by Frank Lauria
“Six or seven days.”
He explained the details, but she wasn’t listening. What he’d suggested was so difficult to accept. Of course, it made sense. Eight million was a lot of money. Especially for a man who dared tamper with the rite of Serpent Fire. But there was something else. She could see that Owen wasn’t well. The flesh under his jutting cheekbones was worn away and his eyes shone moist and over-bright from inside their hollow sockets.
He was rocking back and forth in his chair as he spoke, unable to suppress the anxiety that lined his wide mouth.
She noticed his sweater and trousers hanging loosely on his thin frame and realized that the feverish intensity that burned like green flares in his eyes was consuming his strength. She wondered if it wasn’t consuming his mind as well.
The question smoldered under her thoughts long after she’d left his house.
Orient was disappointed.
He could see that Sybelle didn’t completely believe him and the awareness plunged him deeper into the certainty that he was alone.
He knew he was drawing on the last fund of energy left to him. The reflex that implied that he should will himself to go on was almost exhausted. Love ended, friendship shaky, and betrayed by his own body, he was left with nothing but that diminishing spasm of will. He knew there was no hope of finding a cure. Remember ten measures which the beast loves best, from one who loves him more than all the rest. Even if he could grasp the answer to the riddle, he couldn’t come up with anyone who fit that description.
As the days passed his depression was amplified by fear. He was sure he was the next victim on the maniac’s list. And he knew that Germaine was hunting him. Every path in his destiny seemed to converge on disaster, and e was helpless to change his course. He kept himself busy in his laboratory, working methodically to prepare three strong doses; arming himself against the next attack of the disease. But he understood that if Germaine didn’t find him, the vibration of the full moon would; and his preparations were as vain as the flailing of a hooked fish.
In a week, Sordi brought him the results of the tests they’d run on the talcum.
“That stuff is a mixture of ordinary talcum, dried blood, and a trace of aromatic mushroom,’’ he reported “Toxic variety.’’
“Lethal poison?”’
Sordi nodded sadly. “Yes. But what’s it for? Your disease?”
Orient’s attention was diverted from the typed report by his remark.
“What do you know about my sickness?”.
Sordi hesitated. He hadn’t meant to blurt out what he’d deduced from the doctor’s lab requests. And he wasn’t prepared for such a startled reaction. He felt a twinge of foolishness at having blundered into his privacy. “I knew that the blood samples you wanted me to check were yours,” he said. “And I saw the blood cells were mutated.”
Sordi regretted his impulsiveness when he saw the drawn, defeated smile on his face. “It’s true, I am sick,” he said. “I guess I should have told you sooner, but I didn’t want to alarm you.”
“But that’s a fantastic attitude,” Sordi protested. “If you’re sick, you need care. You haven’t eaten or slept right- for weeks. Why not check into a hospital? At least let your friends help you. Does Sybelle know?”
Yes. But there’s nothing any physician can do right now. The disease just has to run its course.”
“Well, at least keep up your strength. Why don’t you let me fix you a hot meal?”
“You’re right,” he sighed. “I’ve been pushing too hard. Some food would probably give me some stamina.”
“Of course. Isn’t there anything else I can do for you?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Yes. If anyone comes looking for me, I want you to let me know.”
“If who comes looking for you?” Sordi demanded.
“Any stranger. It’s important that I don’t see anyone until I work out the cure for the sickness.”
“I’ll remember,” Sordi promised. He retired grudgingly. He knew the doctor was still being evasive and the fact that he wasn’t being told stung his pride.
But he went about his work resolutely, determined to show Orient he could be an effective friend in a crisis.
During the next week Orient’s despair eroded into apathy. ‘The slim chance that the talcum might be the missing ingredient in the potion was negated by the chemical report. The presence of poison mushroom rendered it useless for the cure.
He spent days shut up with his manuscripts of occult science and his psychiatric journals, following up any reference he could find to Tantric Yoga and the rite of Kundalini. There was very little. After a while, he even stopped searching through the papers and microfilm and just sat at his desk for hours, staring at the network of lines in his aged, puckered hands.
Sordi came in one afternoon to interrupt his brooding. “There was a girl here a few minutes ago asking for you,” he announced. “I told her you were away.”
For a moment, Orient didn’t respond, then a spark of expectation flashed across his dried hopes. “Did she leave her name?” he asked suddenly.
“No. She wouldn’t leave any name. But she said you were expecting her. Tall girl with reddish gold hair. Very nice….”
Orient was on his feet and heading for the door before Sordi could finish his description. He took the stairs three at a time and ran out of the house into the street.
Both sides of Riverside Drive were completely empty. Confusion doused the brief flare of energy as he wondered which way she’d gone. Then he saw something on the sidewalk. A yellow rose.
He went over to pick it up and saw another, a few feet away. Beyond the second flower, at the corner, there was a third. When Orient reached the third rose he saw her.
She was sitting on a stoop, holding a bouquet of yellow roses, waiting for him.”
“I was afraid I was going to have to use them all up before you found me,” she said.
