Bless the Child (20 page)

G
hania moved powerfully—gracefully for one her size—down the stone steps to the cellar of the Vannier mansion, with deliberate tread. A whit Abyssinian cat padded silently behind her, and the two Rottweilers, docile as poodles, brought up the rear of the small procession.

She let herself into the dungeon-like chamber at the foot of the long flight of stairs. It was dark and dank, at odds with the tasteful splendor of the house above. The temperature was colder by fifteen or twenty degrees, so she plucked a cloak-like garment from a hook, and wrapped it around herself.

She threw the switch on a small lamp, illuminating the interior, just enough for rows of large cages to become visible. Ghania motioned for her pets to follow.

Mutilated, but still living prisoners, occupied the prison cells. Some were animals, most were human. It was apparent from the torpor in which they languished, all had suffered hideous tortures. Open wounds festered, legs protruded at unnatural angles. The prisoners’ arms had been fastened to wooden boards in a crucifixion-like posture to make movement impossible, so that the needles and tubing attached would go undisturbed. Each of the imprisoned men and boys was a human blood bank. They were the Screamers.

For the most part, the prisoners were far too weak to mover or fight—yet one or two of the younger men managed to croak out curses at Ghania as she passed by; some even feebly rattled their cage bars with their feet, in pathetic defiance. The rottweilers flung themselves at the bars, snapping and biting, but their mistress paid the disturbance not the slightest heed, and proceeded with her work.

Ghania checked each bottle carefully, occasionally poking or probing the unwilling blood donor to assess his condition. She ignored all entreaties, curses, or pleas for mercy, as if they hadn’t happened. Most victims were too far gone to even moan in pain, but tormented eyes followed her movements, as she traveled down the line of cages. She had been known to open a cage at random and slit the throat of the unfortunate within, if he no longer produced. Some shrank from the possibility, others prayed for such swift release from their agony.

Finally, satisfied by her assessments, she walked to a large refrigeration unit at the far end of the cages and opened the door. Bottles of human blood were stocked in rows, as if it were a hospital blood bank. She took one out and opened it, sniffing the contents like a connoisseur with a vintage wine. Satisfied by its freshness, Ghania returned the pint bottle to its place. The Rottweilers nuzzled her legs and moaned small begging sounds at her, but she ignored them. Feeding familiars on blood was an ancient custom, but few magicians bothered to indulge their pets, in modern times.

Ghania closed the blood storage unit with a sigh. She would have to find a way to get the child to drink the bloodied cocktail without vomiting. The ritual libation would lower her vibratory rate, and cement her connection to the coven. None had ever been able to resist her this long. Of course, no other had been the Isis Messenger.

She moved to the vast refrigerator that stood next to the blood storage unit, and removed a small side of meat. She picked up her butchering tools and cut the carcass deftly into pieces for her pet’s dinner.

Skinned human babies were always their favorite, she thought, as she placed the small thigh and leg in one bowl, the arms and shoulders in the other. It was a pity the heart and kidneys were too small, they made barely a morsel for the cat. Sometimes it was difficult to get a constant supply of fresh babies; the best of them were always used for Communion. But the breeders had been fecund this season, and the supply was plentiful. Just this once it wouldn’t hurt to give her pets an old-fashioned treat to remind them of home.

M
alachy Devlin hung up the phone after talking to Maggie, surprised at his own exhilaration. He hadn’t felt this good about anything in longer than he could remember. Why she affected him that way was anybody’s guess, but just knowing he was going to see her this evening gave him a lift.

He’d been with her five or six times, now, asking questions or answering them, trying to piece together how someone like her could ever have gotten into a fix like this. He’d thought of a dozen trumped-up reasons to call on her; they were reconnaissance missions of the spirit, really, more, than police procedure; chances to get to know her, down below the surface, where people were real vulnerable and courageous and interesting. There was a gentleness about her that touched him, perhaps because he sensed it overlay genuine strength.

Who could ever quantify attraction, anyway? Why did she refresh him and make him feel hopeful about the world again? As if maybe some of the things he’d stopped looking for might again be possible.

He liked her forthrightness and her willingness to fight the odds, and she had a quirky sense of humor that always caught him slightly by the surprise. If they’d met under other circumstances, it would have been easier to figure out how to proceed . . . how to play the age-old game, how to have some fun. On the other hand, under other circumstances they would never have met at all.

He smiled at his own musing, it was a long time since he’d thought about loving someone. What was it he wanted from her? he wondered . A comfort, a warmth , a shared moment? An animal release, a rebellion against the past, an affirmation of life in a tough, unrelenting world? Perhaps all of that . And maybe a hell of a lot more.

He realized he felt a desire to give her something. He just didn’t yet know what that something should be.

T
he Egyptology section of the Metropolitan Museum had always been a favorite place to take Jenna on rainy Sundays, Maggie remembered with a bittersweet twinge, as she walked through the ancient artifacts, on her way to meet Dr. Hazred. She’d called the curator and requested a meeting with an authority on ancient Egyptian religious magic, and he had suggested meeting a Dr. Hazred at 10:00 A.M. Maybe a genuine expert on ancient Egypt could shed some light on the Amulet legend.

