Lady Sativa (24 page)

“Because,” he explained reluctantly, “Germaine claims that I killed Maxwell. He’s beginning an investigation.”

“But darling, don’t you see? That’s exactly why I should speak to him. We can clear all this up if we all work together.”

He folded his arms. “There’s something else. I believe Germaine may be involved with the murders.”

Sybelle’s violent-shaded eyes widened. “Owen,” she whispered, “I just can’t believe that. What makes you so sure?”

“Two things.” He avoided her eyes and stared down at his wrinkled palms. “First the rite they were performing. It was a Tantric form. The rite of Kundalini, the Serpent Fire.”

“Tantric? Isn’t that one of the forbidden forms? I was told that it’s extremely dangerous.”

“It is, if practiced by weak or dishonest disciples. But heavy power can be generated by an adept. And I don’t know if the power derives from human sacrifice.”

“But you’re saying the count is a deliberate murderer,” Sybelle protested. “I’ve known him for
years
and he’s always been a dear friend.”

Orient nodded. He’d known that she would find his real suspicions difficult, if not impossible, to accept; but it was important that Germaine remained unaware of his movements. “Someone took a shot at me that night,” he reminded softly. “And Germaine has already said he wants to kill me. Perhaps his investigation is a convenient cover for another attack.”

“You’re too excited, darling,” Sybelle decided. “It’s not logical. He has no motive for wanting to kill you. Unless he believes you’re the werewolf. I could explain that you’re sick, but you’re definitely not the person responsible for the deaths.”

“I want you to promise to tell him nothing,” he insisted. “It would put us both in danger.”

“Exactly what makes you think so?” She persisted. “What
motive
could he have?”

“Excluding the possibility that he’s insane, there are two strong motives. Lily told me Germaine performs the Kundalini rite to prolong his life. Extended life is sufficient reason for a sacrifice killing to some men. But there’s another even more practical reason that would tempt most men.”

“Which is?” Her voice was cool, but he knew that he’d hit a chord of recognition.

“There are only two original members of SEE left alive. Four, including Lily and myself. Our votes control an eight million dollar trust. A man who intends to live forever might very well intend to be rich.”

Sybelle opened her mouth and then closed it. She leaned back in her armchair and fussed with the lapel of her yellow silk pants suit while she thought it over.

Orient watched her closely, knowing that she had to believe him.

She shook her head and sighed. “All right, I promise Owen. Maybe it is best if I don’t call him.”

“The talcum I picked up may give us a lead,” he pressed. “It’s been the link with all of the murders. Even Hannah’s death.”

“The, er...
scent
that makes you violent,” she reflected. “Well, I suppose you know what’s best, darling. When will you have the results of your test?”

“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. Even 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.”