The Black Madonna (The Mystique Trilogy) (37 page)

‘You’ve been through a huge ordeal yourself,’ Castor added. ‘You may be a demi-god but that doesn’t mean you don’t need to rest and recuperate after having your consciousness bounced about through time for aeons.’

Mathu was dumbstruck a moment and slightly discomforted. ‘Why do I suddenly feel like a novice among masters?’

I laughed at the role reversal. ‘Well, we’ve been human a hell of a lot longer.’

‘And some of us still can’t get it right,’ Arcturus said, forcing a grin. He couldn’t stop his gaze drifting back to his daughter.

‘Don’t you start believing the negative rubbish Ill put in that girl’s head!’ I gave my old friend a shake. ‘I know you’re worried, but have a little faith in your daughter’s abilities. She will come through this.’

He nodded and put on a brave face, but I knew deep down he also felt he’d let her down. ‘What should I tell Meridan?’ he asked.

‘She’s going to lose her focus if she knows we have problems here,’ Castor advised. ‘Wait a week or so and see if Tamar’s condition improves any, then the news you deliver may not be so bad.’

Arcturus was unsure. ‘I think she has the right to know that our daughter now hates us!’ His hurt began bubbling to the surface.
‘Goddess knows what kind of perverse vision of us the Nefilim have pumped into her head!’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Levi grabbed hold of Arcturus by the shirtfront to get his full attention. ‘It’s false!’

I separated the two men, who were glaring at each other, although Levi appeared to have got his point across. ‘If you like, I can work with Castor during her recovery and find out exactly what falsehoods Ill has filled her mind with,’ I offered.

‘That would be wonderful,’ Arcturus said gratefully. He knew I rarely used my psychic skill to probe the minds of others, but in this case I thought it justified. ‘But won’t you experience all that she has?’ he went on, concerned.

‘I need see only fragments, not enough to be harmful,’ I assured him, although inside I was dreading the process. Still, we Dragon Queens had been so focused on getting the grid up and running that we had lost sight of our primary objective—to protect the key to Amenti, Kali. I felt I had much to make amends for and so any pain I might suffer as I tried to right this tragic oversight would be a small price to pay.

M
IA
D
EVERE
—MERIDAN

I hadn’t walked the streets of New York since my university days at NYU, and it felt strangely surreal to be back in the real world again. We strutted through Central Park, my two Dragon sisters and I, getting hit on by every group of males that passed us. Spring was in the air, the sun shone overhead and the park was abloom with beautiful pink tulips, cherry blossoms and myriad other fragrant flowers. This natural oasis was a world away from the crowded streets of the city that bordered its environs and the atmosphere seemed alive with positive frequency—whatever Killian was doing to the people down here it was certainly working!

‘Feel that energy!’ Vespera commented, breathing in deeply as we approached the area of the park that the Peace Project had taken over. There were people chanting, singing, meditating, doing yoga and other disciplines involving mind, body and spirit coordination, and yet they were all in harmony with each other.

The man we had come to find, now known as Chris Molier, was seated on a low-rise stage doing an interview with a famous night-show host.

‘This has nothing to do with religion,’ Chris was insisting with a cheeky smile. ‘This is pure science.’

‘That our intention affects everything around us?’ The interviewer sounded sceptical.

‘Before we say or do
anything
,’ Chris explained, ‘our intention is already doing the good or the damage that we
intend
to do.’

‘And you can prove this?’

‘I can.’ Chris motioned the interviewer to follow him to another part of the stage where some machinery was set up.

‘That looks like a lie detector,’ the interviewer said.

‘It is,’ Chris confirmed, raising his eyebrows a couple of times to heighten the suspense. The crowd laughed.

‘Well, I hope you don’t plan on hooking me up to that,’ the interviewer said, looking alarmed. He’d been privy to more than a few scandals during his career.

‘Fear not,’ Chris said, playing up the joke, ‘this test requires a subject that’s a little more innocent.’ He called to one of his assistants. ‘Sharon, could you bring over the unsuspecting rubber tree, please?’

This brought a great laugh from the crowd and the interviewer.

‘You intend to hook that plant up to the lie detector?’ he said. ‘Is that legal? Could we be sued by the greenies?’

