Lady Sativa (28 page)

“Now!”

The word pushed his mind forward to the cusp of the hunger. “Now!”

His consciousness wavered... then toppled into the yawning need... he was falling….

“Tell me what the beast loves. Now.”

Orient opened his eyes. He was standing in the white-tiled altar room.

Germaine was standing in front of him, his eyes wide and metallic. “Tell us,” he repeated.

“Blood.”

As Orient spoke, he saw Lily’s face and shame made him turn away. “The beast loves blood best.”

Germaine exhaled loudly and the light in his eyes seemed to recede. “Then we must use ten measures of blood from one who loves you.”

“Use mine,” Lily said softly.

Orient was only dimly aware of physical reality as he made his way up the stairs to the laboratory. He watched without understanding what was happening as Germaine took some of Lily’s blood, then measured it, drop by drop, into the waiting potion. When the count put the glass in his hands, he drank its bitter contents then lapsed into numb apathy.

But in a few minutes, his body responded to a soothing pulse of energy and his aching brain came to life again. Relief disintegrated the pressure on his thoughts as his awareness expanded and drifted free.

His senses tingled with a mixture of vibrant joy and the dull dregs of shame as he understood that his suspicions had been the feverish rantings of his sickness. Violence, fear, and sexual paranoia had prevented him from seeing that Lily was telling him the truth. He looked down at his hands and saw that the wrinkled palms were hairless. Lily’s blood had cured him. And her love.

“Are you all right, darling?” she asked. Her upturned face was tense with worry and her eyes were moist.

He nodded. “I’ll be okay.” He smiled and held out his hand. Then she was close to him and her hair was like perfumed silk against his face.

“I’ve fulfilled my duties here,” Germaine was saying. “But there’s still my oath. The werewolf must be hunted down.”

The scent of Lily’s hair caressed Orient’s memory and he recalled another scent. The musky odor of the talcum. The smell of dried blood. Dried blood. A hunter’s device to lure game. A hunter’s device….

Lily suddenly stiffened in his arms and groaned. “I feel something horrible near us,” she whispered frantically. “Waiting nearby. I’m afraid.”

Realization and fear jolted Orient’s instincts.

He pulled away from her and went to the phone. But when he dialed the number there was no answer—not even the sound of the ringing phone. The second time he tried the operator cut in to tell him the line was out of order. He slammed the receiver down.

“Better come with me,” he told them as he headed for the door. “Sybelle’s alone and her phone’s dead”

22

Sybelle mixed herself a second drink and took it with her to the couch. Normally, she didn’t have more than one when she was alone, but tonight was a perfect time for a celebration.

She felt rosy and flushed with achievement as she sipped her Scotch and gazed around the empty apartment. Yes, she decided, she was pleased with herself. She fondly regarded the red plush bar across the room and sighed. If Owen wasn’t so completely unreasonable they could all be celebrating with her tonight instead of keeping her cooped up like a drudge. She shook her head sadly. But, of course, poor Owen was becoming irrational. She’d so hoped that Lily would be a healthy influence, but he seemed worse than ever.

She wondered why Germaine hadn’t called. She wouldn’t mind spending some time showing the tall, handsome count the wonders of New York. It was positively wicked of Owen to keep her from seeing her friends.

She took another sip of Scotch and her thoughts went back to her success that evening. Her little plan had taken two weeks to hatch, but she’d finally won the vital piece of information she needed to help Owen.

She’d gone right up to the offices of the Bestman Corporation, pretending she was a highly qualified secretary looking for a job. This had given her an excuse to strike up a casual friendship with a few of the girls on Anthony Bestman’s staff.

The difficult part had come in finding an excuse to extend the friendship without seeming too pushy. She’d accomplished that intricate maneuver a few days later by waiting in front of the building during lunch-time. When she spotted the girls she’d met in Bestman’s office she followed them to a restaurant and then entered five minutes later. Of course, the girls invited her to join them and she made sure to pick up the check. After that it had been easy. And tonight, when she met the girls for drinks, one of them let it drop that Anthony Bestman had gone to London the day Maxwell was murdered.

