his instincts were held back by doubt. He didn’t want to intrude on her privacy. He leaned back and rested his head on the pillow. Best to just forget it. He’d have to wait until her experiment with Germaine was finished.

  Loneliness and curiosity kept the image of her shimmering bronze hair and smoky amber eyes alive in his mind. He just wanted to talk to her, tell her he was thinking about her. He wondered what they were working on that demanded so much of her time. Annoyance jabbed at his thoughts as he recalled Germaine’s polite conversational fencing with Sybelle. Not only had he refused to help, but he seemed to dismiss Hazer’s death as unimportant. And Maxwell seemed to be pushing for a confrontation. His annoyance flared to anger as he remembered the boy’s mocking smile. The suspicion that they were conducting an occult experiment in London returned.

  The anger spurred his sense of resolution and he sat up, picked up the receiver, and dialed the long-distance operator.

  As he waited for the operator to ring back with his call he considered canceling out. But instead he lay back on the bed and continued to wait.

  The sound of the phone startled him out of his reverie and he let it ring a few more times, while he collected himself, before picking up the receiver.

  “Yes?”

  Her voice sent a rush of emotions into his throat and he hesitated. “Lily?” he managed. “It’s Owen.” “Oh. Where are you?”

  “In New York. I wanted to talk to you,” he said lamely. Now that she was on the line he couldn’t remember what it was he wanted to tell her.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Sure,” he lied. “How’s the experiment?”

  “Oh it’s... we should be finished in a week or so. After the next moon period. I’ve been getting impatient for it to end. So we can be together. But there’s still some things. I’ve already booked my seat for New York, though.”

  He tried to sound enthusiastic. “Great. Hope it works out.”

  “I’ll send you a telegram when I’m definitely on my way,” she whispered. “I’ve got to ring off now. Take care of yourself until I get there. I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too,” Orient said but the line was dead.

  He put the receiver down very slowly, stretched out on the bed, and closed his eyes.

  Sleep refused to come, however, and his thoughts slogged wearily through the darkness. He’d been unable to communicate anything to Lily. He felt farther away from her now, as if their telephone conversation had created a new barrier. There was already the rise of a full moon between them. And he understood that he’d have to cross that tide of despair alone. The knowledge taunted his sleepless thoughts until dawn.

  Lily had just completed her physical preparations, and was daydreaming along with the radio music while she waited for Maxwell. She was anticipating long, pleasure-filled days with Owen in New York. Everything about h
im seemed so right. It was the first time in her life she had ever felt so secure about her feelings.

  Ever since she’d been a young girl she’d been searching for that security. Not in the sense of permanency, for she’d learned from experience that the only certainty in life is change. But she had to be sure that her emotions weren’t being squandered on a trivial attachment.

  When she was a little girl she had been spoiled by her parents, but after their death she shunned the material comforts she’d inherited. Instead she’d embarked on. her search. At first it took her through the intrigues of academic honors and an important career as a television journalist. Her title ushered her easily into the places where money and power called the tune and no one was tone-deaf.

  What she heard didn’t satisfy her, however, and her restlessness took her to the flash and flattery of in clubs, fashionable drugs, sexual exploration, and pop notoriety. Her affairs with Europe’s most talented and successful men were duly doted over by the media and she was photographed in the company of film directors, rock stars, and various renegade Members of Parliament.

  When that period of her life began to wane, she flirted with a choice of a brilliant marriage or a career in politics.

  The surface of her life was as glossy as a magazine, but she was becoming disappointed by the emptiness of its content.

  It was then that she had her crisis. She’d always undergone unusual symptoms during the moon phase and as she grew older she came to realize that it was precognition of future events that was causing the disturbance within her.

  For a long time she’d been very careful during the time the moon was full, but she suddenly decided to explore her psychic potential. It seemed like a lark to use her powers as a medium.

  The press dubbed her the Moon Lady and she” began answering requests for readings during the lunar phase. But then something happened to change the readings from a fun experiment to a nightmare.

  The first few sittings were mildly successful, but she suffered unpleasant side effects. Then the sittings started getting out of control. One night she was held by a force that seemed to buffet her very soul with its intensity and she broke down.

  While she was recuperating at home, Count Germaine came to visit her. He dropped in casually for tea and before the afternoon was over he had diagnosed exactly what had happened to her. The count had always been part of her family and childhood life and she continued to see him. She’d always been grateful that in the past he hadn’t felt the obligation to advise her, unlike so many other friends of her family. But until that afternoon she hadn’t realized he was so completely versed in the arts of the occult.

  Not only did he teach her how to control, direct, and protect her psychic powers during the lunar phase, but he also gave her a new purpose—the quest she’d been seeking all her life.

  Then, quite by chance, she discovered another of the count’s secrets, and she decided that above everything else, she wanted to share that secret with him. He refused flatly at first, but she persisted until he accepted her as an apprentice.

  There had been a time when she felt she could fall in love with Count Germaine, but as she learned the arts of his science she understood that her most profound emotion had yet to be touched.

  It had been Dr. Owen Orient who’d touched that emotion. After years of searching, it had taken her only a few minutes to know that she was in love with the soft-spoken American.

  She had sensed the serene strength in his blazing green eyes and she had come to admire his honesty and total lack of concern for material gain. And when they had made love she’d understood that what they shared went far past physical feeling. She recalled the way his mouth turned up at the corners, so that he seemed to be always smiling gently at some unspoken humor, and smiled to herself at the memory.

