Bradley, Marion Zimmer - Shadowgate 04 (10 page)

 
          
"But
there is another sort of clairvoyant, the Sensitive, who simply receives
more-or-less constant perceptions of the Unseen World. These sensitives quickly
learn to block out the flow of frightening unwanted information that no one
else seems to perceive. Many of them pass their entire lives without realizing
that they are among the gifted."

 
          
"Like
Claire," Jonathan said. "But there's more to this than that, isn't
there? Professor, I'd swear that Claire didn't know she was a whatchamacal-lit.
She's the most practical, down-to-earth girl I know."

 
          
"Being
psychic doesn't necessarily require a person to lose all common sense,"
Alison said with a smile. "Thousands of years ago, what was then called
the Gift was a prerequisite for rulers and leaders. Civilization wouldn't have
lasted very long if they'd been nothing more than a bunch of colorful eccentrics."

 
          
"I
suppose not," Jonathan said doubtfully. "
But Dr.
Margrave
—
if someone
is
a
sensitive, how do they find out about it? What is it like?"

 
          
"Now
that's my cue for a very long lecture," Alison said. "Colin, could
you put some more wood on the fire?"

 
          
Colin
got to his feet and went over to the hearth. The firebox was filled with small
logs, a mixture of pale soft eucalyptus wood, grey salt-soaked driftwood, and
solid ruddy splits of applewood. He set his drink on the mantelpiece and added
several chunks of apple to the fire, wielding the poker to knock down the
half-burned pieces and provide a good bed of coals for the new wood. As he
waited to be certain that the wood had caught, he glanced toward the large
picture window.

 
          
The
curtains were drawn back from the glass, and Colin was unsurprised to see that
the sky was turning grey with predawn light. The world had survived another
All Hallows Eve, and the Day of the Dead had dawned.

 
          
Behind
him, Alison was explaining the fundamental beliefs of the Light to Jonathan.
"There is an energy that binds us all together
—
at the turn of the century
it was called the
aethyr,
though that term is rather out of date now.
This part of us
—
the Light Body
—
is what allows us, as a
race, to do all those things that are usually lumped under the heading
of'parapsychology and the occult' on bookstore shelves."

 
          
Colin's
thoughts turned away from the conversation and back to the girl upstairs. The
moment he'd seen her in Jonathan's car, he'd experienced a bone-deep flash of
recognition. He'd known this girl before, in some other life.

 
          
Since
he'd returned to the
United States
, Colin realized that he'd
been waiting, as if for orders. Claire London's arrival was as direct as a
command: the Lords of Karma required him to be about the business he had been
dedicated to and had set this task in his way.

 
          
But
though he had faced far more perilous tests than one young girl, for the first
time in his life Colin wondered if his will and his skill were equal to the
thing he meant to do. Was Claire the one who had been sent to him to train, to
shape, to guide? And if she was, what then?

 
          
Behind
him, the fresh wood kindled strongly, sending new heat out into the room. Colin
turned away from the window, to where Alison and Jonathan were sitting beside
each other, talking intently.

 
          
"Once
you accept that you are more than just a body
—
that you have a subtle body
as well, with its own senses and needs
—
you've taken your first step
into a larger universe, and set your foot on a path whose passage can take you
many lifetimes."

 
          
Jonathan
gazed at her, caught halfway between automatic rejection of such an outlandish
idea and a hopeful, hungry belief. Watching the two of them, Colin was
surprised to recognize in himself a sudden brief pang of envy. Alison found it
so simple to speak of these things, to set a new seeker's feet upon the Path.
If she felt any of the misgivings or qualms that Colin felt about the danger
and the responsibility inherent within her actions, she gave no sign.

 
          
But
then, Alison was no stranger to teaching
—
Simon Anstey was only the
latest of her many students; their lives like a garden of flowers that she had
touched during her time on earth. Alison Margrave's was a life well spent, a
life of service to the Light.

 
          
Could
Colin truly say the same? He had fought great and terrible battles in the
service of the Light, but an Adept's life should be the crowning work of his
mind and heart, and Colin was not yet satisfied with what he had made of
himself.

 
          
"If
it was LSD that is responsible for what happened to Claire," he said into
a lull in the conversation a few minutes later, "I'd like to know more
about how she came to take it. You say that it takes effect fairly quickly,
Alison
—
doesn't that mean she must have gotten it at the party she and Jonathan went
to?"

 
          
"I
guess so, Professor," Jonathan said slowly. "It was just, well, one
of Toller's parties. Everyone knows what they're like. Claire did."

 
          
"Assume
we don't," Alison said in ironic tones. "Just a minute. I'd better go
check on the girl." She got to her feet, glass in hand, and headed for the
stairs.

 
          
Jonathan
turned in his seat, looking over his shoulder to where Colin stood.

 
          
"I
guess I'm in a little bit over my head here tonight, eh, Professor?" he
asked ruefully.

