by Frank Lauria
He set the shopping bag containing his implements down on the floor and unfolded the large red sheet he was carrying under his arm. Red, the primary color of Mars, was the only shade allowed in performing the rite. He spread the sheet on the floor, in front of the table; then unpacked the objects in his shopping bag and placed them on the sheet.
When he was finished he removed his clothes, put them in the empty shopping bag, and placed the bag outside the door, next to his shoes.
He came back to the sheet and placed a square of red cloth, the size of a napkin, on the, altar table. Then he carefully arranged five small red candles on the square so that each candle was a point of an invisible pentagon.
Red was the color of Mars, five his number, and so too the instruments he used were all appropriate to the God of War. Almost everything was made of steel or iron; the long table knife that would serve as his sword, the automobile wrench that would be his rod of power, and the vessel in which he would burn sulphur and saltpeter, both minerals of Mars’ domain.
He placed the iron bowl containing the minerals in the center of the table, struck a match, lit the candle points of the pentagon, then touched the flame to the paper wrapped around the minerals in the bowl. The yellow fumes of the sulphur gave off the odor of decomposing eggs as he began the rite.
He sat down in a full Lotus position in front of the table. In his right hand he held the rod of power and in his left the sword.
He took a deep breath and began the breathing pattern, trying to charge his dim concentration. As his awareness increased, he understood the implications of the ritual and the fear returned. He opened his consciousness and began to invoke the force.
“Agla, Agla, Agla, Agla,” he whispered. “Almighty God of the four parts of the universe. Through the power of thy holy name... Tetragrammaton. Bless this carpet in thy name....” He lifted the wrench above his head.
“Bless this rod of power in thy name and that of Yod and of thine aide Paliel…”
As he lifted the knife above his head he felt a soft implosion of energy in his belly.
“And bless this sword of defense in the name of Gegurah of the Fifth Sephira, the Sphere of the God of Battle....”
Still holding the implements over his head, he changed his position until he was lying face-down on the sheet, with his arms stretched out in front of him.
“Bless these things in thy holy name,” he continued, “as thou blessed the cloak of Elijah in the hands of Elijah; so that, with thy wings I will be protected against all.”
His voice seemed to be enclosed in the walls of his skull; so that no sound he made escaped to disturb the silence in the room.
“He shall hide thee under His wings and under His feathers thou shalt trust, and His truth shall be thy protection.” He concluded. He closed his eyes and waited.
His consciousness rang with the echoes of the words and he felt another implosion tremble through his senses like a distant rumble in a subway tunnel Then he felt nothing at all-
He was vaguely disappointed as he dressed. He was sure he’d adhered to every intent of the rite and yet he’d felt nothing familiar. Of course, he hadn’t quite finished.
He felt almost foolish repeating the words as he folded the sheet. “Recabustira, Cabustira, Bustira, Ra... ” he droned before placing the sheet in the shopping bag with the other implements.
He took care that everything in the altar room was as he’d found it then opened the door, put on his shoes, and went upstairs to hide his instruments.
That evening Lily came back to the house with a gift for Orient. A silver penknife.
She seemed especially enthused at dinner and Sordi regaled her with stories of his misspent youth in Ischia, while Orient half-listened, still preoccupied with his rite.
He’d reached the conclusion that it had been a failure even though reason advised him to be patient Since it was the first time he’d actually performed the formula it was wise to wait for the result. But he was sure it was hopeless. He could have easily made a mistake, or just as easily be beyond anyone’s help.
That night when they were alone, Lily broke the long silence that had built up between them. “Did you like your present, really?” she asked shyly.
He tried to smile, but it didn’t come off. “Exactly what I needed.”’
She hesitated. “You seem so worried, darling. I wish you could talk to me about it. Do you want to?”
When he looked at her he saw that her lovely face was framed by the bronze hair spilling over her pillow, and her eyes were dark and pleading.
“Really nothing to talk about,” he murmured. “I guess I’m scared of what might happen this next moon phase. But all I can do is wait.”
You mean all I can do,” she corrected, lifting her head to kiss him.
He wanted to believe her, but he knew that there was nothing that could stop the moon from becoming full in the sky. The certainty made his lips as cold as stone.
The next morning Lily left the house early, without mentioning where she was going. Orient knew that he should be making a check on her movements, but he couldn’t seem to gather the courage to spy on her and confront her with her deceit.
He was getting weaker and there was only one thing he could count on when the time came. The potion would serve to suspend some of his anguish. And even that could betray him.
Something occurred to him and he went to his laboratory to check the bottles in their hiding place. Three full doses. They appeared un tampered.
Earlier, to make absolutely sure, he had put a moistened hair across all three corks. Each hair was still in place.
He went back to the studio and considered taking a long walk in the fresh air. He should have gone out with Lily, he decided. No matter what her deviousness her company still lightened his dread of the future. His sleep was sounder now that she slept beside him and his nightmares were gone. A demon couldn’t have a more charming lady to nurse his affairs if he’d created her himself: fashioned her out of autumn leaves, and wood smoke, and rain, and the needs of a hunted man.
