Bless the Child (16 page)

N
icholas Sayles was almost beautiful, if you didn’t take his soul into account. The arrogant nose and aristocratic forehead, the sensuous lips and brooding dark eyes were not run-of-the-mill, even for a network media star. The angular cheekbones of a Magyar chieftain and dark masculine brows lent strength to the rest; like fierce male anchors in an otherwise too exquisite environment, they spoke of power that was willful and dangerous. He had black hair that fell below his shoulders, a rebellious fuck-you to convention. Tethered in a long pony tail, it added to the sleek animal essence to the man; hanging loose it made him hybrid lion and panther. Nicky Sayles seemed more than human . . . and less. It was one of the reasons for his television success.

His intellect was the other. Behind a slick, urbane exterior, a first-rate brain resided. And he was entirely without conscience, a fact he had learned to conceal in the presence of those still chained to the illusion of morality and ethics. He won through skill and charm and ruthlessness and the practice of magic, although only a handful of people knew about the latter weapon in his arsenal.

Nicky reclined comfortably, in the Vannier study, on a long leather couch. Eric was the only friend with whom he was ever truly himself.

“How’s the kid getting along with Ghania?” he asked with a smirk. “Being in the care of the old witch isn’t a fate I’d wish on even my producer.” Erick frowned; Nicky’s occasional crassness irritated him.

“Ghania is a master at ‘awakenings’ as you well know, Nicky. She torments the child and delights her, she teaches her terror, but does not break the spirit. As yet. She is the captor on whose benevolence life depends, and the torturer from the nightmares of the damned.”

“So much for Sesame Street,” Nicky said with a short laugh. “But what she’s trying to pull off here goes far beyond brainwashing, Eric. She can’t awaken the kid’s powers too soon, or we’ll never be able to control her.”

“True. It is a delicate balance she maintains . . . honing the instrument to the breaking point, then retreating. Honing and restraining. Honing and transforming. But Ghania is the best . . . there isn’t another on this planet I’d trust with this task. The child will be ready at the appropriate time.”

Sayles nodded, unconvinced, and swung his long legs onto the floor.

“I wish I felt as smug about this ritual shit as you do. I still think it would be easier if we just killed the kid. Virgin life-force packs a hell of a wallop. We could use the death throes to make sure the Materialization works.”

“Or kill the goose that lays the golden egg.” Eric responded.

“You think we have to keep her alive, after we’ve got the Amulets? I guess she could be a fucking booby trap of some kind—the Goddess always did have a wild sense of humor. That’d be some frigging joke wouldn’t it, Eric? We Materialize the Amulets, kill the kid, and then find out we need her to drive the bus.” He laughed mirthlessly at the potential irony.

“I don’t think killing the child serves our purpose,” Eric said, untroubled by the possibility of murder. “I expect that Sekhmet will want the body for her own purposes, don’t you? It must be difficult to be the quintessence of lust, with no means to assuage your hungers. Even the Gods have needs.”

Sayles raised an eyebrow.

“So we banish Cody’s Ka and hand the body to the demonic Gestapo, until Sekhmet gets horny enough to use it?” he mused. “But what the hell, it’s only eternity, right?”

“Cody is merely a pawn in the game of the Gods, Nicky. Her karma makes her vulnerable.”

“Yeah, and also gives her power. Don’t forget she’ll be ‘awakened’ by then. We’ve got no way of knowing exactly what kind of power she’ll have, once the floodgates are opened. Isis is no slouch as an enemy.”

“Nor is Sekhmet. Remember, it was Isis who devised this test. She cannot intervene for a player, without queering her own game.”

Sayles pursed his lips judiciously. “You know, Eric, you’re really something. Where do you get off being so cocky about all this? As far as I know, we only get one shot at this Materialization, and the spell is a fucking rat’s nest of ambiguities and intricate horseshit that nobody’s done for a couple thousand years—at least nobody’s done it right . . .”

