The 37th mandala : a novel (44 page)

In the meantime, she needed allies. She needed to keep touch with the physical world, to understand and remember it as she had when she was human.

Michael was the one familiar point among the tugging of a thousand needs, a million empty stomachs. She needed him— although not nearly as much as he needed her.

As she hovered there indecisively, the guardian of the woman standing next to Michael began to stir, finally noticing the vulnerable target so nearby. Now that the configuration had been restored, Michael was becoming visible to them once again. Lilith's mandala was a wheel of gnarled, knotted blossoms peeling back to show poison barbs secreted inside. It began to spin toward Michael with ferocious possessiveness and a threat of violent lashing, as if to scare off the newborn mandala while she hesitated.

That threat quickened her decision. Better her than another. This was as good a place as any to take a stand against their reflexive evil.

She pulled herself over Michael protectively and felt herself swell as she absorbed him. She learned, then, that there were to be no clear rules and that human intentions were meaningless now. For as she took hold of Michael, she felt a fierce, miserly greed well up in her. Delicate violet edges hardened into curving razors.

He's mine.

The thirty-seventh mandala prepared to fight for its catch.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Marc Laidlaw lives in San Francisco. He is the author of four previous novels and numerous short stories. He will turn thirty-seven in the coming year.

Marc Laidlaw published his first short stories while still a teenager, and he has gone on to write four acclaimed novels: Kalifornia, The Orchid Eater, Dad's Nuke, and Neon Lotus. He lives with his family in San Francisco.

Jacket design by Alan Dingman Jacket painting by Ron Walotsky

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