Raga Six (A Doctor Orient Occult Novel) (38 page)

Orient shook his head. He was still trying to put something in the right order. A blurred sequence of memory.
 

Raga’s mouth was very close to his ear and her voice was low and caressing. "Come inside and rest, darling," she whispered. "Argyle and Sun Girl will be here in a few hours."
 

Orient turned and found her mouth with his. Her lips parted and her tongue flicked out and his frustration and fear became a swell of lust; a wave of desire that aroused his numbed senses and swept him up in its surge. He lifted Raga in his arms and carried her inside. She moaned against his neck as he eased her onto the bed and pulled her silky robe from her long white body. He entered her roughly and her hips ground against his, answering the force of his passion. She raked his back with her nails and bit his ears and neck, her moans becoming bubbling sobs of delight as he pinned her writhing body down and stroked relentlessly in the foaming surf of her pounding excitement until the wave crested and broke, carrying them both screaming to the edge of a soft, quiet shore.
 

Orient held Raga in his arms and floated in the calm silence for a long time before he finally fell asleep.
 

The telephone woke him up. Raga rolled over and lifted the receiver. Orient blinked. It was still morning. He’d had only an hour’s sleep. And he felt less rested now than when he’d dozed off.
 

"It’s Argyle," Raga said. "They’re here."
 

Orient’s temples began to throb. Argyle and Sun Girl were coming to him for help. And he had nothing for them but a bellyful of defeat and head full of guilt. He pushed himself up from the pillow and swung his feet onto the floor. "Tell them to come up," he sighed.
 

Both Sun Girl and Argyle looked as if they’d also spent a sleepless night. They greeted Raga and Orient quietly and then lapsed into a glum silence.
 

Orient stared down at his wrinkled hands. "Want to try it again?"

 
"Guess so," Argyle grunted. "Doesn’t seem much else we can do."
 

The two men went into the next room. They both took some time tuning their ragged senses with stretching exercises before they went into the formal lotus posture and started the ping pong pattern of positive/negative telepathic images flashing in a figure eight behind their closed eyes. The pattern gained momentum and their minds slowly began to approach each other through the vibrational magnetic field.
 

Their minds collided, merged, and condensed into a massed orbit of consciousness that swung in a great circle as it grew heavier. As its hurtling weight became greater than the the center of the gravitational field that held it, the orbit broke free and soared like a heavy metal ball shooting forward into a blazing pinball machine, spinning straight toward a distant spark of color. The orbit condensed tighter as its speed increased and the spark loomed and became a multihued kaleidoscope of energy.
 

A sudden density muted the Colors. A thick, cloying presence that braked the smooth flight of their consciousness. The density expanded, obliterating perception of light and slowing the orbit until it lost all momentum and their consciousness fell apart, disintegrating into blind, isolated fragments.
 

Orient opened his eyes. "We almost did it," he said, his heart pounding. "We almost reached him."
 

Argyle took a deep breath. "Almost doesn’t help Julian."
 

Orient didn’t answer. His mind was still choking from the decayed vibration of the density. They had been driven out. But not before they’d seen Julian’s rainbow energy, guiding their call.
 

"Any ideas, Doc?" Argyle’s face was blank.
 

"We know one thing," Orient said slowly. "Julian is still alive."
 

Argyle looked up. "How about this, Doc? Maybe we have a better chance of getting to Julian in the morning than at night. I noticed that myself a couple of times. I kept getting bumped but it seemed that I was almost there. Hell, I never thought that Julian was dead."
 

He paused. "What made you think that, Doc?" he asked softly.
 

Orient looked away. "Just another possibility."
 

Argyle didn’t answer.
 

Orient turned. "So now we know he’s alive and there’s a chance we might be able to get through to him in the morning."
 

"Okay. So maybe we can try again tomorrow morning. Full blast."
 

"Good." Orient stood up. "We’ll go in right after dawn."
 

"There must be something else we can do until then," Argyle muttered as they went into the living room. Raga looked up as they came in. "How did it go?" she asked, setting down her coffee cup. Orient sat down next to her. "We might be on to something, but we have to wait until morning."
 

Sun Girl took Argyle’s hand as he sat down beside her on the couch. "Raga’s got an idea," she said. She bit her lip. Her face was wan and tired but her large brown eyes were bright with hope. "She suggested going through the city ourselves, talking to everybody. There’s four of us. Raga can run down her fashion contacts. I can start asking the hippies and the actors downtown. You could contact your movie friends, and all the agents who handle kids. And Owen could handle the medical agencies." Her voice broke. "And the hospitals."
 

"Don’t worry Sun Girl," Orient kept his voice steady and forced a smile. "We know for sure Julian is all fight. It’s just a matter of time until we get through.
 

"Sure," Argyle said gently. "That’s what I’ve been telling her."
 

"Well, gentlemen," Raga said, picking up her cup, "what do you think of our alternative? It’s something positive we can do. Maybe it’s a small chance, but Sun Girl gave me a picture of Julian. I can try the modeling agencies that handle children." She looked from Argyle to Orient.
 

"Could be," Orient said slowly. "I could try the adoption agencies."
 

Sun Girl stood up, her fists clenched. "It’s better than just sitting here waiting."
 

"What we should do is get some telephone directories up here, make up lists of places to hit, and circulate," Argyle reflected.
 

Raga reached for the phone. "I’ll have some sent up tight away."
 

Orient spent most of the morning going over files in two of the hundreds of adoption agencies in Rome. It had exhausted him. The cooling drop of hope on his burning thoughts had momentarily eased his depression, but it evaporated quickly. Walking across the cobblestone streets to meet Raga, he wearily contemplated the fruitless days ahead, picking through thousands of photographs. He shifted his thoughts to the possibilities. Julian was still alive. And they’d almost broken through to him. Perhaps Argyle was right. His proposition had basis in fact. Negative fields created by artificial means are dispersed by sunlight. Most occult experiments were usually conducted after sunset. And there was something else. Something important. But he still couldn’t remember.
 