She stood in the Temple of Dendur for several minutes, letting the strange magnetism of the place flow through her. She’d come early for her appointment purposely, so she could explore the ruin once again. It had always attracted her on some visceral level far beneath consciousness . . . just as when she was a child, on a trip to the British Isles, she’d experienced strange visionary moments, in which she could “see” the history of the place, in some extrasensory way she hadn’t understood. Maggie felt the peculiar sensation wash through her once again in the ancient temple, a kind of psychic undertow that tugged at her consciousness and made her uneasy.

She remained riveted by the queer sensation, in front of a relief of the Nubian Gods Arensunuphis and Mandulis, when she became aware of a presence immediately behind her.

“You are, perhaps, Mrs. O’Connor?” a male voice inquired.

Surprised by the voice, she turned, only to be more startled by the profile. The man who had spoken looked like one of the stone pharaohs that surrounded her, the autocratic features diminished to human scale.

She regained her equilibrium and extended her hand. “Are you Dr. Hazred?”

“At your service.”

“You might have posed for some of this statuary.”

“Perhaps some of my ancestors did,” he replied smoothly, as he directed her toward his office.

“You seemed quite taken by the temple in which I found you, Mrs. O’Connor,” he said, as he opened the door for her. “It was dismantled in 1963 and shipped here from Dendur, where it had stood for thousands of years. The Egyptian government gave it as a gift to the United States—many feel, of course, that it was merely one more desecration of Egyptian antiquities for political gain. The West has a long history of pillaging the treasures of my ancestors, I’m afraid.”

“Really?” she answered, bristling a little at this political aside. “Surely, the Egyptians themselves had been plunderers of the royal tombs, long before the West ever got a crack at them, Dr. Hazred. I was under the impression that the temple was removed because of the encroachment of Lake Nasser, which threatened to destroy it.”

Abdul Hazred raised an approving eyebrow. “You are a closet Egyptologist?” he asked with a more apparent interest.

“I’m an antiquarian by profession, so I have some knowledge of Egyptian antiquities, but unfortunately, not enough to satisfy my current quest—which is why I’ve come to ask your help.”

He bowed ever so slightly. “I will try to be of service.”

“I’m interested in magical amulets and talismans, Dr. Hazred,” she began. “If you could give me a bit of background information about how they were used by the ancients, it would be most helpful.”

“Have you read Petrie on the subject?”

She nodded affirmatively. “His work seems to catalogue, rather than explain. And his connection to anything metaphysical appears meager. I was hoping to garner a more human understanding of their supposed power.”

“I see,” he said, considering how to couch his reply. “As I’m sure you know, belief in the magic embodied by inanimate objects is by no means exclusive to the ancient Egyptians. I has always been commonplace to use amulets and talismans as curatives, or as protective devices to ward off evil. They could even be used to put one under the protection of a specific deity, much like the way in which Catholics wear crucifixes or Miraculous Medals today. You might say they are the opiate of the masses in an aesthetically pleasing, transportable form.”

Maggie tried not to let this man rub her the wrong way, just in case he had useful knowledge.

“There are many plausible explanations for mankind’s stubborn attachment to such charms, of course, Mrs. O’Connor. Post-Freudians might say carrying an object that one believes provides luck or protection gives one confidence. Naturally, the confidence does the trick, but the talisman gets the credit.” He smiled, then continued.

“It is also possible in the light of modern psychology to imagine that medical amulets work by directing positive thought energy to the area of disease, thus causing the brain to release endorphins or other curatives into the system. Then, there is also a prevalent concept among primitive peoples that an object may empower the wearer by embodying certain desirable characteristics . . . a bear’s tooth to impart strength, a serpents skin to teach guile, a fox’s tail for cunning, et cetera, et cetera.”

He sat back expansively in his chair, enjoying his subject.

“Are these objects ever thought to be sanctified by a particular deity?” Maggie asked.

“By all means. Horus, Min, Osiris, others were considered potent talismanic protectors. I’m sure you’ve seen representations of the Eye of Horus, which was worn to look into the heart of all comers and protect the wearer from evil intent.”

Maggie shifted in her chair and leaned forward. “Dr. Hazred, I’m particularly interested in learning about two specific amulets I’ve read of, which seem to be under the aegis of two specific deities—the Isis Amulet and the Sekhmet Stone.”

“You Americans do love the notion of ancient curses and other nonsense you know nothing about,” Hazred responded, the previous pleasantness turning acid. “I suppose you have some insanely wealthy collector who now wants to add a bauble to his collection that will allow him to rule the world?”

The shift from courtesy took Maggie aback. “It appears I’ve hit a nerve that I didn’t intend, Dr. Hazred. As an antiquarian, I couldn’t help but be intrigued by such a magical tale. Someone I love ran across the story in a rather peculiar way, and I felt I should try to learn more.”

