Lady Sativa (21 page)

The Asian girl moaned and Orient caught a glimpse of her face, lips pulled back in a tight grin of ecstasy, before Maxwell’s round, white body obscured her features and muffled the sounds. He became dimly aware of a stir of movement on Germaine’s rigid body. Then he focused on the source. The man’s wrinkled organ was expanding and becoming erect. It deepened in color as it swelled, looking oddly ripe and powerful against his parched, hollow groin.

Lily unhooked the garter belt across Maxwell’s flabby buttocks, her breasts swaying as she rocked her knee harder against the girl’s grinding hips.

Jackhammers began to batter the inside of Orient’s chest as he watched her twisting with frenzied pleasure on the other side of the glass. Germaine’s body jerked upright as if his stringy muscles and thin bones had been jolted by a sudden snap of electric current. A silky stream of semen glistened in the candlelight as it spurted from his twitching penis and arched out to spatter against Lily’s shoulder.

All the energy in the room collapsed.

Germaine slumped down in his chair as if unconscious. Lily fell across the Asian girl’s body and pressed her head against her breasts. Maxwell lay still on the carpet.

Orient’s heart continued to chatter in the abrupt silence that stuffed the shadows. He wanted to leave the terrace, but his legs wouldn’t respond; all reflex was paralyzed by the reality of the orgy in the room.

Germaine lifted his head. It looked abnormally large above the thin shoulders and narrow, ridged chest. His gray eyes glinted like chrome discs under his angled eyebrows as they stared directly at the part in the curtains, and the melodious sound of his voice cut through the stillness. “Someone is outside,” he said, “on the terrace.”

Maxwell sprang awkwardly to his feet and padded over to the glass door.

15

An icy calm froze Orient’s emotions. His heartbeat slowed and his confusion congealed in a - cool rush of confidence as Maxwell flung open the terrace door.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here, you damned fool!” Maxwell yelled.

“Hello, Andersen,” Orient said softly. “I was just passing by and saw the light.”

Lily looked up when she heard the sound of his voice. “Owen?” she called out. “Is that you?”

He smiled. “May I come in?” He noted, without displeasure, that Maxwell’s pudgy body seemed to deflate and the frown under his reflecting sunglasses was unsure. As he stepped inside, he screwed his will tighter over the whirling confusion, determined to keep the advantage of his control.

Inside the room smelled of sweat and sex and something else—something pungent and heavy.

“You have no right here, Orient,” Maxwell growled.

“There’s no sense getting angry. I don’t intend to intrude on your work.” He paused and looked at Lily sitting on the floor. “You’re all free to do as you like.”

She stared at him with open-mouthed bewilderment from under her mask.

“This is most unexpected, doctor,” Germaine said.

Orient shrugged. I suppose it is. Hope I didn’t disrupt anything.”

The Oriental girl sat up and yawned. There was a fond, bemused smile on Germaine’s face as he watched her. “Have no fear, doctor,” he said. “Our experiment is concluded.” He looked at Orient and his features hardened. “But you could have destroyed the work of months and endangered us all. Why are you here?” His eyes flashed like steel spear tips from the triangular head that dominated his withered body.

Orient’s billowy calm absorbed their thrust. “Because I believe a homicidal schizophrenic murdered Daniel, Hazer,” he said slowly.

Lily gasped and looked inquiringly at Germaine.

“Didn’t you know?” Orient murmured.

“Count Germaine and I agreed not to discuss the matter!” Maxwell snapped. “There was no need to upset Lily before our final phase. And there’s no bloody need for you to be in my house, upsetting her now.”

Orient’s gaze remained steady on Germaine’s face. “Your experiment is related to the moon phase,” he said, ignoring Maxwell.

Germaine’s eyes clouded over. “Yes, it is.”

“An occult experiment?”

Germaine let the question hang in the silence.

Orient’s intuition covered his brain like a swarm of bees, their delicate antennae dowsing for minuscule vibrational signals. He could feel Maxwell’s fury, Lily’s confusion, and the Asian girl’s curiosity. But there was nothing but his own unanswered question emanating from the naked, skeletal figure sitting in the brocade chair.