He turned into a quiet, tree-lined street and saw Raga sitting at a table in the sun, in front of a small
trattoria.
She smiled when she saw him and his struggle to keep his spirits up became easier.
 

When he reached the table he kissed her and sat down, reaching for her hand. "Any luck?" he asked softly.
 

Raga shook her head. "Nothing at the agencies."
 

"Same here." Orient picked up the menu and stared at it. "It may take weeks."

 
"We’ve just started, Owen," Raga said. "I’ve only managed to see three of my prospects. But I have two appointments this afternoon."
 

Orient smiled and looked at her. She was wearing a purple silk shirt that heightened the transparent quality of her smooth skin. Her yellow eyes were darkened by a trace of sadness.
 

"You’re discouraged," she said, her pale lips parting in a half smile.
 

"A little. I thought that all this confusion was over with, finished. Now that Julian is missing, all I can think of is that I’ve made some tragic mistake." As he spoke, the feeling that he had forgotten something returned. It was something about that night. When he’d killed Alistar Six.

 
"But you can’t blame yourself, Owen. You’re doing the best you can."
 

"I’ve got to do more than that to help Julian." Orient stared at his hands. He didn’t want to tell her that combing the city would do no good. That if they found Julian and he was in the same deep coma that had consumed Janice and Presto, there was nothing he could do. That he was defeated. Even if he could help Julian, it wouldn’t change the fact that he had killed a man.
 

"We’re doing all we can," Raga implored. "Don’t you see? It’s all anyone can do." She covered his hand with hers. "Please, darling."
 

Orient nodded. "We’ll see what happens tomorrow morning."
 

"Do you still want to keep looking in the meantime?"
 

"May as well."
 

"At least it’ll keep you from moping around the hotel all day," Raga said, touching his cheek. "Pacing the floor."
 

Orient smiled and kissed her. She seemed to know his anguish as well as he did himself. It gave him courage. After lunch they went different ways, Raga to keep an appointment with a children’s photographer and Orient to another orphanage.
 

His depression was still pulling at his every move but he went through the motions, carefully checking photographs and asking about new arrivals. His earlier exhaustion retreated but he forced himself to visit another agency before giving up for the day. It was the only way he had of helping Argyle and Sun Girl. But defeat dragged at him after two hour of sitting in the barren office of another orphanage and he decided to go to Via Veneto to meet Argyle, Sun Girl, and Raga.
 

He tried to keep his thoughts productive as he crossed the wide square at Piazza del Popolo. He looked up at the needle slab of stone in the center of the fountain, carved with Egyptian figures. Rome was a beautiful city. Raga had been right. Except for the traffic that glutted its cobblestones alleys it was gracious and sensual to the eye. Orient wondered if he would ever be free just to pursue his life with Raga in Rome or anywhere else. He decided to cut through the Borghese gardens to the Via Veneto.
 

He walked slowly up the stone steps on one side of the square and wandered through the spacious, tree-shaded park watching the fashionably dressed Italian children playing on the grass, clustered around the balloon vendors and puppeteers. The sun-dappled foliage and bright colors of the stalls lifted his spirits and he started outlining a plan of action that he and Argyle could follow. His thoughts were nagged by an elusive, teasing memory. It was hazy and indistinct but he knew it had something to do with the night he killed Raga’s husband. He pushed the memory aside.
 

The best thing to do would be to go to bed early, get a good night’s sleep, and then try to break through to Julian in the morning. Preparation for the immense effort was the most important thing. Right now his brain felt bruised and sluggish.
 

He walked faster, trying to rouse his circulation and faintly hopeful that perhaps one of the others had found something. He came to a wide expanse of grass and headed for a stone arch in the distance which led to the Via Veneto. Then he stopped.
 

He saw two people walking next to a line of trees far to his left. One of them was a little blond boy. Orient started walking toward them.
 

The little boy was walking hand in hand with a tall, blond girl wearing a long coat. Orient walked faster.
 

The little boy turned. His white face was indistinct in the sunlight, but as Orient hurried forward a few steps, he made out the features and his brain slammed to a halt.
 

It was Julian. Orient started to run, but something was wrong with him. His arms and legs felt as though they were weighted down. Each step was agonizingly slow. The woman with Julian turned around. She saw Orient and began walking faster.
 

Orient’s idling brain suddenly exploded into a roar of confusion when he saw Pia’s grim, chiseled face. He moved forward with great effort as if he was wading against a strong current of water. And then the memory was dancing around him as he groaned and inched forward; a flash of recall that was battered and jeered at his lurching struggle. Pia. That was what he was trying to place. When he had burst into Six’s laboratory, Pia and Alistar had been locked in combat. But it had been Pia who had been holding the hypodermic.
 

Six had been defending himself against Pia.
 

His mind was buzzing as his pounding heart began to give way against the effort of his breathless, futile crawl. He rifted his hand and tried to call out. His voice didn’t respond.
 

 
His rolling eyes caught the profound blue glaze of the lapis stone on his finger. Orient fell to his knees and squeezed the name out of his lungs.
 

"Lammia."
 

The object of his judgment. The name of the Vampire.
 

He clawed at his concentration and croaked out the words of power Ahmehmet had given him. First the key. Two seven seven.
 

Lammia. The Vampire.
 

"Lammia." He shook with the effort it took to open his dry throat.
 

"Nahmah, Samanta, Vajranam chanda maharoshana Sphataya hum traka ham ma—
" He started coughing and his vision blurred.