Eric looked annoyed. “Magic is a science, Nicky. No more, no less. It’s bound by laws, natural and unnatural . . . if we invoke them properly, those laws will assure that the Universe complies with our intent. Don’t start getting mystical on me, and acting as if we may fail in our efforts because of some fluke of circumstance. We will
control Fate
, and bend it to our will. Remember Crowley’s precept: ‘Do What Thou Wilt Shall Be the Whole of the Law.’”

“Crowley my ass, Eric. He ended up an impotent old fart, babbling about the power he
used
to have. There
are
laws, I’ll grant you that—but we damn well don’t know what all of them are. Sure, we can bend nature to our will, but only when we have the proper formulae at our disposal. And there’s a piss-pot-full of magic we still don’t know how to work. And with this particular invocation, let me remind you, we are not dealing with mere demons—these fuckers are
Gods.
”

Eric rose from behind the desk to look his friend in the eye and said very coolly, “Our Council of Thirteen includes the most powerful magicians on the planet. They represent every major discipline on the Left Hand Path. Let me remind you, Nicky, we, too, are Gods. We have crossed the Abyss . . . we can fuck with whatever we damn well choose.”

Sayles put up his hands in a gesture that said
enough
. “A small difference of opinion, kiddo,” he replied. “I’m not expecting any hitches . . . I just don’t want to get so cocky we get careless. We’re six inches from the pot of gold . . . I don’t want anybody pissing on the rainbow.”

Nicky stood and stretched his lanky body; it was stronger and lither than it had seemed when recumbent.

“The real question we should be thinking about is which of our trusty band should we distrust most? Which of our esteemed colleagues will make a grab for the Amulets the moment they’ve been Materialized?”

“Nearly everyone of stature, I should think. Ghania has a psychic hit list already in progress. It’s a tricky call, of course—anyone proficient enough to attempt a coup is proficient enough to cover his intent. Nonetheless, she’ll monitor on the Astral and kill as needed.”

“Why don’t we just slip them all one of those slow-acting Chinese poisons Ghania’s been screwing around with, at the dress rehearsal. Afterward, we’ll decide who gets the antidote . . .”

Eric Vannier laughed aloud.

“I told you we were Gods, Nicky . . . life, death, the fate of the planet, all in our hands now. Why, it’s even better than being Republican!”

T
he two young priestesses stood facing each other across the vast temple floor. An ephemeral sunshine filtered through panes of semi-precious crystal, bathing the limestone interior in puddles of colored light that undulated like a rich tidal pool.

It was a dream, yet some part of Maggie’s consciousness knew she, herself, was the dark-haired priestess in another time, and Cody was the fair one, walking toward her, arms outstretched in supplication.

“Don’t you remember me, Mim?” the young girl was calling wistfully. “Don’t you remember me?” The dream/ Maggie reached out to take her hand.

Suddenly, a fissure cracked the ground before them, and a demonic creature hissed up from its sulphurous depths. Its grotesque head roared a ghastly sound, not of this sphere—a flowing lava substance belched from its drooling lips. There was something remotely human about the body, yet its hooves were cloven, and its haunches bovine. A covering of matted hair and feathers stretched to claw-like fingers. It had pendulous female breasts and a huge erection.

The demon seized the Cody/priestess with bloody claws and dragged her backward pitilessly toward the gaping pit that had descended deep into the earth. The Maggie/priestess could see a staircase sloping down, downward, miles into the Abyss—flames and sulphur roiled at the bottom, and bursts of steam issued forth rhythmically, as if spewed by a giant bellows.

Maggie knew she looked into the maw of Hell.

Far, far below, at the bottom of the endless passageway, Jenna—entranced—was descending the staircase.

The dream/Cody struggled with the demon; smelling its foul breath, feeling its filthy claws caress her purified flesh. Frantically, the dream/ Maggie tried to run to the struggling priestess, but her feet were mired in quicksand that sucked at every step. Angry demons surged from the pit in swarms, to beat her back—stinging, flailing, red-hot pincers flayed at her as she fought her way toward . . .

Cody!

Maggie was awake now, bolt upright in bed. But the dream filled her soul with terrible knowing. Cody was in deadly, immediate peril. Jenna was headed for damnation.

