by Rice, Anne
He laughed at himself proudly, then drank from his greasy brown bottle. His lips were pink, and his chin covered in a grizzled beard.
Louis stared at him without answering. I watched in fascination. Louis’s face gradually lost all expression, all semblance of feeling. It might have belonged to a dead man as he sat there, as he stared at the victim, as he marked the victim, as he let the victim lose his poor desperate humanity, as the kill passed from possible to probable and finally, to a foregone conclusion.
“I want to kill you,” Louis said softly. He leant forward and peered very close into the man’s pale and red-rimmed gray eyes.
“To kill me?” said the man, raising one eyebrow. “You think you can do that?” he asked.
“I can do it,” said Louis gently. “Just like this.” He bent and sank his teeth into the man’s thick unshaven neck. I saw the man’s eyes brighten for one instant as he stared over Louis’s shoulder, then the eyes became fixed, and very gradually they went dull.
The man’s cumbersome and bulky body rested against Louis, his thick-fingered right hand quivering before it went limp beside the bottle of beer.
After a long moment, Louis drew back and helped the man to lay his head and shoulders down on the table. Lovingly, he touched the man’s thick grayish hair.
On the street, Louis breathed deep of the fresh night air. His face was full of the blood of his victim, and richly colored with the tints of a human. He smiled a sad, bitter smile as he looked up, his eyes seeking the faintest stars.
“Agatha,” he said softly, as if it were a prayer.
“Agatha?” I repeated. How I feared for him.
“Claudia’s mother,” he replied, looking at me. “She said the name once in those first few nights, exactly as Merrick put it. She recited both their names, father and mother, in the manner in which she’d been taught to tell strangers. Agatha was her mother’s name.”
“I see,” I replied. “Merrick will be very pleased with that. It’s the style of the old charms, you understand, when calling a spirit, to include its mother’s name.”
“Pity about that man drinking only beer,” he said as we commenced our walk back to Merrick. “I could have used just a little heat in the blood, you know, but then perhaps it’s better. Better to have a strong clear mind for what happens. I believe Merrick can do what I want.”
19
As we made our way along the side of the house, I saw the candles burning, and when we emerged into the rear yard, I saw the great altar under the shed, with all its tall blessed saints and virgins, and indeed, the Three Magi, and the angels Michael and Gabriel with their spectacular white wings and in their colorful garb.
The scent of incense was strong and delicious to my nostrils. And the trees hung low over the broad clean flagstone terrace with its uneven purple stones.
Far back from the shed, indeed, very near the closest edge of the terrace, there stood the old iron pot atop the brazier tripod, the coals beneath it already glowing. And on either side were long iron tables, rectangular in shape, on which many different objects had been laid out with obvious care.
The complexity of the whole display amazed me faintly, but then I saw, standing on the back steps of the house, only a couple of yards from the tables and the cauldron, the figure of Merrick, her face covered in the green jade mask.
A shock went through my system. The eye holes and mouth opening of the mask appeared empty; only the brilliant green jade was filled with reflected light. Merrick’s shadowy hair and body were scarcely visible, though I saw her hand when she lifted it and beckoned for us to come close.
“Here,” she said, her voice slightly muffled by the mask as she spoke, “you will stand with me behind the cauldron and the tables. You on my right, Louis, and you on my left, David, and you must promise me now before we commence that you will make no interruption, that you will try no interference in what I mean to do.”
She reached out for my arm and guided me into position.
Even at this closeness, the mask was inherently frightening and appeared to float before her lost countenance, perhaps her lost soul. With an anxious and meddlesome hand I confirmed that the mask was firmly affixed to her head by strong leather thongs.
Louis had stepped behind her, and now stood over the iron table to the right of the cauldron, at her right hand, peering ahead at the glowing altar with its banks of glass-contained candles, and at the eerie but lovely faces of the saints.
I took my place by her left.
“What do you mean, we’re not to interrupt?” I asked, though it seemed a terrible irreverence, in the midst of this spectacle which had taken on a high beauty, what with the plaster saints, and tall dark yew trees crowding in upon us, and the low twisted black limbs of the oaks shutting out the stars above.