Now she had definite proof for her suspicions. Anthony Bestman was the man they should be investigating. Owen was wasting precious time by persisting in his mad delusions. But perhaps her information would help cure all that.

She put her glass down and glanced at the red velvet telephone on the bar. If only he would call. Perhaps she should try reaching him. Last time it was three days before she heard anything. She certainly couldn’t spend that long locked up in her apartment. Still she didn’t want to upset anything Owen was working on. She sighed again and it seemed overloud in the stillness, almost as if it had been made by someone else.

She didn’t move. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she sat listening and her mind jumped back to Owen’s warning. He seemed to be sure there was going to be another murder.

Her heart was pounding as she stood up, went to the door, and checked the lock. She should have asked someone to keep her company, Sybelle decided. She was too excited to wait it out like this. She folded her arms and shivered slightly as she went to the bar. She’d been so anxious to find something to link Anthony Bestman with the killings that she’d neglected to make adequate arrangements for her own safety.

She sat down on the red velvet barstool and stared mournfully at the phone. No, she admonished, you cannot give in and call. It’s too important for Owen.

She knew that the disease had sapped most of his physical energy. He was worn thin as a bone and his brilliant mind was exhausted. A surge of compassion smoothed over her ruffled nerves as she recalled the helplessness and desperation in his gaunt face. She’d just have to wait it out. For his sake.

As the minutes passed, however, her reasoning took another tack. Owen was the one most in danger from Anthony Bestman. She owed it to him to tell him. She reached for the phone and started to dial. Then she realized she’d heard no dial tone. She pushed the receiver button down. Still no tone. She tried dialing the number anyway, but the result was the same. No tone, no ring, nothing—the phone was dead.

She tried to keep calm against a rising flood tide of apprehension, but it was useless. It made her nervous to know that she was locked in alone in her apartment with no way of calling for help.

She looked up startled as a floorboard creaked somewhere.

She sat perfectly still for a moment, her hand still resting on the velvet-covered phone, trying to hear above the booming of her heart.

The apartment was absolutely silent.

She was jumpy, she told herself. It was against her nature to just sit and wait. She’d been foolish for listening to Owen in the first place. His judgment was impaired by the disease. The best thing for her to do would be to go out to someplace where there were bright lights and lots of people. Perhaps she could even stop at Owen’s house later to see if everything was all right. She’d get her coat and go to a pub somewhere.

But as she turned and looked at the darkened doorway of her bedroom, she hesitated. For some inexplicable reason, she didn’t want to leave the cozy circle of light around the bar to go get her coat. There was something menacing about the dark room. She took a deep breath and tried to screw up her courage.

“You’re just being as silly as an old-maid aunt looking for burglars under the bed, she scolded, making herself get off the barstool and walk toward the bedroom.

An electric buzz split the silence.

Her hand flew to her mouth and she looked fearfully at the front door. Her first instinct was to ignore the bell

The buzz was longer the second time. Sybelle set her jaw, went quickly behind the bar, picked up a heavy glass pitcher, and went to answer.

“Who is it?” she demanded.

“It’s me Sybelle....” For a moment she didn’t recognize the muffled voice. “Sordi Are you busy?”

She heaved a great sigh of relief and threw back the bolt.

Sordi smiled sheepishly from the doorway. “I tried to call,” he explained quickly, “but your phone is on the blink. I was taking a walk and saw the lights. Am I disturbing you?”

“Not a bit!” she exclaimed. “Come right in.”

Sordi noticed the pitcher in her hand. “Expecting trouble?”

“Oh, no,” Sybelle evaded. “Just making a drink. Would you like one?”

Now that Sordi was here, her fears of a moment ago seemed childish. She patted her hair and headed for the bar.