The afternoon dragged on without her and he became more anxious for her return. When the doorbell rang he hurried to answer, but it wasn’t Lily at the door. Instead he saw a familiar triangular face, and steely eyes that stared from under sharply angled eyebrows.
“What do you want?” Orient demanded through the rush of anger and confusion. His instincts tensed his body automatically against a hostile gesture.
Count Germaine’s smile was apologetic “You called me,” he said. “And I’ve come.”
“Called you?”
“When you invoked your rite of Mars.” His voice was soothing and melodious, but his eyes were gray ice. “May I come in?”
20
As Orient led the way to his studio, the only thought that made sense in his churning brain was that he shouldn’t have his back turned to Germaine. He veered nearer to the stair rail and slowed down so the count was walking almost beside him.
“This is an ideal room for your work, doctor,” Germaine said as they entered the workshop library. “For any man’s work. You must come visit my home in Amsterdam one day.”
“Perhaps we should eliminate formalities,” Orient said, his body still poised against a treacherous move by the tall man. “You’ve accused me of Maxwell’s death and you’ve announced that you intend to kill me. Is that why you’re here?”
Germaine sat down on the couch. “But I’ve told you why I’m here,” he said calmly. “It’s true that for the past month I’ve been investigating the circumstances around these murders. But I haven’t sworn to kill you, have I? I’ve sworn to kill the werewolf.”
Orient then decided it was foolish to think he could keep his disease a secret from Germaine. “Two months ago. On the night Hannah was killed I was infected by Lycanthropy when I was attacked. But I didn’t kill Hazer or Andersen. There’s another werewolf–the one who killed Neilson and attacked me.”
Germaine smil
ed. “To be perfectly truthful, I had suspected you of killing Daniel and Maxwell.”
“Suspected?”
“Now I’m bound by a higher duty. My doubts must be put aside in the service of the League. You called me into that service when you invoked the rite. And I must help you.”
For a moment, Orient was unable to conceal the disbelief and fear that jammed his thoughts. Then he set the muscles in his face. He couldn’t display any sign of weakness. Right now it was best to just play along and wait for an opening. “Why did you become so interested in Daniel’s murder?” he asked, stalling for time. “As I recall you were disinterested in any investigation of his death.”
Germaine’s smile became regretful “Yes,” he sighed, “it’s true that if I’d acted sooner, I might have prevented Maxwell’s death. But if I didn’t complete the appointed yearly rite of the Serpent Fire I would have been unable to prevent it anyway. It was fated. Only the successful completion of the rite keeps me alive. If I was somehow prevented from performing the bloodless sacrifice my body would age very rapidly.”
He pounced on the word. “Sacrifice?”
“Bloodless sacrifice,” Germaine corrected. “My body’s own hoard of sperm.”
Orient took a deep breath and tried to squash the memory of the rite he’d seen Lily perform. But his emotion spilled over into his voice when he spoke.
“To be perfectly truthful with you? he said deliberately, “I’ve always believed it possible that these deaths are connected with an occult sacrifice.”
“You know, doctor,” Germaine mused, “I’ve lived a very long time and I know that not only is everything possible, it’s probable. Reality is just a matter of choice.” His smile disappeared and his eyes were penetrating as he stared at Orient. “Who of us is wise enough to choose?”
Orient recognized the, challenge. All his instincts warned him to ignore it, but he knew that he couldn’t back away from a confrontation without leaving himself vulnerable. He’d be in the position of not knowing his opponent’s movements.
“What do you propose?” he asked softly.
Germaine shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Actually, I came to hear your request. But if you like I can suggest that I stay here, as your guest, while we investigate the problem of your disease and its... cure.” He smiled genially. “If I’m not disturbing the privacy you and Lady Sativa share.”
“How did you know Lily’s here?” Orient snapped. “Did she tell you?”
“During the course of my investigations, I’ve made it my business to know the movements of everyone connected with SEE. It’s obvious to me that one of the remaining four members will be attacked during the next full moon. But, of course, you also know that, don’t you?”
Orient’s thoughts scrambled through his consciousness, searching for some hidden meaning behind his remark. But all he found was his own racing apprehension. “All right,” he said. “I accept your suggestion. Remain here as my guest, I’m sure Lily will be happy to see you.”
He wasn’t completely accurate.
Lily’s enthusiasm seemed subdued by Germaine’s arrival She was pleasant through dinner, but her usual high spirits were replaced by a grave, almost respectful, wariness. Orient watched her closely, but her composure remained steady, even when Germaine mentioned the telepathic technique. “Lily’s powers are so unusually strong during the full moon,” he reflected. “Perhaps if you teach her to communicate with you she could be of some help.”
Orient glanced at Lily, but she was involved in a conversation with Sordi. Now he was sure that Germaine had come to learn the secret of telepathy before he killed him. The knowledge gave him a strange confidence as he met” Germaine’s eyes. “There’s not enough time. Less than forty hours before the lunar phase.”