“Forgive me, Mrs. O’Connor. I am frequently distressed by Americans who have no genuine interest in our history, but merely in the more sensationalist areas of our mythos. As a serious scholar, I’m offended by such perversions . . . but obviously, such is not the case with you.” He watched Maggie speculatively, then added, “I will let you know what I know of the legend, Mrs. O’Connor, although, I doubt it will enlighten you much.

“According to the ancients, during the reign of Pharaoh Zoser, in the third Dynasty, the Goddess Isis caused an amulet to be constructed, which she endowed with the incalculable power of her own goodness. It holds rulership over both the good in humankind, and the benevolent in nature, so any mortal who possesses this treasure would control all that which is good on the planet.”

“Does the legend explain why she would create such an object?”

“The Great Mother has always displayed immense love for humanity, despite our frailties. A time would come, the Goddess said—in the far distant future—when humankind would become embroiled in a contest between Good and Evil, so perilous it would threaten our very existence. We are an experiment on the part of the Gods, Mrs. O’Connor. This is the schoolroom in which we are tested. Presumably, we are quite capable of failure.

“According to the tale, when that precarious moment in earth’s destiny would arrive, a Messenger would be sent . . .an emissary of good will from the Great Mother, you might say. The Messenger would have the power to materialize the Isis Amulet. In the hands of the just, the Amulet could turn the tide for humanity, by reinforcing all that is good within our planetary matrix. In short, Good would triumph, and the planet would be saved.”

“And the Sekhmet Stone? How does that figure into the allegory?”

“Ah, there’s the rub, Mrs. O’Connor, as your poet would have it. If this Isis Amulet were to fall into the hands of wicked men of Adept status, they could conceivably use it to resurrect the Sekhmet Stone.”

“Which is . . .?”

“The embodiment of all Evil . . . the Isis Amulet’s cosmic opposite. Yin and Yang, Mrs. O’Connor, Light and Darkness, ecstasy and anguish. It is the way of the Gods to provide the chance for man to choose wrongly.”

“And why would man do so, Dr. Hazred, if he were faced with annihilation as a result?”

“For greed, of course! If one has the Sekhmet Stone, one controls all Evil and chaos. Think of the unmitigated power that would provide. Controlling geophysical disasters means you control the world’s stock markets . . . controlling armies and weaponry gives you control of whole populations. For lesser stakes than these, men have killed and maimed and trampled whole populations into dust. With such power at one’s disposal, there would be no rules and no limits.”

“So Isis has set up the ultimate test,” Maggie mused. “A real-life metaphor, mirroring the eternal struggle between Good and Evil. One final chance to see which way mankind would go, if all the power in the Universe were suddenly in
our
hands, instead of in those of the Gods.”

Hazred smiled. “You speak of this story as if you believed it possible, and not just an allegory.”

“Dr. Hazred, I must tell you,” Maggie replied with great seriousness, “at this moment, I just might find it possible to believe anything.” She paused and smiled; he saw that she was really quite a lovely-looking woman. “Tell me, if it were true . . . which way do you think mankind would go? Which side would triumph?”

“Human nature is corrupt, Mrs. O’Connor,” he answered unhesitantly.

“I have seen much evidence of absolute power corrupting absolutely and none whatsoever to suggest that the meek inherit the earth. One ruthless man, with vast sums of money at his disposal, can easily best his milder brethren, who turn the other cheek.”

“Ghandi might have disagreed with you, Dr. Hazred,” Maggie said, “and Christ most assuredly would have. But that’s a philosophical debate that would take a good deal more time than we have.” She rose from her chair and held out her hand. “If you could recommend any books to me, to further my education, I’d be very grateful. The information you’ve provided has given me a good deal to think about.”

Maggie left the museum with a lot on her mind.

Abdul Hazred
picked up the phone and dialed. The phone was answered wordlessly, and Hazred spoke first.

“The game has begun,” he said. “An interesting choice for the Guardian.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but gathered up the papers from the desk in front of him, and the small engraved bronze plaque that had proclaimed his identity; he placed them all in his briefcase, as the door opened, on cue.

A small, nervous-looking man entered, and seeing Hazred preparing to leave, began to speak rapidly. “I trust I’ve done the right thing in informing our government of her inquiry, Dr. Hazred,” he said. As he spoke he reached into the middle desk drawer and removed the plaque with his own name on it, and replaced it on the desk top. He sat down in the leather chair, facing Hazred. “When she spoke of the Isis Amulet on the phone it seemed imperative, considering the timing—”

Hazred nodded, cutting him off. “Excellent work, Dr. Gerard. You did the right thing, without question.”

“Then the woman is the expected one?”

Hazred shook his head. “Regrettably, Dr. Gerard, I am not permitted to discuss this matter, which touches on national security. I can only assure you that your efforts on behalf of Egypt will not go unnoticed or unrewarded.” He smiled his most reassuring smile. “You will, of course, speak to no one about this. Not to your wife, or your children, or your mistress, should you have one. You will be contacted, if we have further need of your services.”