 
          
"You're
doing fine," Colin told him. "A cool head in a crisis, and a willingness
to follow orders intelligently, will do a lot toward taking you down any road
you want to travel."

 
          
"This
is the road I want to travel," Jonathan said strongly. "I know it
sounds crazy, but it feels as if I'm coming home."

 
          
Not
as crazy as you think it does,
Colin thought with an inward smile. One of
the fundamental tenets of the Light was the unending process of learning, as
the Self returned to incarnation for life after life. Perhaps this was not the
first life in which Jonathan Ashwell had pursued a deeper meaning to existence.

 
          
Alison
returned. "Still sleeping. Pulse and respiration both good and strong; I
think that when she wakes up tomorrow she'll be fine
—
at least physically. As for
psychically . . ." Alison hesitated. "I suppose we'll deal with that
when the time comes. Although the person I'd really like to deal with is
whoever threw the party the two of you were at, since he seems to think that
drugging his guests is funny."

 
          
"Nobody
thinks you're to blame, Jonathan," Colin said reassuringly. "But
anything you can tell us will be helpful."

 
          
Under
Colin and Alison's patient questioning, a pattern began to emerge.

 
          
Toller
Hasloch was the original BMOC
—
Big Man On Campus. He was twenty-two, a pre-law student
from a well-to-do
Baltimore
family. He lived off campus
in a rambling Victorian in an older section of town and threw frequent, famous
parties. He was involved in a number of different clubs on campus of a
less-than-respectable nature and had a reputation for both intellectual and
physical daring.

 
          
Drugs
—
mostly marijuana and pills
—
were available at Toller's
parties. Everyone knew it. But as far as Jonathan knew, no one had ever been
forced to take them.

 
          
"If
she was drugged, it had to be the punch," he said. "There was a big
bowl; it was spiked with vodka, but everyone knew
that.
Claire knew, too
—
she usually doesn't drink,
but she was drinking that night; I warned her about the booze and she just
laughed at me. But a little liquor wouldn't do that to someone, would it? And
if there was anything else in the punch, Toller was the one who put it in
there," Jonathan added positively. "He likes to seem laid-back, but I
don't think much goes on around him that he doesn't know about."

 
          
"How
hard would this drug be to get?" Colin asked Alison.

 
          
"Not
very," she admitted. "And it would be fairly simple to make, if you
had access to a chemistry lab)
—
or were dating a chemist."

 
          
"I
take it that Mr. Hasloch fulfills at least one of the above criteria?"
Colin asked Jonathan.

 
          
"Sure,"
Jonathan said uncertainly, beginning to be uneasy. "I mean ... he can get
all kinds of things," he said reluctantly. "At least, I've heard he
can. I don't want to get him into trouble, Professor. . . ."

 
          
"He's
already in trouble," Alison said darkly. "Assuming, of course, he's
truly the one at fault. But for the sake of convenience, we'll assume that he
is, that he got his hands on some LSD and thought he'd liven up his own Halloween
party by providing some real
—
or realistic-seeming
—
ghosts and goblins. He's
just lucky that Claire was the only one affected in that particular way
—
at least I hope so. And it's
a good thing you didn't have any of whatever it was he spiked the punch with
—
at least, I'm assuming you
didn't," Alison said. "LSD can have some pretty bizarre
effects."

 
          
"No,"
Jonathan said gratefully. "I didn't drink any of the punch. I stuck to
beer. That is
—
" he said, realizing what he'd said.

 
          
"Under
the circumstances, I'd say your sins were minor," Colin said. "And
forgiven."

 
          
"Sins,"
said a new voice from the doorway. "I suppose it's too much to hope that
I've been committing any?"

 
          
Colin
had been right when he'd guessed Claire London would be tall: five-eight or
-nine, what Colin's Scots ancestors would have called "a braw strapping
lassie." She was barefoot, her skirt and sweater slightly rumpled from
having been slept in. She was holding to the doorframe for support as she ran
her free hand through her short blond hair. Her mouth was set in a grim, suspicious
line.

 
          
"We
thought you'd sleep for several hours more," Alison said calmly.

 
          
"Why
should I?" Claire snapped. "Did somebody slip me a Mickey? You,
Johnny?" she added mockingly.

           
"You . . . got sick,
Claire," Jonathan said feebly. "At Toller's party, remember? I was
talking to you; by the punch bowl
—
you'd just gotten yourself
another cup of punch, remember? We were both wondering where Toller was. . .
."

 
          
"No."
The denial came too quickly, and Claire's edgy mockery was gone, leaving the
naked fear beneath. "I don't remember anything,
became nothing
happened.
Got it?"

 
          
Her
eyes flicked sideways, toward Colin, and she stared at him with a look very
like horror.

 
          
Yes,
Colin realized with an irresistible flash of insight, they had known one
another before. In life after life, since their first meeting in the halls of
the ancient Temple of the Sun, in the City of the Temple when the man then
known as Riveda first plotted the betrayal whose expiation had bound him to the
Wheel of Rebirth ever since.