All her life she’d had true dreams. Sometimes veiled in allegory, but always accurate enough so she could tell the visionary dreams from the ordinary ones.

Goosebumps covered her sweat-soaked body. She had to clench her teeth to keep them from chattering. This was real. This was immediate.

She had to get Cody out of that house.

Today.

Maggie
grabbed a cup of coffee and hit the road. She reached the Vannier estate before 8:00A.M., and demanded to see her daughter. Jenna was still in her dressing gown when she greeted her mother; her eyelids were at half mast and her voice seemed to be operating at the wrong turntable speed. Maggie’s heart sank when she saw her; there was no mistaking the influence of drugs this morning.

“What are you doing here, Mother?” Jenna slurred. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”

Still agitated from her nightmare, Maggie moved close enough to Jenna to grasp her by the shoulders. She would have hugged her, if she thought her daughter would permit it.

“Jenna, sweetheart, you’ve got to listen to me,” she said urgently. “You know about my dreams . . . the true ones. I had one last night that showed me, you, and Cody are in horrible danger. That’s why I’ve come to get you.

“You’ve got to come with me, Jenna! Right now. Today. I’ll get you to the best drug hospital—I’ll get the best help for you. We’ll fight this thing together, sweetheart. Please let me help you before it’s too late!”

Jenna seemed to focus with some difficulty. She wrenched herself away form her mother, pushing her backward violently.

“You’re so ridiculous! You always think everything has to do with drugs! I’m not on drugs. Can’t you see what a perfect life I have here? I’m rich . . . I’m married to a brilliant man . . . my daughter has the best care.” Jenna’s voice was shrill, her face ugly with sudden rage. “You just can’t stand to see me so happy, that’s all it is. You can’t believe I pulled it off, can you?”

Maggie stared at her daughter, shocked and horrified. “How can you imagine such things to be true, Jenna?” she pleaded, wounded by the vitriol of Jenna’s anger. “Don’t you know how much I love you?” How could she possibly convey the danger she felt congealing all around them? Lapping at them, ready to engulf their world . . .

“I
know
you’re on drugs, Jenna. I can see it in your face—your pupils are as dilated as saucers, you speech is slurred. I don’t care about any of that! I’m not judging you—I’m trying to help you! Don’t you understand, the drugs are keeping you from seeing what’s going on around here. Cody’s in terrible danger, Jenna.
Right now
. I feel it with every sense I own. She’s in mortal danger . . . and you are, too!”

Jenna pulled herself up to full height and yanked her robe tighter with a fierce gesture. “That’s absolutely ridiculous. Cody is just
fine,
Mother. Ghania has taken care of generations of Vannier children, and look how well they’ve turned out.”

“Let me see her, then,” Maggie demanded. It was the drugs talking, not Jenna, she reminded herself forcefully. Maybe the Jenna she loved didn’t even live in that body anymore. She prayed to God it wasn’t too late to save the child.

Maggie watched Jenna calculate her next move. “All right, Mother,” she said finally, “if you’ll promise to go
immediately after
.”

Maggie took a deep breath and agreed. Jenna had made her own choices, hard as that was to accept . . . she had made her own choices and Maggie must abide by them. But that didn’t include letting Cody drown with her mother.

Cody sat like a small statue, perfectly groomed and mannered at the nursery table. An untouched breakfast sat before her. She seemed nearly catatonic, as if she’d gone inward, to ward off whatever was threatening her. She looked up as Maggie entered the room, quick tears filling her eyes, but she didn’t stir from her place.

The grandmother moved swiftly and scooped her up into an embrace. The child leaned her head lethargically against Maggie’s shoulder and whispered very softly, “Cody loves Mim,” over and over—in a strangely lifeless litany.

“What in the name of God have you done to this baby?” Maggie demanded, angry, frightened. “She’s only been here six weeks, Jenna, and look at the deterioration in her. She’s glassy-eyed, lethargic. Like a catatonic rag doll . . . what have you
done
to her?”

“Cody is my child, Mother, and I’m in charge of her life now, whether you approve or not.”