  When the phone rang, she assumed that Maxwell was calling to tell her Germaine was ready. The sound of Owen’s voice threw her into a sudden confusion.

  She couldn’t tell him the truth when he asked her about the experiment. The anxiety and guilt of the deception caused her to cut the conversation short.

  She was immediately sorry after she hung up and impulsively started to call him back. But then she replaced the receiver.

  It was no use, she told herself, she’d only be forced to deceive him again. She wasn’t sure he could accept the truth about what she was doing. It was best to wait until the rite was finished. Her mind went back to his call. Somehow she thought she’d detected a fleeting note of need in his voice. She stood up quickly and turned the radio up louder. She couldn’t allow herself the luxury of personal feelings right now. It was vital that she put Owen out of her mind.

  She had to bring her full mental and physical concentration to bear during this last period. Every thought, every emotion, every desire, every conscious moment had to be devoted to the ritual she’d contracted to perform.

  13

  Sybelle arrived early at Orient’s house the next morning, bright and determined to rouse his spirits.

  “All right, darling,” she called as she flounced into the studio. “I’m ready. Did you make a list? “

  “A list of what?” Orient grunted, looking up from the tray of slides he was studying. A night without sleep had left him with a hangover and he wasn’t prepared for Sybelle’s bustling energy.

  “A list of the ingredients for the formula. The cure, remember? We’ll go shopping this morning for the herbs and things and you can order the poppy seed or whatever it is you need. Did you work out the last line in the rhyme?”

  He shook his head.

  “I thought maybe it could be a piece of moon rock, or something like that. Do you know anyone at the space agency?”

  Orient smiled and put the tray down on the table. “I think the price tag is too high for us right now. I’ll order the opium, but I don’t think the incomplete formula will work.”

  “Who knows? In a crisis you have to try everything. Now let’s go. I know a lovely herb store downtown that should have everything you need.”

  The sun glinted off the blue surface of the Hudson River like a bright cosmetic, giving the waters an unpolluted sheen. As they drove, Sybelle maintained a running line of patter, like a disk jockey, making it impossible for Orient to tune her out and withdraw into the comfortable shell of his depression.

  “You’ll see. I’m positive the formula will clear up those dreadful symptoms. And then as the moon phase is over, we can get after Anthony. Do you think it’s a good idea to hire private detectives? Perhaps not. Much wiser to handle it ourselves. Don’t you think so?”

  “It would be difficult to explain a werewolf to a private detective,” he agreed morosely.

  “You’re perfectly right, dear. And while we’re waiting for your opium to get here we can go through a few tests of my own.”

  “Tests?”

  “You know, a psychic reading. After all, I am New York’s leading medium. And I know my business. Agreed?”

  “You win,” Orient sighed. He didn’t have the will to argue the point. The days were getting short and he would try anything.

  Sybelle directed hirr to Khiel’s Herb Pharmacy on lower Third Avenue; there they were able to find mandrake, wolfbane, and belladonna among the hundreds of exotic roots and herbs stocked in the century-old shop.

  From there Orient drove further downtown to a medical warehouse and ordered three hundred grams of pure poppy gum. He was prepared for the inevitable checks on his credentials and the ten or so forms to be filled out.

  Opium such as he needed formed the base for all of the highly addicting drugs and was under rigid control.

  “I was beginning to think you took a cab home,” Sybelle complained when he got back to the car.

  “They just wanted to make sure I wasn’t an illegal drug dealer. They had to phone my name to a central computer that checked my record nationwide.”

  “Did they tell you when it will be delivered?” she asked anxiously. “I’ve be
en making some calculations and....”

  “Don’t worry,” Orient grinned. “Only four or five days. In time for the next full moon. We can mix the potion then.” He started the motor and pulled the Rolls away from the curb. Somehow the physical activities of the morning had eased his depression considerably. “Lucky for us they use computers now. Otherwise it would have taken a month.”

  “Well, anyway that’s taken care of. And in a few days I want to give you the Sybelle Lean treatment. All right?”

  “Anytime you say,” he murmured. She wasn’t being unreasonable. He knew that she was highly skilled. Her empathetic powers gave her an amazing ability to make predictions or give advice.

  “Call me within the next few days then,” she said. “When you’re feeling cooperative and alert.”

  But as the time drew nearer to the moon phase, Orient’s alertness was crumbled to dust by a grinding sleeplessness that became a nightly adversary. He tried everything he’d learned: physical exercise, Yoga concentration and flushing techniques, hot showers—none of it helped. He could only manage an hour or two of rest a day. And then the dreams came, leaving him more exhausted than before.

  As the days passed, he gradually lost the ability to perform routine activities. His desire to maintain his spiritual disciplines eroded. He lost touch with Sybelle and avoided contact with Sordi. He spent most of his hours walking the streets, completely withdrawn in his insulated desolation.

  He tried to find distractions, but he was unable to sit in a movie house for more than fifteen minutes. Even the time required to eat a regular meal extended past the” narrow limits of his patience. The only amusement he found that could keep him occupied for a few moments at a time were pinball machines.

  He realized his sanity was disintegrating, but he kept moving through the city. All function burned out, but his muscles and motor drives accelerated in compensation. As if sheer motion justified the existence of his mindless parts.