“Just what I told you,” she said in a low voice. “You’re not to stop me, whatever happens. You’re to stay behind this table, both of you; you’re never to move in front of it, no matter what you see or think you may see.”
“I understand you,” said Louis. “The name you wanted. Claudia’s mother. It’s Agatha. Of that I’m almost certain.”
“Thank you,” Merrick replied. She gestured before her. “There, on the stones,” she said, “the spirits will come if they’re meant to come, but you must not go to them, you must not engage in any struggle with them, you must do only as I say.”
“I understand you,” Louis repeated.
“David, do I have your word?” she asked calmly.
“Very well, Merrick,” I said crossly.
“David, stop your interference!” she declared.
“What can I say, Merrick?” I demanded. “How can I give my inner feelings to this thing? Isn’t it enough that I stand here? Isn’t it enough that I do as you say?”
“David, trust in me,” she said. “You came to me with the request for this magic. Now I give you what you asked for. Trust that it will be for the good of Louis. Trust that I can control what I do.”
“To speak of magic,” I said softly, “to read of it, and study it—all that is one matter, but to participate, to be in the presence of one who believes in it and knows it—that is quite another thing.”
“Govern your heart, please, David,” said Louis. “I want this more than anything I have ever wanted. Merrick, please, proceed.”
“Give me your word with honesty, David,” said Merrick. “You will not try to interfere with the things I will say and the things I will do.”
“Very well, Merrick,” I said, defeated.
Only then did I have the freedom to inspect the objects covering the two tables. There lay the poor pitiful old doll which had belonged to Claudia, limp as a tiny dead body. And the page of the diary, weighted down by the doll’s round porcelain head. There was the rosary heaped beside it, and the small daguerreotype in its dark case. There was an iron knife.
I also saw a gold chalice, beautifully ornamented and rimmed with inset jewels. There was a tall crystal bottle filled with what appeared to be clear yellow oil. I saw the jade perforator, a wicked and awful thing in my sight, sharp and dangerous, lying close to the cauldron. And then quite suddenly I saw what appeared to be a human skull.
I was furious at this last discovery. Quickly, I considered the contents of the other table, the one before Louis, and saw there a rib bone covered with markings, and that loathsome old shriveled black hand. There were three bottles of rum. There were other items—a fine golden pitcher of honey, which I could smell in its sweetness, another silver pitcher of pure white milk, and a bronze bowl of shining salt.
As for the incense, I realized it had all been distributed and was already burning before the distant unsuspecting saints.
Indeed, a great deal more of the incense, very black and only faintly aglow as its smoke rose in the darkness, had been poured out to make a great circle on the purple flagstone before us, a circle which my eyes only now observed.
I wanted to demand: where did the skull come from? Had Mer
rick robbed some anonymous grave? A dreadful thought occurred to me and I tried to banish it. I looked at the skull again and saw it was covered with incised writing. It was lurid and awful, and the beauty embracing all of this was seductive, potent, and obscene.
Instead I spoke only of the circle.
“They will appear in it,” I murmured, “and you think the incense will contain them.”
“If I must, I will tell them that the incense contains them,” she said coldly. “Now, you must govern your tongue if you can’t govern your heart. Offer no prayers as you watch this. I am ready for this to begin.”
“What if there isn’t enough incense!” I demanded in a whisper.
“There is plenty of it to burn for hours. Look at the small cones with your clever vampire eyes, and don’t ask me such a foolish question again.”
I resigned myself: I couldn’t stop this. And only now did I feel in my resignation a certain attraction to the entire process as she made to begin.
From beneath the table, she lifted a small bundle of twigs and fed these quickly to the coals in the brazier beneath the iron pot.
“Make this fire hot for our purposes,” she whispered. “May all the saints and angels witness, may the glorious Virgin Mary witness, make this fire burn for us.”
“Such names, such words,” I murmured before I could stop myself. “Merrick, you play with the strongest powers known to us.”
