Lady Sativa (7 page)

“Yes,” Orient said, regretting the word as he spoke. Chess was Maxwell’s game. And he’d been goaded into a neat gambit for Lily’s benefit.

Maxwell looked up. “Fine, then we’ll play. Perhaps you can read my mind and guess my moves.”

Orient could see the twin reflections of his own face in the silver lenses of the sunglasses. “If you like,” he said.

“Now be careful, darling,” Sybelle trilled. “Maxwell’s a champion or master or something. Don’t play him for money.”

“Or anything else,” Lily said, laughing.

As he ate his salad, Orient wondered if her words were a chance remark or a subtle warning.

Hazer leaned over. “Are you nervous?” he whispered. “I was, first time I came to submit my research.”

Orient smiled. “Depends on Sybelle, as much as myself.”

“Know what you mean,” Hazer said, squinting mischievously at him. “Half the time I don’t even know what I’m saying when I’m in one of those trances. I play it back on the tape recorder and try to make sense of it. Most of the time it works.”

All through the meal the professor recounted stories of strange afflictions and even stranger cures that had occurred during his career as a healer. “Cured Helen Nolan,” Hazer informed him gruffly. “Famous female explorer. Had a case of leprosy in her fingers. She went to every witch doctor in the Congo before she sent me her photograph. When I held her picture, I felt a throb in my wrist. Wired her a remedy of garlic and almonds. Told her to keep flexing her wrist. Something was impeding her circulation.” He took a sip of wine and smacked his lips.

“Arrested her condition and she only lost the tip of one finger.”

From time to time, Orient’s attention was diverted by the metallic glint of Lily’s bronze hair or the sound of her husky murmur. Hazer’s easy conversation relaxed him, however, and he grew to like the elderly gentleman.

Over coffee, Germaine explained the procedure they would take. “Sybelle and myself will not vote since we each have candidates. Mr. Neilson, Maxwell, and Daniel will have that honor. Agreed?”

Orient and Lily nodded.

“Good, then if you’ll both retire to the library and wait, we’ll call you when we’re finished with our regular business meeting. As in the past, Hannah will serve as our secretary.”

Orient and Lily left the room. As they passed the stairs they saw Anthony Bestman leaving the house. He was dressed in a long greatcoat and carrying a suitcase.

“That was a good sign,” Lily whispered as they entered the library. “That man interferes with my vibrations.”

“You interfere with mine.”

She looked up at him, her opaque amber eyes glowing with amusement and pleasure. “I hope it’s not an unpleasant disruption,” she said, sitting on the windowsill.

“Very nice, but confusing,” Orient said gently.

She smiled and looked out the window. “I was hoping we’d have time to talk. But it’s such a difficult time for me right now. Maxwell has been helping me through.”

Orient nodded. “Has he been through this with you before?”

She shook her head. “We’ve just met. I ran into Maxwell on the plane from London. We found out we had friends in common and were both headed for the same place. He became very interested in guiding me through this next moon phase.”

“Interesting work,” Orient agreed, somehow pleased that Maxwell was a new friend.

Lily turned and looked at him. “When I saw you I felt a pull, an attraction to you. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes, I do,” he said softly.

The sun sent a copper sheen across the waves of hair tumbling over her shoulders. “It would be nice to become friends,” she said. Her eyes became amber smoke. “But in two hours I’ll be in my phase. The first rise of the full moon.”

“Do you have control?”

She looked away. “Some. But I’m much too sensitive to deal with relationships. If the dream messages I receive become too confusing, I lose all sense of time. It usually only lasts twelve hours. But sometimes it extends.”

As she spoke, Orient inhaled and began to control his breathing. The rhythm focused his concentration and he went receptive, opening his empathetic senses to the vibration emanating from Lily. He felt her energy swelling and receding in his mind, rising and falling like the amplified pulse of a heartbeat. Various emotions flashed through his understanding. Then he felt a crackling static cloud of sexual electricity expand across his groin.

She stared at him, her moist lips parted in a smile. “You’re very sensitive,” she said, her voice low and fuzzy. “That’s so nice. It’s such a good feeling to find someone who understands.”

The patterns of energy crisscrossing his consciousness dissolved. He smiled back at her. “It’s a sweet tide,” he said softly. “Someone could swim there for a long time.”

“The currents change very quickly.” Her smile became speculative, as she studied his face. “You have to be a good swimmer when the moon’s out.”

His reply was interrupted by a voice behind him. “We’re ready, darling,” Sybelle called, “if you are.”

“Good luck,” Lily whispered, touching his hand. As he walked out to join Sybelle, Orient felt a glow lingering on his skin from the warmth of her fingers.

“Is the equipment ready?” Sybelle hissed.

Orient snapped his fingers. It’s upstairs. I’ll go get it.”

“Now
who doesn’t have whose mind on the job?” she scolded. “Think about Lily later. I want to go home with my coat.”

He hurried upstairs, picked up his equipment case, and headed back to the dining room. Germaine sat at the head of the table, flanked by Hannah and Sybelle. Maxwell and Professor Hazer sat on the same side of the table, facing Orient.

“This is Owen’s film of our experiment,” Sybelle explained as he set up the screener. “We taped every step. Owen wanted to find out if someone with low telepathic potential, but marked psychic talent, could be taught to receive direct impressions.”

Orient inserted his CD, adjusted the image on the large screen, raised the volume, then sat down and avoided looking at the faces of the people watching his film.

He tried to keep his mind clear and free of tension, but as the documentary went on his doubts nibbled at his calm. His own voice sounded like a drone on the speaker, describing dry results of pattern tests, symbol tests and abstract image experiments. He was grateful when the film reached the point where narration trickled off. This was the section where Sybelle began to form her own personal awareness technique, using what she’d learned. There was a short section covering her dramatic increase of correct answers on the Psi tests. The film ended with both of them experimenting with the unique style of open consciousness Sybelle had developed during her training.