‘I want to stress that the plant will not be permanently harmed in any way,’ Chris said with mock seriousness.

The interviewer was almost in tears of laughter as Chris went about connecting the electrodes to the plant.

‘The waxy insulation between the cells in plants causes an electrical discharge that mimics a human stress reaction,’ he explained. ‘A polygraph reading offers evidence of those stress levels. I’d like to point out that this wasn’t my brilliant discovery, but that of Cleve Backster, this country’s greatest expert in lie detectors and a refiner of the polygraph.’

Chris turned the apparatus on and directed the interviewer’s attention to the monitor, which was being projected onto a bigger screen so the crowd could also see what was going on. The polygraph pen was swinging very mildly on the paper.

‘As you can see, we have mild stress levels at the moment,’ Chris said.

‘The poor little fellow probably has stage fright,’ the interviewer joked.

Chris laughed, agreeing that he was most likely right.

‘Now see what happens when I say something nice.’ Chris walked over and placed his hands on the leaves of the plant. ‘My, but you
are the most exquisite rubber tree I have ever seen. You’re just gorgeous!’

The crowd applauded as the pen on the polygraph swung lower.

‘No, you’re not,’ Chris said, changing his tune and ruffling the leaves, ‘you’re hideous! I don’t know why you ever bothered germinating! I hate you!’

There wasn’t much of a swing in the stress level of the plant at all and everyone looked confused.

‘My words and actions didn’t make much difference to the plant’s state of being,’ Chris said. ‘But what happens if I really intend it harm?’

He held out his hands in plain view of everyone, without touching the plant, and closed his eyes. Within seconds the recording pen swung to the top of the polygraph chart and nearly jumped off.

The crowd gasped, as did the reporter. To all appearances, Chris hadn’t said or done anything. ‘What just happened?’ the interviewer asked.

‘All I had to do was think about burning one of its leaves with a match,’ Chris explained. Everyone was gobsmacked by the implications. ‘It wasn’t my action but my intention that caused this plant harm. But,’ he held up a finger to let everyone know he wasn’t done yet, ‘what I find even more interesting is this.’

He waved his assistant forward once more and this time she brought with her a piece of slimy pipe, which she handed gingerly to Chris, an expression of disgust on her face.

Chris held the pipe up. ‘This is your average piece of old sink pipe, the type you’d find in your own home, filled with years of grime and slimy build-up. In other words,
bacteria
, some of the tiniest living organisms known to man.’

As Chris spoke the polygraph did a little stress jump. ‘I haven’t done anything yet,’ he said to the plant and the crowd giggled.

‘My assistant has a jug of boiling water…’ Again the pen did a little jump. ‘Stop that,’ he joked and then appealed to the crowd. ‘Please don’t send me hate mail for harassing plants.’

He certainly hasn’t lost any of his charm
, I thought; he had the entire crowd hanging on his every word and laughing at all his jokes.

‘Now, I’m taking my hot water and my microbe-filled pipe all the way over here, where the plant can’t see,’ Chris said, causing a riot in the crowd as he moved across the stage to hide the proceedings from the plant.

As soon as the water hit the pipe the polygraph began swinging around wildly.

‘The plant sensed you were going to hurt the bacteria,’ the interviewer concluded.

‘No, the plant felt the bacteria’s distress and, being empathetic towards it, became distressed itself,’ Chris corrected.

‘No wonder plants won’t survive in my kitchen,’ commented the interviewer as he applauded the display.

‘So, having discovered this and much more thanks to quantum science,’ Chris said, moving back towards the interviewer but really addressing the crowd, ‘I had to ask myself what would happen if we, as human beings of the twenty-first century, knowing what we know now, focused all our good intentions into the more tension-filled areas of our globe. Would it have a real impact on crime, health and well-being within that troubled area—And how could such a movement be organised? That’s how the Peace Project came into being, so that through pure science—not hearsay or faith—people could be made aware of the power of their intentions. We all use the excuse that as individuals we can’t make a huge difference to the troubles in the world, but I say that one person
can
make a difference. If I can send a plant into deep stress with the thought of a threat, just imagine the harm the sum total of human intention is doing to this planet. This project asks for nothing from anyone besides your best wishes for our continued success. Any involvement anyone wishes to have with us beyond that is entirely up to them.’