He tried to control the wildfire that spread through/ his mind as her smile touched his fierce need.
“I want to help you, darling,” Lily whispered, holding the flowers out to him. “And I want us to be together. Do you want to try?”
As Orient took the flowers, he noticed that their velvety petals were almost the same shade as her golden skin.
19
Lily changed many of Orient’s habits in the weeks that she was with him. His appetite for food, for play–and for her –increased, stimulated by her vibrance.
They went window-shopping, visited museums, dined out, and made love with equal enthusiasm. Every small event became an important part of their communication.
Lily liked to fill the house with music as soon as she awoke and the snatches of tunes and chords seemed to underscore the significance of their hours together.
Even Sordi was relaxed and enjoyed the presence of a guest in the house. He outdid himself in preparing exotic meals and pampered Lily outrageously. She in turn showered him with attention and compliments and the two of them formed a rapid alliance, easing the tension that had grown between the two men, as Sordi was reassured that everything would be all right again.
Sybelle was also reassured. She was captivated by Lily’s lack of pretension and delighted by her companionship. She, too, became a warm friend and bubbled optimistically about finding a cure for Orient’s sickness.
But although Lily’s closeness had dispersed Orient’s depression, he couldn’t bring himself to be completely honest with her. He was too acutely aware of the passage of time; and the possibility that Lily could be an ironic idyll before his execution.
“Mmnn, look how nicely the flowers dried.”
Orient lifted his head from the pillow and peered at the vase of yellow roses on the table across the room.
Their petals had darkened in death and stiffened like starched cloth.
“They’ll keep for years now that they’re like’ that,” Lily gloated, nuzzling his ear. “I’m glad. My first gift will last to haunt you. Ev
en if you throw me out in the street”
“Sounds complicated,” he murmured lazily.
“Beast. You’re supposed to convince me, after many assurances, that you’ll never, never cast me out into the street. But you give me lovelorn-column psychology.” She nipped his ear and pulled away.
“Sordi wouldn’t let me cast you out into the street,” he protested.
“That’s because he’s a European gentleman.”
“That’s because he’s a man,” Orient corrected gently as he drew her down next to him. “And he’s been dazzled by moondust.”
“How about you?” she giggled. “Are you immune?”
He smiled trying to cover the quick grab of anxiety that grabbed his memory. “Of course not,” he said softly. “You’re too dazzling. Like Christmas.”
Her face was close to his and he could see vibrant yellow crystals of pleasure in her eyes. “That’s good enough for me,” she whispered. She kissed him and her tongue ignited his senses. Her hungry hands made restless patterns of delight on his skin as he covered her soft, warm body with his.
Afterward, she lay exhausted against his chest while he brooded.
“Are you thinking about the moon phase?” Her voice was husky in the stillness. “Yes.”
“I’ve been thinking about it, too. Something we said reminded me. Moon dust,” Orient nodded.
“There’s not much time left, is there?” “Less than a week now.”
“Perhaps the stronger dose of the formula will work.”
He tried to look hopeful. “Could be.”
“You know,” she began, as if struck by a sudden inspiration, “I’ll be very sensitive during the full moon. Maybe if you teach me the telepathic technique I could help you mentally control the symptoms.”
A nudge of suspicion tripped an alarm in his mind and he hesitated. “It’s a good idea,” he said carefully, “but I don’t know if my concentration is strong enough these days. The disease has interfered with my abilities.”
“You have the CDs you made with Sybelle. I could study those and you could guide me. Wouldn’t it be lovely if we could communicate telepathically?”
His thoughts accelerated as she spoke. Perhaps this was really why she was here. Germaine had sent her to learn the technique before getting rid of him.
“On second thought, maybe it’s an awful idea. It might be terrible to know your lover’s thoughts.”
“Very risky.” He wondered if her remark was significant.
“Perhaps Count Germaine could help us,” she ventured in a low voice.
“No. We’ll wait.” His mind tensed for her reaction, but it never came.
“All right Owen,” she murmured drowsily. “If that’s the way you feel, we’ll wait.” She closed her eyes and pressed her face against his shoulder.
He wanted to say nothing and go to sleep, but the insistent doubts finally forced him to ask.
“Do you still practice the Tantric forms?”
She stirred and he heard her take a deep breath. “Yes. Some exercises and meditation forms. But the Kundalini rite doesn’t take place for another year.” She paused. “Does it... bother you? Is that why you don’t want to see Germaine?”
Orient had asked himself the same question many times since that night. Whenever he recalled the sexual rite he’d seen Lily perform, his memory danced between jealousy and curiosity. He understood that her participation wasn’t evil, but his emotions weren’t as sure.
“You’re free to explore any path you wish/’ he said. “No other way.”
Her body relaxed. “I think it’s important, darling. I know that Tantric Yoga has always been looked upon as a forbidden form, but that’s only because of artificial sexual custom. The sexual power is used to release the natural energy at the base of the spine. The technique has been misused by evil men, but a skilled adept can turn the energy released toward good. If you like, Count Germaine could teach you the technique. Then eventually we’d be able to perform the rite ourselves. And we could remain as we are indefinitely.”