But on she went, poking at the fire until its flames licked the sides of the cauldron. Then she lifted the first bottle of rum, uncapped it, and emptied its acrid contents into the pot. Quickly, she took up the crystal bottle and poured out the pure, fragrant oil.
“Papa Legba!” she called out as the smoke rose before her. “I can begin nothing without your intercession. Look here at your servant Merrick, listen to her voice as she calls you, unlock the doors to the world of the mysteries, that Merrick may have what she desires.”
The dark perfume of the heated concoction overcame me as it rose from the iron pot. I felt as if I ought to be drunk, when I wasn’t, and it seemed my balance had been affected, though why I couldn’t know.
“Papa Legba,” she cried. “Open the way.”
My eyes shot to the distant statue of St. Peter, and only then did I realize he stood in the center of the altar, a fine effigy of wood, his glass eyes glaring back at her, his dark hand wrapped about its golden keys.
It seemed to me that the air changed suddenly about us, but I told myself it was only my raw nerves. Vampire or human, I was susceptible to the tiniest suggestion. Yet the yews began ever so slightly to sway on the outskirts of the garden, and there came through the trees above a soft wind that sent the leaves down all around us, tiny and light, without a sound.
“Open the gates, Papa Legba,” she called out, as her deft hands emptied the second bottle of rum into the cauldron. “Let the saints in Heaven hear me, let the Virgin Mary hear me, let the angels be unable to turn away their ears.”
Her voice was low yet full of certainty.
“Hear me, St. Peter,” she declared, “or I shall pray to Him who gave His Only Divine Son for our Salvation that He turns His back on you in Heaven. I am Merrick. I cannot be denied!”
I heard Louis give out a faint gasp.
“Now, you angels, Michael and Gabriel,” she said, her voice rising with increasing authority, “I command you, open the way to the eternal darkness, to the very souls whom you yourself may have driven out of Heaven; put your flaming swords to my purpose. I am Merrick. I command you. I cannot be denied. I will call upon all the Celestial hosts to turn their backs on you should you hesitate. I will call upon God The Father to condemn you, I will condemn you, I will loathe you, should you not listen; I am Merrick, I cannot be denied.”
There was a low rumbling from the statues in the shed, a sound very like the earth makes when it’s shifting—a sound which no one can imitate, but which anyone can hear.
Again came the sound of the rum pouring, from the third bottle.
“Drink from my cauldron, all you angels and saints,” said Merrick, “and allow that my words and my sacrifice rise to Heaven. Hear my voice.”
I strained in my focus upon the statues. Was I losing my mind? They appeared animate and the smoke rising from the incense and candles seemed thicker. Indeed the whole spectacle intensified, colors becoming richer, and the distance between the saints and us smaller, though we had not moved.
Merrick lifted the perforator with her left hand. Instantly, she cut the inside of her right arm. The blood poured down into the cauldron. Her voice rose above it:
“You Watcher Angels, the first to teach mankind magic, I call upon you now for my purpose, or those spirits that answer to your name.
“Ham, you son of Noah and pupil of the Watchers, I call upon you now for my purpose, or that powerful spirit which answers to your name.
“Mestran, son of Ham, who passed on the secrets of magic to his children and others, I call upon you now for my purpose, or that powerful spirit which answers to your name.”
Again she slashed herself with the knife, the blood sliding down her bare arm and into the cauldron. Again there came that sound, as if from the earth beneath us, a low rumbling that mortal ears perhaps would disregard. I looked helplessly to my feet and to the statues. I saw the faint shiver of the entire altar.
“I give you my own blood as I call you,” Merrick said. “Listen to my words, I am Merrick, daughter of Cold Sandra, I cannot be denied.
“Nebrod, son of Mestran, and powerful teacher of magic to those who came after him, bearer of the wisdom of the Watchers, I call upon you for my purpose, or upon that powerful spirit which answers to your name.
“Zoroaster, great teacher and magician, who passed on the mighty secrets of the Watchers, who brought down to himself from the very stars the fire which destroyed his earthly body, I call on you, or that spirit which answers to your name.