‘Chris Molier, thank you very much for speaking with us today live from Central Park,’ the interviewer said, then went into his closing spiel. Chris waved and left the platform.

‘Quite the entertainer,’ Talori commented.

‘Apparently there are numerous science tents all around showing similar demonstrations,’ Vespera enlightened us as she flicked through the program.

I looked around at all the amazed and excited faces. ‘He really has created something here.’

My sights came to rest on Killian, caught up in a throng of curious and adoring fans. Fourteen years older than the last time I’d seen him, he was even more handsome: the long hair that had once hung in his eyes had been shorn into a crew cut, and his dress sense was casually classy.

‘We may never get to speak with him, however,’ I said. ‘That crowd is ten people deep.’

‘No problem.’ Talori put on her large sunglasses, which made her appear even more the wealthy heiress, and strode over to the crowd. As those in the crush saw her coming, they were captivated by her regal air and parted to make way for her. ‘Thank you so much,’ she repeated graciously as she moved to the front of the line. Once there, she threw her arms wide. ‘Chris, darling!’

For a moment our target was stunned by the beauty before him. Talori had to lower her sunglasses before he finally placed her, and then he nearly choked on the shock.

‘Oh my goddess, it’s you!’ He laughed, over the moon to see her. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘We’ve come to help you, my love.’ She patted his cheek and directed his gaze in our direction. Vespera and I waved.

‘Well,’ he was so caught off guard he didn’t know what to say, ‘that’s wonderful!’ His eyes were fixed on me, and a shy smile crossed his face as he excused himself from the crowd to come and greet us. ‘Mia.’ He held his hands out to me and kissed both my cheeks—it seemed some of his French mannerisms remained with him. ‘I’ve been anticipating this moment for fourteen years.’

I was flattered by his attention, as I was the envy of every woman present, and painfully aware of the clicking of cameras all around us.

‘I thought you’d have forgotten all about me by now.’

‘Does anyone forget their greatest inspiration?’ he said sweetly.

Feeling my cheeks beginning to flush, I directed his attention away from me. ‘You remember Ajalae,’ I said, indicating Vespera, whom he greeted warmly. ‘And Susan, of course.’ I picked names from their past lives; it wasn’t wise to use our staff names whilst doing fieldwork.

‘Of course,’ he said with a delightful grin as Talori allowed him to kiss her hand. ‘Well, ladies, would you do me the honour of joining me for lunch? It seems we have much to discuss.’

‘I thought you’d never ask,’ Talori said, taking hold of one arm. Vespera took the other. I suspected they sensed that the man’s adoration made me a little uncomfortable.

I was surprised to see that the paparazzi hung back and respected his space; perhaps Chris Molier hadn’t reached the high level of fame I’d imagined and was still a minor celebrity in the eyes of the press.

Over lunch in the park, during which no one bothered us, I asked Killian about the lack of media and fan harassment.

‘There are times when I open myself to the attention of others and times when I don’t,’ he replied. ‘The reason I’m not harassed is because I don’t wish it…this is my reality, after all.’

‘Bravo,’ Talori said, raising her glass of sparkling water to him.

‘Still, I feel your work has made a difference to everybody’s consciousness on Earth,’ he went on. ‘Even the paparazzi aren’t as aggressive as they used to be…they’re much more respectful of the feelings of others. You have all made my job a hell of a lot easier…so cheers!’ He raised his glass of water and toasted us in return.

All through lunch the conversation centred around Killian’s science projects, especially those concerning photo-sonics, biochemistry and microbiology. Some of it was interesting to me, but most of it was very technical and lost me—partly because I was inwardly flustered by Killian’s adoring gazes across the table.

‘When we’re done here, I’ll introduce you to the respective heads of the departments you’ll be assisting, if you like,’ Killian suggested. ‘My entire team is here.’

Talori and Vespera were very receptive to the idea, until they realised it would leave me alone with Killian. They both looked at me with pleading faces, requesting permission to abandon me.