He wondered if she was offering him a bribe to lull his suspicions of Germaine. “Could be interesting,” he said. “But not until after the moon phase.”
“Good.” She.snuggled closer to him. “And then all the barriers between us will be gone.”
As he lay awake in the darkness, however, he knew the barriers would exist until he found the identity of the killer.
His mind went back to the first murder. It was possible, he admitted reluctantly, that Germaine had sent her that night, to keep him out of the way. Even as she slept beside him, Lily could be homing his movements for her master.
It seemed to Orient that his suspicions made themselves apparent in a hundred different ways over the next few days. Despite his effort to maintain normality he became less talkative and started spending long hours alone in his library. And when they were together, he was unable to muster any enthusiasm for future plans.
If Lily noticed the changes she didn’t question him. She lovingly overlooked his inability to communicate and continued to be cheerful and optimistic about their relationship.
He wanted to empty his mind of everything except her tenderness, but he couldn’t. Time filled his thoughts with the certainty that unless he remained alert against her love, it would betray him.
He was in the library one day, studying the data on the coming lunar phase, when the phone rang.
“Hello, darling,” Sybelle gushed. “How are you lovebirds doing? Where’s Lily? “
Orient winced. “Right now she’s out gathering twigs for our nest.”
“How sweet. Now tell me, are you two free for dinner this coming Thursday?”
“Don’t think so. We decided to cancel our nights out until after the moon.”
“Oh, yes, of course. What a pity. I wanted you to meet some dear friends from Paris. They’re also friends of the count. Oh, well, some other time. I won’t insist.”
“Some other time,” he said, doubly relieved he’d declined. He wanted no more ties to Germaine to burden his already strained relationship with Lily.
“You know, dear,” Sybelle said casually, “you might reconsider what you said and let me call the count. I’m sure he’d be happy to help.”
His fingers tightened around the phone. “Did you tell Lily about anything we’ve discussed?” he demanded.
“Why no, of course not. As a matter of fact she once mentioned it to me. Why not try it? If only for Lily?”
“You know why.”
“But dear surely you can’t believe Count Germaine would kill someone? Lily would certainly know if he did. She’d have to be an accomplice. Don’t you see how silly that is?”
“Is it?” he grunted.
For a moment there was a shocked pause. Then he heard her indignant exhale of breath. “Owen Orient you are simply a male savage. That poor girl loves you and wants to help you.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“No. But a woman can... oh, I’m wasting my breath. I suggest you think very carefully about what you’re saying. I’m going to prove to you that you’re absolutely mistaken.”
The phone clicked and went dead.
Orient replaced the receiver, sat back in his chair, and sighed aloud. Germaine had threatened to kill him and yet both Lily and Sybelle claimed he was faultless. And Sybelle had exploded at the hint that Lily could be involved.
The more he brooded over Sybelle’s reaction the clearer became the confines of the trap he was in. In the short time she’d been with him, Lily had managed to win over his closest friends. She could act with impunity and all his suspicions would be discredited. She’d completely undermined his defenses.
Of course, he could always go to some remote hunting lodge in Canada or Maine until the lunar phase had passed. But that would leave Lily alone in the city. If he was wrong and something happened to harm her, his life would be of no further use to him. He had to stay and wait for the moon’s whim.
> Orient had always been taciturn, and on the mountain with Ku in Tibet he’d passed through months of total silence; but as the day or the full moon neared, the inability to communicate became a strain on his nerves.
Lily continued to go out during the day, but he withdrew further into the blank shelter of his studio and they saw each other only for a few hours at night. Their relationship had already deteriorated into the sullen armistice of a foundering marriage.
He continued to search through his manuscripts and microfilm for a way to protect himself against the coming tide, but found only extravagant invocations against dangerous spirits.
He couldn’t use any of them. His demon was already part of his chemistry and could only be exorcised by himself. There was nothing in his books he could turn to.
A vague memory tugged at his depression and his thoughts went back to Ku, who had given him the secret of telepathy as a trust. He knew now he hadn’t learned enough on the mountain. But as he brooded something from his past schooling as a neophyte came back to him.
The old monk had once taught him a formula to use if he ever needed martial assistance or protection from the League of the Serene Knowledge. As he remembered he became apprehensive. The rite required impeccable concentration, and his will was undependable. The formula of Mars was too powerful a force to invoke in his condition.
But then a faint surge of exhilaration pushed through his fears and he left the studio to prepare himself. He had to try it; for Lily, for himself, and for the trust his teacher had placed in his care.
When he’d found everything he needed, he went down to a small, basement room beneath the garage. The room was empty, except for a low wood table, and the walls and floors were lined with white tile. It was Orient’s altar room for performing special rites. He’d installed the tile himself to facilitate cleaning. He’d even built the altar table by hand, as dictated by the law of occult science. This law also required that an altar used for a rite be perfectly clean to prevent negative elements from intruding. He hadn’t used the altar room for two years, but now that he was ready it was spotless, thanks to Sordi’s efficiency. He took off his shoes and went inside.