“Each of us has a different vibration tone on an infinite scale. Like a spiritual fingerprint,” Orient explained as the screen went blank, “but the basic technique now has proved to work with varied personality types—all of whom have either high Psi potential or, as in the case you just saw, unusual psychic talent.”

“Looked like an advertisement for a Yoga school,” Maxwell observed, leaning back in his chair, “and it was overlit.”

“Maybe we should remember that Dr. Orient isn’t here to be judged on the merits of his directing,” Hazer murmured, “although
I
found the film absorbing. Quite a piece of work for one man.”

“Remarkable,” Neilson agreed.

“Of course,” Maxwell countered, “computer images can be edited to show many different results. It’s so plastic, isn’t it?”

“The second phase of this presentation,” Orient said calmly, “is physical evidence. Sybelle will leave the room and you can ask me to transmit any message you like to her.’’

Sybelle got up and walked to the door.

“Who’d like to be first?” Orient asked as she left the room, closing the door behind her. “You, Maxwell?”

“I suppose I must,” the young man answered. He drummed his fingers on the table. “We need something difficult.” He reached into an inside pocket “Perhaps this will do.”

He took out a pamphlet and put it on the table.

Orient noticed that Maxwell’s shaving lotion was liberally applied as he bent over the paper. It was an ad for a hotel in Montego Bay. Maxwell’s white, well-manicured finger was poised at a paragraph describing car rentals.

Orient inhaled imperceptibly, digging into his concentration. He formed an image and charged his consciousness, letting the sudden burst of energy orbit around his control. When he felt the gravity of Sybelle’s awareness he released, and let the energy be drawn by it. He exhaled as it pulled away. “Professor Hazer,” he asked, looking up, “do you have something?”

The old man looked pleased, then flustered. He fumbled through his pockets, muttering until he found something. A matchbox advertising a restaurant called Nino’s.

Orient again charged his consciousness with an image. As he felt the energy circle, then twist away, he looked at Neilson.

The man was pushed back in his chair, arms folded and chin pressed down against his chest. ‘I’ll pass,” he grunted.

“Count Germaine? Would you like anything conveyed?”

Germaine shook his head, watching him closely from under his thick, angled eyebrows.

Hannah rose, went to the door, and called Sybelle inside.

“Is that it?” Sybelle inquired as she sat down.

“What can you tell us? Maxwell demanded.

Sybelle smiled. “I gave you some money and you gave me the keys to a lovely new car. It was near a beach somewhere.”

Maxwell frowned.

“And Professor Hazer gave me a matchbook then took me to dinner at a place called Nino’s,” Sybelle went on. “Very nice.”

“Absolutely right,” Hazer said jubilantly. “Excellent, doctor.”

“Pretty good Neilson admitted reluctantly, examining the matchbook.

“Your presentation was professionally impeccable, doctor,” Germaine said gravely. “I commend both of you.”

Orient began packing the equipment. “Thank you for your attention,” he said, suddenly anxious to leave the meeting.

He went upstairs to his room and stretched out on the bed. The tension he’d felt in the dining room clung to his thoughts. He took a deep breath. It had gone off without any breakdowns. Sybelle had been perfect. But Maxwell seemed determined to be unimpressed. And Neilson was a question mark. He got up and went to the window.

He could see the immaculate lawns terracing down to the edge of the forest. The almost full moon hovered over the tree-matted hills in the distance, glowing dully like a battered gold coin, shadowed and bruised with age.

Lily would be giving her demonstration, he thought, as he stared at the darkening sky. He wondered if he could teach her the technique. She might be able to use it to protect her sensitivity during the lunar phase. It also occurred to him that she might need the prize money as badly as he did.

As the moon rose in the inky sky, the possibility of helping Lily continued to dominate his thoughts until Sybelle interrupted his brooding.

“Owen!” she cried, snapping on the electric lights. “Whatever are you doing standing around in the dark? Good news, darling. You’ve won!”

“Great,” he said.

“Count Germaine told me that even though Lily is his own candidate, he must agree that your work is highly significant. And Neilson said that as a layman he sees fantastic future possibilities. It was almost unanimous.”

Orient didn’t have to ask about the almost to know who’d cast the negative vote.

“Of course, we mustn’t forget that Lily was marvelous,” Sybelle went on breathlessly. “Her impressions were quite accurate. She said some things that were quite startling.”

“What sort of things?”

She blushed slightly. “Oh, things about my love life for one. She also said she saw a black wind approaching the house. Maxwell was most impressed.”

“I’m sure he was.”

Sybelle kissed him on the cheek. “Now get dressed and I’ll meet you in the library.” “Dressed?”

“Of course,” Sybelle opened the door. “Didn’t I tell you? Our last dinner before our séance is
always
black tie,”

To Orient’s relief, it wasn’t necessary to make a speech. Neilson informally presented him with a check during the drinks.

“Your work is wonderful,” Hannah said. “My husband would have approved.” Her drawn, delicate face turned to the table set with eight chairs in the corner. “I hope that he can speak to us tonight.”

*Tm sure that if it’s possible that we’ll contact your husband.” As he spoke, Orient felt vaguely apprehensive. The desperate nature of Carl’s death could very well complicate attempts to reach him so soon.

A warm arm slipped into his. “It’s nice to lose to someone you like… but not that nice,” Lily whispered. Her brown silk gown was held across her breasts by a gold chain link almost the same color of her smooth skin.

“I’ll try to make it up to you,” Orient said, his lips suddenly dry. He was very conscious of the long, soft arm against him.

She threw her head back and smiled, her amber eyes glinting with some private amusement. “We’ll see,” she murmured.