Germaine nodded then turned to Sordi and congratulated him on his cooking in the same bland, melodious tone he’d employed to ask Orient about the technique. Never once did the polite smile flicker with uncertainty. The tall, soft-spoken count knew his opponent was cornered
Later, when the three of them were alone in the library, Germaine tried another approach. “I take it you’ve investigated Carl’s formula,” he said casually. “Any results?”
“Only partially,” Orient admitted “But the last ingredient is stall a riddle.”
“But you’ve tried a partial mixture?”
Germaine was clever, Orient thought. He could almost admire the impeccable logic and cool control of his voice and expression. Lily leafed through a book as if she was unaware of what was being said But Orient was alert to the implication of the suggestion. If Germaine could find the hidden potion it would destroy any hope of resistance. “I made up a dose last month,” he said. “There’s none left.”
“Then that’s probably the point we should concentrate on when we begin our work in the morning. I’ll help you make up a new batch.”
It was a reasonable suggestion, forcing Orient to agree. Lily seemed oblivious to their transaction, but he got the impression she was pleased.
If she was confused she didn’t discuss it with Orient when they were alone. She made no attempt to draw him out, but let the silence remain between them. They lay side by side, separated by a trackless forest of quiet and his certainty that she was stalking him.
He could guess how it had come about. She’d somehow found the shopping bag he’d bidden in the closet, deduced that he’d performed a rite of Mars, and discovered a perfect reason for Germaine to visit. Now the trap was complete.
Orient’s anticipation of impending treachery was accentuated by Lily’s surprising decision the next morning.
She wanted to forgo her usual round of shopping and museum-hopping, to remain with them as they prepared a new batch of the formula.
As she and Germaine went over the rhyme in the laboratory, Orient stood apart, watching them for any sign of deception. Both of them seemed absorbed in interpreting the words of the riddle, however, and didn’t notice his lack of participation. When they were finished their results were the same as his own. Everything but the final ingredient, which remained unsolvable.
“I have most of the herbs here in the lab,” Orient explained, “but none of the opium. And there’s no way to requisition any more from the warehouse. I’ve used up my quota.”
“I can get a hundred grams or so through an associate here,” Germaine said smoothly. “But of course there’s still the last couplet.”
Orient shook his head. “Any ideas?”
Germaine smiled. “Ten measures which the beast loves best, from one who loves him more than all the rest,” he recited softly. “Badly metered but amusing. And of course obvious. I can’t tell you what the beast loves best. Only the werewolf can do that. And you’re the werewolf, aren’t you?”
Orient’s caution was toppled by a turbulent, unreasoning anger.
“Remember that I was with Owen the night Neilson was killed,” Lily said quickly. “There are two werewolves.”
“Perhaps. But only one of them can solve the riddle for us,” Germaine said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Orient growled. His chest was pounding and his fists clenched as the rage splashed over his senses.
“Very well,” Germaine said softly. His eyes remained fixed on Orient’s face. “I’m going to procure the opium base you need. Why don’t you think about what I’ve suggested until I return?”
When he left the laboratory, Lily rushed to Orient’s side and took his arm. “Darling, Fm becoming worried,” she whispered. “I don’t like his coming here. And I’m worried about us. Can’t we go somewhere until after the moon phase?”
A cold shower of suspicion alerted his instincts. He drew away and looked at her. “You suggested calling him.”
She brushed a few strands of hair from her forehead. “I was wrong. He seems to be goading you. And I can’t help remembering his threat to kill... the werewolf.” She folded her arms and shivered. “I can feel the hostility between you.
Can’t you send him away? “
The ploy snapped in his mind like a door bolt. He understood what she was trying to do. She was pretending to be afraid of Germaine so that she could gain his confidence. He smiled as the knowledge cooled the remnants of his anger. “It’s the only way we’ll know for sure.” -
She shook her head. “I don’t know. We’ve changed too Owen. It’s as if we’re strangers.”
“Sorry Lily. But everything depends on being ready.”
“But not alone, darling.” Her husky voice became intense. “Don’t you feel we need each other?”
He reached out and took her shoulders. Her skin was warm under her cashmere sweater. “We’ll see this through here. Together. But I don’t want you hurt by any of this.” As he spoke the words he realized that he wanted them to be true.
Her mouth relaxed and her amber eyes became smoky. “Thanks, my love,” she whispered. “Just remember that it’s not me or you. It’s us.”
She kissed him; and as his body responded to her warmth, his mind withdrew behind a cold, protective curtain.
Lily proved to be a skilled lab technician and with her help it took them only a short time to distill the herbs Orient had on hand. While they were working he got a telephone call from Sybelle. Not wanting Lily to overhear, he pushed the hold button and went into the other room.
“Well,” Sybelle sniffed when he released the call. “I’m glad you’re still talking to me.” “AsI recall...”
“I’m the one who hung up. Yes, I am sorry, but you can be infuriatingly stubborn, darling. Is everything all right?”
“Germaine is here.”
There was a pause. “But that’s fabulous? she said finally. “So Lily managed to talk some sense into you after all Perhaps I should come over right away and we can all—”
“Don’t come here.”
“What?”