“How about a nice bi… er...
little
Scotch?”

“That’ll be fine. How’ve you been?” he asked, settling down on the couch. “Haven’t seen very much of you lately.”

“Oh, well,” Sybelle bubbled as she prepared the drinks, “So much has been going on. I haven’t had a chance to visit. And Owen’s been so involved, poor thing.” She put the glasses on a tray, tugged at the waistband of her trousers, then reappeared smiling from behind the bar.

“Anyway, it’s certainly lovely to see you now,” she gushed as she gave him his drink. Delightful, she thought as she sat down next to him. She’d been hoping that Owen’s associate would make a move to extend their friendship. And tonight was a perfect time. She smiled again and raised her glass. “
Cin
, c
in.”

She watched him over the rim of her glass as he returned the toast. He was wearing a checked walking suit and the deep-green silk scarf around his neck accentuated his blue eyes and graying hair. But his dapper good looks had a worried air. “It’s always nice to see you,” she ventured.

He seemed to become more ill at ease. “Yes: I’ve been meaning to stop by earlier, but lately there’s been another guest at the house and there’s been a lot to handle.”

“I can imagine,’’ she sympathized. Then she brightened. “And how is dear Lily? I’m so happy Owen’s found someone at last.”

Sordi nodded thoughtfully. “I was very happy myself. She’s a fine girl.” He looked up. “But I’m really worried about the doctor.”

“Well, of course, he’s ill. But I’m sure he’ll find a remedy.”

“I’m not so sure.” He shook his head and looked away. At first when Lily came to stay with him I thought things would work themselves out. But since that man arrived... that count… the doctor’s been at the edge of a breakdown. I know. I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about it. Do you know this Germaine?”

“Oh, don’t worry about him,” Sybelle said quickly. “I’ve known the count for years. And I just learned something today that might help Owen get over his... er,
nervous
attacks.”

Sordi didn’t seem to be listening. “He hasn’t told me anything,” he mourned. “He’s either locked up in his study or he’s in conference with Lily and the count. I haven’t even been able to find out what kind of tests he’s running in the lab. I think it’s time I give him my resignation.

“Oh, my, don’t do that,” Sybelle said with genuine alarm. “It would be awful to lose those lovely dinners.”

He finished his drink and set his glass down carefully. “A man can only stay at a job as long as he’s useful,” he muttered.

Sybelle took a deep breath and made a decision. It wasn’t fair that Sordi was being kept ignorant of what was happening. If something should go wrong he’d be in as much danger as anyone else. She’d have to bend her promise.

She told Sordi everything: how Owen had contracted the disease, the deaths of Daniel and Maxwell, and why Owen had changed over the past few months. “He needs us right now,” she pleaded. “He’s going through a great deal of mental stress. He even thought
he
killed poor Daniel. And we’re all worried that someone will be next.”

Her voice became an excited whisper as she confided what she’d discovered that evening. “I found out that Anthony Bestman, a man who always hated SEE, was in
London
the night Maxwell was murdered. And he came back the
next
day,” she added triumphantly.

Sordi sat up in his chair, his eyes snapping with urgency. “But why didn’t you tell him? It may be what he’s looking for.”

“Well, the phone was out and I didn’t want to disturb Owen and the count. It’s so crucial they find that missing ingredient.”

He reached for his coat. “Finding a murderer’s crucial, too. Come on. We’ll go back there and I’ll tell him myself.”

“Of course, you’re absolutely right,” Sybelle agreed emphatically. I should have gone there right away.” She lowered her eyelashes. “But then we couldn’t have had our little visit, could we?”

She started for the bedroom then hesitated. Even though Sordi was with her she still felt a bristle of apprehension when she went near the shadowy doorway. Would you mind very much getting my coat?” she asked sweetly. “It’s in the closet in there, but I think I’m’ afraid of the dark. All this intrigue has made me ridiculously nervous.”