“Then
be
in charge of it, for God’s sake! Get her to a doctor, Jenna. There’s something horribly wrong with this child!”

“She doesn’t need a doctor. Ghania can treat her perfectly well.”

“If she treats her so well, why is she in this condition?”

“I want you to go now, Mother,” Jenna said, reaching firmly for Cody. “I want you to go,
right now
!” Jenna tried to pry the child loose from her mother’s arms, but this time Maggie was ready for the assault.

Clutching Cody to her heart, she pushed past her daughter and ran for the stairs. Jenna’s screams for Ghania echoed behind her, as she raced through the first floor and fumbled with the front-door lock.
Goddamnit!
The stupid door weighed a thousand pounds! She jerked it open and dashed for her car. Cody clung so tightly, the terrified grandmother was afraid she wouldn’t be able to disengage the child enough to fit behind he wheel.

Maggie slammed down the door locks, jammed the key into the ignition with trembling fingers. She gunned the car out of the driveway, just as Ghania, Jenna, and two servants the size of bodyguards hit the driveway, running uselessly after them, shouting words she couldn’t hear.

They would come after her, that was certain. Maggie forced herself to think clearly, past her racing heart and fiddle-string nerves. She would take the child to Amanda—Jenna wouldn’t think to search for her there. Then, she would get the best child psychologist in New York to examine her. Amanda knew everybody . . . Amanda would know
somebody
who could help.

Cody lay crouched in a fetal position on the seat next to Maggie, her thumb in her mouth. She had never sucked her thumb! . . . Her legs were drawn up protectively and she was very, very still.

“It’ll be all right now, sweetheart,” Maggie soothed still watching the rear-view mirror for pursuit. “Everything will be all right now.”

Even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true.

Cody’s pediatrician was out of town.
Shit!
Maggie tried to explain to the covering doctor what was happening, but he sounded fearful of embroilment in a potentially litigious situation. Amanda phoned back to say she’d made an appointment with a Dr. Engle for the following morning.

The doorbell rang insistently. Maggie knew as she heard the ring, it was Eric. Thank God Cody was safely out of the house.

Maria Aparecida opened the door and Eric attempted to push past her as if she didn’t exist, but the large woman blocked his passage, and Maggie saw from the top of the stair that Maria had a large iron skillet in the hand at her side. There was something wonderfully heroic in her aspect.

“Where is the child?” Eric demanded.

“She is not here,” Maria said, without moving.

“Get out of my way, peasant,” he spat contemptuously, “or I’ll go right through you.”

“Try it, senhor,” Maria answered, her voice low and intense, “and I will spit on your grave!”

“It’s all right, Maria,” Maggie called hastily, running down the stair toward them. I’ll speak with him.”

“As you wish, dona Maggie,” Maria murmured, but she retreated only a few steps, the skillet still in evidence.

“Where is she?” he demanded, without pretense at civility. Maggie stood a few feet from Eric, he looked more formidable than she remembered.

“She’s not here.”

Eric moved closer, threateningly. His dark eyes narrowed. “You’re a fool to think you can keep the child,” he said. “I have powerful friends, Maggie, and the adoption proceedings are already under way. I will see to it that Cody is soon out of your reach forever, because of this little blunder.”

“Don’t threaten me Eric,” she said, her voice under tight control. “I know who you are. I also know
what
you are. And I will never let you use her as you intend.”

Eric eyed her speculatively. “You know nothing of what I intend, Maggie, and if you did, no one would believe you. You’re a fool if you think you can keep the child away from me.
If
what you
imagine
about me is true, you must realize there are powers at work her that could crush an interfering insect like yourself, and the world would never be any the wiser.” He smiled and the true evil of his nature flashed out from behind his eyes.

“Do you understand,
pain
, Maggie? I could cause you to die in an agony no doctor could alleviate. Or can you imagine madness? There are creatures in this universe at my beck who would snatch your sanity just for the fun of it, and leave you drooling in an institution for the rest of your pathetic life.

“Don’t fight against what you cannot possibly understand,” he warned scornfully, all the urbanity and charm now replaced by malice. “You simply cannot win. Now, where is the child?”