“Listen to me, all you who have gone before me, I am Merrick, daughter of Cold Sandra, I cannot be denied.
“I shall cause the Host of Heaven to declare you anathema should you attempt to resist my powers. I shall withdraw my faith and withdraw my blandishments should you not grant the wish that comes from my tongue. I am Merrick, daughter of Cold Sandra; you will bring to me those spirits whom I call.”
Again the perforator was lifted. She cut her own flesh. A long gleaming seam of blood flowed into the aromatic brew. The scent of it inflamed me. The smoke from the mixture stung my eyes.
“Yes, I command you,” she said, “all of you, most powerful and illustrious ones, I command you that I may achieve what I say, that I may bring forth out of the whirlwind those lost souls who will find Claudia, daughter of Agatha, yield up to me those Purgatorial souls who will, in exchange for my prayers, bring forth the spirit of Claudia. Do as I command!”
The iron altar before me was shivering. I could see the skull moving with the altar. I could not discount what I saw. I could not challenge what I heard, the low rumbling of the ground beneath me. Tiny leaves came down in a swirl, like ashes before us. The giant yew trees had begun to sway as if in the early breezes of an approaching storm.
I tried to see Louis, but Merrick stood between us. Her voice came unceasingly:
“All you powerful ones, command Honey in the Sunshine, restless spirit of my sister, daughter of Cold Sandra, that she bring Claudia, daughter of Agatha, out of the whirlwind. Honey in the Sunshine, I command you. I will turn all Heaven against you if you do not obey me. I will heap infamy upon your name. I am Merrick. I will not be denied.”
Even as the blood flowed down over her right hand, she reached with it for the skull beside the smoking cauldron and lifted it up.
“Honey in the Sunshine, I have here your very skull from the grave in which you were buried, and all your names are written upon it in my hand. Honey Isabella, daughter of Cold Sandra, you cannot deny me. I call you and command you to bring Claudia, daughter of Agatha, here now, to answer
to me.”
It was exactly as I’d suspected. She had done the awful deed of violating Honey’s poor pathetic remains. How vicious and how dreadful, and for how long had she kept this secret, that she possessed the skull of her own sister, her own blood kin.
I was revolted yet magnetized. The smoke from the candles grew dense before the statues. It seemed their faces were full of movement, their eyes sweeping the scene before them. Even their drapery appeared alive. The incense burnt bright in the circle on the flagstones, fanned by the breeze that steadily increased.
Merrick laid aside the cursed skull and the perforator.
From the table she lifted the gold pitcher of honey, and poured it into the jeweled chalice. This she lifted with her bloody right hand as she went on:
“Ah, yes, all you lonely spirits, and you, Honey, and you, Claudia, smell this sweet offering—Honey, the very substance after which you in your beauty were named.” Into the cauldron she poured the thick sparkling liquid.
Then she lifted the pitcher of milk. Into the chalice it went, and then she lifted the chalice, gathering up the deadly perforator again in her left hand.
“And this, too, I offer you, so delicious to your desperate senses, come here and breathe this sacrifice, drink of this milk and honey, drink it from the smoke that rises from my cauldron. Here, it comes to you through this chalice which once contained The Blood of Our Lord. Here, partake of it. Do not refuse me. I am Merrick, daughter of Cold Sandra. Come, Honey, I command you, and bring Claudia to me. I will not be denied.”
A loud breath came from Louis.
In the circle before the statues, something amorphous and dark had taken shape. I felt my heart skipping as my eyes strained to make it out. It was the form of Honey, it was the very figure which I had seen many years before. It flickered and wavered in the heat as Merrick chanted:
“Come, Honey, come closer, come in answer to me. Where is Claudia, daughter of Agatha? Bring her here to Louis de Pointe du Lac, I command you. I cannot be denied.”
The figure was almost solid! I saw the familiar yellow hair, the candlelight behind it rendering it transparent, the white dress more spectral than the solid outline of the body itself. I was too stunned to utter the prayers that Merrick had forbidden. The words never formed on my lips.