“I feel you’re not telling me all the truth,” Germaine mused. “But it makes no difference. I will answer your question.” He smiled at Orient. “Tonight we completed the third phase of the Kundalini rites according to the Tantric discipline.”’

The insects crawling over Orient’s consciousness began to hum, tingling his comprehension. Kundalini was the Tantric-Yoga rite of sex force. “The Serpent Fire,” he said aloud.

Germaine nodded his head slightly. “You have the education of an adept, I commend you. It’s true the stages of the Kundalini rite are structured to awaken the Serpent Fire of renewed life that sleeps coiled at the base of the spine.” Amusement flared in his eyes. “Do you also know how to perform the rite?”

The sensitive antennae bristled across his mind. “It produces longevity, doesn’t it?”

“The Tantric Rite of Kundalini unleashes the very core of the life force. By controlling the Serpent Fire, one can extend the life cycle indefinitely.” Germaine’s voice trailed off to a whisper. “But only a handful of humans are able to manipulate the force. “These children,” he lifted a pale, fine-boned arm and looked down at Lily and the Asian girl still sitting at his feet, “my little apprentices, in time they too may learn the technique. If they can make the sacrifice.”

The last word sent a warning buzz through Orient’s awareness. “Sacrifice?” he repeated.

Germaine’s smile became regretful. “To follow the Tantric Path of extended youth the apprentice must learn that the desire to reproduce must be sacrificed to a higher function. One can only release sexual energy once a year, at the apex of a three-month moon cycle.” He pressed his fingertips together, as if he was praying. Surely, you don’t think I meant a
blood
sacrifice, doctor?”

“The possibility occurred to me.
Your
life goes on, but two men are dead. Each on the night of the full moon. During the phase of your Kundalini rite.”

“All right, Orient, I think it’s time you got out of here,” Maxwell barked. “I’m sick of your damned, meddling accusations.”

Lily stood up and took the mask away from her face. Compassion and disbelief clouded her amber eyes and there was a husky catch in her voice when she spoke. “You’re wrong Owen. The Kundalini rite is just a technique for expansion. Like yours. Nothing more.”

Orient realized she was pleading with mm to understand. Small beads of perspiration trickled down her neck and across her golden skin, running into the crevasse between her curved, dark-nippled breasts. She took a step toward him. When she lifted her arm, he saw the sperm clinging like yellow-white jelly to her shoulder. “Don’t you see, darling?” she crooned softly. “It’s not wrong to want to prolong your youth.”

“Forget it, Lily,” Maxwell warned. “I told you before you were wasting valuable time with this clumsy paranoid.”

She hesitated.

Perhaps it was her obedient hesitation when Maxwell spoke, or the understanding that Lily had told him about their relationship, or the splotch of sperm on her skin— but something scattered the delicately tuned network of his intuition and stung his reason. His fist lashed out and smacked Maxwell with such force that he stumbled and fell against the wall.

A stab of pain pierced the protective cloak of calm like a hot needle, pricking an exposed nerve in his brain. He howled as the agony and fury seared through his unprepared defenses.

“You need help. You’re sick.” Germaine’s arm shot out and his fingers closed like a steel vise around Orient’s wrist.

Orient roared and wrenched away. He ran out to the terrace, jumped up to the rail, and in the same fluid movement stepped out onto the tree limb.

When he reached the trunk, he swung down, hand over hand through the branches, until he reached the ground. Then he sprinted across the lawn, climbed over the high fence, and started running away from the house.

He kept running until he came to a park and saw a grove of tall bushes. He crawled inside the grove and lay down in the cool, wet shadows; curling his body around its exhaustion and pain like a hunted animal who’d just found a burrow of refuge.

When he walked out of the park, a half hour later, he felt strangely refreshed, as if he’d drawn some natural healing energy from the mud and minty leaves that had concealed him

The complete calm he’d felt earlier had returned to smother the pain while his body recuperated from his physical efforts.

