Lady Sativa

by Frank Lauria

  In his dreams that night, he was running across the sand. He knew his pursuer was just behind him in the shadows... he saw a huge rock, stopped, and crouched down next to it. He strained to see, but there was nothing but blackness behind him... then a sudden noise nearby startled him and he began running as fast as he could... running... running... running—desperately from the pounding footsteps behind him.

  4

  The lemony sunlight dispelled the gloomy residue of Orient’s fitful sleep.

  He limbered up his travel-knotted muscles on the carpet in front of the bed and began the basic breathing patterns. As his body relaxed, his concentration sifted out the dregs of jet lag and doubt from his thoughts.

  After a brief meditation, he went inside for a hot shower, finished off with a driving cold spray that left his reflexes tingling. As he began to dress he felt completely refreshed. He checked his watch and saw that it was almost noon.

  He decided that a blue cashmere turtleneck and heavy twill trousers would be best against the chill. He found a rolled-up pair of glove skin boots inside the sweater. He gratefully zipped up the lined boots over his trousers. They would keep his feet much warmer than the loafers he’d worn last night.

  When Orient reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw Sybelle standing near a large doorway. She pulled nervously at the black silk scarf around her neck and whispered something to Germaine.

  The tall man was bent attentively over her. The intent press of his lips became a smile as he looked up and saw Orient approaching. “Good morning, doctor. Did you sleep well?” he asked, his voice melodious and calm.

  “Everything is very comfortable.” He looked down at Sybelle: “How’s the reception today?”

  “Marvelous darling. But I’m so concerned about the séance this evening. I do hope we can make contact.”

  “If it’s meant to be, we will,” Orient offered with little enthusiasm. Years ago, high on the mountain, Ku had initiated him as. an adept of the Serene Knowledge. Sometime later, while in North Africa he had been advanced to the second level. But occult science was part of the Serene Knowledge he accepted cautiously. The raw power was far in advance of the present capabilities of ordinary human control.

  Germaine caught Orient’s reluctant tone. “Surely, you will assist us this evening.” He smiled. “You don’t disapprove of trying to contact the souls of the dead, I trust.”

  “Only if the powers involved are invoked for weak motives,” Orient said evenly. “I’ll be happy to sit in.”

  “I think it’s important darling,” Sybelle assured him. I told the count what I told you last night and he said that Carl never told him anything about his work in Lycanthropy. And the count agrees about the gun.”

  Orient shrugged. “A man committing suicide isn’t logical. And many men prefer to work in secrecy.”

  “Quite right,” Germaine chuckled with forced heartiness. “It’s the nature of the alchemist to work alone, eh doctor? A remnant of the days when inventors, scientists, and magicians were burned at the stake. Come,” he said as if the idea had just given him an appetite, “let’s have lunch.”

  Hannah, Neilson, Lily, and Maxwell were seated around the dining table, waiting for them as they entered.

  Hannah smiled vaguely and shook the little brass bell on the table next to her. A stout woman dressed in a white starched uniform took a step into the dining room, counted heads, and popped back into the kitchen. She reappeared in a few minutes with a large tray and began’ serving.

  Orient glanced at Lily, sitting across from him. Her hair was a coppery flash against the clinging, black leather jumpsuit that outlined the long, supple curves of her body. She seemed engrossed in her whispered conversation with Maxwell. Orient wondered if the young Englishman had also declared himself Lily’s sponsor. He decided it was none of his business and tried to focus on what Hannah was saying.

  “It couldn’t be avoided; I had to ask Anthony to leave this morning. I don’t want him to interfere with the séance.” Hannah’s neck was thin and very white against the black silk collar of her suit. Severely drawn-back hair accentuated the pointed, birdlike features of her face. Her eyes were set deep in blue circles that betrayed her insomnia and grief. “I was so tired of fighting with him,” she said softly.

  “He’s a most unpleasant man,” Sybelle said, consolingly. “You did the best thing.”

  Hannah turned. “I’ve put aside the crystals Carl left you. The package is in the library along with the things for Daniel and Maxwell.”

  “You shouldn’t bother, Hannah, darling,” Sybelle clucked. “Why don’t you come stay with me for a few months?”

  “Yes, I do plan to close the house and go somewhere. But I don’t know where yet.”

  “I’ll be very interested to see Carl’s thesis,” Germaine said as he poured some wine into Hannah’s glass. “I had no idea he was interested in Lycanthropy.”

  Hannah lowered her eyes. “Carl was working on something for years, but even I don’t know much about it.”

  Germaine nodded. “Is it available?”

  “I don’t know. It wasn’t with the other documents in the lab,” she said softly. “But one drawer is still locked. We can’t find the key to it.”

  “You’ll probably run across it,” he assured her, “no hurry.” He looked around the table. “Perhaps we should go over the agenda,” he said.

  “When do we start, count?” Neilson rumbled.

  “Right after lunch. We’ll have our regular five member meeting and then call in the candidates separately. Dr. Orient and Sybelle will give the first demonstration.” He turned and smiled at Lily. “Our young prophetess needs some time to prepare herself. We’ll see her in the late afternoon.”

  Her amber eyes looked almost yellow in the sunlit room. “I hope Owen doesn’t mind warming you up,” she said, smiling.

  “Owen won’t mind,” Maxwell assured her. “He’s of the old school. I know the breed well. A vanishing breed I might add, and all proper ladies and gentlemen.”

  He was intent on the wine he was pouring and all that could be seen of his face was the smirking mouth.

  “Perhaps I can help you further your studies,” Orient said calmly. “Our breed is full of surprises.”

  Maxwell reached across the table and filled Orient’s glass with wine. “Interesting. Do you play chess?”

  “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 ga
ve 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.”