The rain had stopped and he wandered through the streets, his thoughts enveloped by the lush effects of the potion. Every detail of what had happened at Maxwell’s house was clear and distinct in his memory and the certainty that he’d been deceived by Lily pulsed insistently through his muffled emotions. He remembered the anger and agony slashing through his control and his raging attack on Maxwell.

Apprehension stirred in his mind as he understood that the formula’s effectiveness could be overcome. He wasn’t cured. But even the fear couldn’t quell the satisfaction of having unleashed his dislike for the boy. As he though of Lily again, the satisfaction grew, fed by the certainty of her deception.

He continued to walk aimlessly. The streets became dirtier, brighter, and more crowded, but he paid little attention. His awareness kept rocking in monotonous reveries of Lily’s betrayal and his revenge.

He noticed a group of wild-haired young people sitting underneath a large statue. He stopped as he realized that, it was the statue of Eros in Piccadilly Circus. His hotel was on the other side of London. He looked around the busy, neon-stained square and wondered if he should call a cab and go back to his hotel.

He rejected the idea immediately. He wasn’t tired any more and he felt restless. He decided to find someplace with some life and people where he could get another perspective.

He chose a crowded pub at the edge of Soho. He stood in the corner with his drink, avoiding any more contact than necessary with the patrons. The loud noise and whiskey seemed to stimulate his thoughts and he began making plans for his return to New York.

He could make up another, larger amount of the potion and then investigate the truth of what Germaine had told him. The Tantric rite was a left-hand path of the Serene Knowledge, an occult science closely linked with negative elements. He wondered if Lily would tell him the truth.

“Why not have a seat?” a thick feminine voice inquired.

A tall, thirtyish woman with streaked blonde hair and glazed eyes was leaning toward him, one hand on the empty seat next to her.

He grunted and sat down. It was a relief to get off his stiffening legs, but he didn’t feel like talking.

The woman examined him over the rim of her glass. “Are you shy or just born with a lock on your mouth?” She took a swallow of whiskey and set the glass down. “My father was like that,” she confided hoarsely. “Didn’t have any use for wastin’ words.”

Orient didn’t answer.

“And just look at you,” she persisted. “You’re a proper sight, aren’t you?”

He glanced down and saw that his clothes were rumpled and stained with dirt.

The woman squinted knowingly. “You’ve been on a roaring binge, haven’t you?”

He looked at her. She was wearing a short suede skirt and thigh-length snakeskin boots that accentuated her rounded hips. The sharp, ferret like features of her face were slack from drinking and blurred by exaggerated, make-up, but something about her physical nearness excited him. A quick, sensual urge caressed his consciousness. “That’s right,” he smiled. “A long party.”

She smiled back at him and as she turned to signal the bartender her black sweater strained against the thrust of her breasts. “Two more, Randy,” she called out. Then she leaned close to him. “Don’t worry, love,” she purred. “You’re with somebody who knows all about it. Just have a good time and Lynn will take care of you.”

Orient stiffened. “What did you say your name was?”

“Why it’s Lynn, short for Eleanor. Don’t you like it?”

His suspicions collapsed at the sight of her smeared, uncertain smile. “Nothing really. Your name just sounds like somebody else I know.”

She leered drunkenly. “Some old flame, I wager, But I’m not the jealous sort.” She took one of the glasses the bartender brought and set it down in front of Orient. “What’s your name?”

“Mike.” He picked up the glass. “Mike Scott. With two t’s.”

“Drink up, Mike,” she urged. “Tonight the party’s on me.”

He sat in the bar with her until closing time. Despite Lynn’s efforts to draw him out, he had lapsed into a silent reverie.

He knew now that Lily had been deceiving him all along. For some reason, she was allowing Germaine to manipulate her powers during the lunar phase. And Maxwell was the one who’d turned her against him. It was clear Maxwell had always been the one who hated him. Even in another lifetime, Maxwell had been his enemy.